Puss 'n Boots,
another lovely Mirko Hanak illustration,
from European Fairy Tales.
BTW, I consider Puss the original LOLcat.
Warning: Long post.
In case you have ever wondered why I don't comment on current religious or political issues, I'll quote Jill Miles from her Nov/9 post at The League of Reluctant Adults:
Everything you say on your blog becomes a platform. If you don't like red shoes, and you say so, the friends of the red shoe brigade will come out in droves to defend. Everything - even on your 'private' (ha ha, yeah right) journal must be scrutinized.
Since my views on certain types of red shoes are mordant, I don't need the diversionary hassle.
Go figure I.
But people will get up a posse and pursue with pitchforks over lesser things. Ello suffered an invasion of netzombies over an intelligent and thoughtful Oct/5 post regarding a writer's (Khakpour's) reaction to a bad review.
Go figure II.
And it seems that Patricia Cornwell (dearauthor.com/wordpress/2007/11/22/look-virginia-crime-authors-get-super-paranoid-too) has put out an imamic call to the faithful over bad reviews of her latest book.
And for more on the subject of shoe fitting and painful feet, ie. word count and calculation, Bookends' Nov/ 16 post and Mark Terry's on Nov/20 -- especially his agent quote: Writers worry too much about stuff like this -- should prevent blisters and bunions.
For an attractive style of footwear -- that is, delightful humour, check out Ms.Karen's Blog. Her Tuesday post made me howl.
Have You Met This Woman?
From A Malignity:
Before the tinkle from the string of sleigh bells announcing my entrance subsided, a thin, black-haired woman in her late forties slid from the open door marked "office."
She was not the elderly curator I had encountered a year ago over several relics the museum acquired, including a haunted axe from a sensational turn-of-the-century murder case.
I should have quizzed Ted for background. Between the "girls" at the front desk at city hall and his wife, who was a member of one of the museum's supporting societies -- as well as about every other committee going -- he heard all the dirt. He had mentioned a power struggle of some sort. This woman must be the winner.
"We're not open until one o'clock."
I waved my clipboard at her. "Are you in charge? I have a request for investigation of unusual psychic activity."
"Oh. Yes. So you're one of the..." Plucked eyebrows elevated. "And you are...?
I told her. She looked me over with a kind of avid disdain, one little finger brushing at the corner of her mouth as she registered my name.
I took sour pleasure in noting that her elegant suit and matching heels clashed with her muddy aura.
But then I didn't care for vampira-purple.
"Very well. Come this way."
And Since It's Friday...
A WTF from my spam filter:
incur a bouffant phallus.
The critics are right. Adjectives really are dangerous.