And it's *nifty*. I've downloaded the latest Dick Francis novel out of thin air. I've uploaded my Hild notes to ponder over breakfast tomorrow. I've read the latest issue of Harper's (what a load of cobblers; I'm cancelling that subscription). I've read my blog, and Kelley's blog, and, well, it's just fucking *nifty*.
I want to fly! I want to blow shit up! I want to be a zillionaire and drink martinis while wearing Armani, and rescue women in four inch heels while wearing iron/titanium/gold-plated-whatever with hot-rod red accents!
I think I'll probably settle for watching the DVD again, and rewriting the sound track in my head: louder! more Sabbath! But then, huh, I start thinking about that old music, and how someone really should remix 'Smoke on the Water' (Paul Oakenfold, maybe?). And how cool it is to see the out-of-the-closet metaphor invade even Hollywood tentpoles. And how they're going to do Iron Man II with an out-and-proud superhero (all those tropes to rewrite). And then how am I going to dig myself out of my chronological plot hole with Hild. And then, double huh, I'm thinking about work, again.
Gotta go play with some more toys...