Cucumbers

So while I play All's Quiet at the Waterfront, let's not drown this blog in silence. I know how much you missed my non-review, beloved digiblips, even if that was a secret promise to myself and not to you (like duh, if you hadn't figured that out yet). You certainly missed the weekly adventures of my alter ego, not to mention my witty insights into whatever is hot news in Belgium.

To cover your pain I'll just copy paste three little items from my "something to talk about when it's cucumber time"-file. Cucumber Time equals what you English folks call the Silly Season now, but apparently at some period of time your English tailors also used cucumber time to indicate slow season. Now wondering whether it has something to do with the fact that pickling cucumbers/gherkins is not like, preserving the most nutritious or tasty foodstuffs, so not really working on surviving winter (imagine having to live on pickled gherkins all winter!). It's really not a heroic work either, not like fitting a couple of pumpkins into a jar or making chutney or sumfin.
Anyways, for your pleasure I'll trot out some brainfarts, like news is wont to do in such times, with stories about a Taiwanese dog helping old people crossing the street, or quaint medieval left-over habits of some village you have never heard of even if it's somewhere in your own country...

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SF/F/H in my mind sounds as Sfaich.

Meatball: Oh you write then? And what sorts of stories you write?
Me: Sfaich

I know, correctly pronounced it should be Esefefaich. But that sounds as if you've got a mental disease. But then, what do you write again?

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On "blogging community": Half the time I don't even read the crap you spout into cyberspace, digiblips, I just mark that shit read and move on. I can only follow two or maybe three blogs in depth, because there's also real world and news and silly stuff like that out there. And let's be honest, 2 or 3 people does not a community make. The whole format is also wrong, since you can't give and take on the same level. You yell something at the world, and maybe some of the world yells back. Is that valuable communication? Is that relation building?

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What everybody seems to have forgotten about in light of e-readers:
Suddenly it's all-okay to be staring at a lightbox for hours on end? The bad for the eyes has evaporated (true enough, we've got LCD instead of CRT now, but how is LCD less demanding on the eyes, especially on handheld devices, out in the open, with reflections assaulting the screen?). They truly are miraculous machines, aren't they?
Makes me kinda grudgy against all those years people nagged to be careful with me eyes (by me mom, me teachers, Concerned Parents Inc, and the government) when I was watching television and playing computer games for hours on end.

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In less brainfarty news: Mega-Evil-Beta Reader, whom you know as "hubby", dearest digiblips, started reading Tiger of Opal. He's making agreeing noises. Asked me about some of the noir stuff I put in, so obviously that's working. So far, at least, but allow me to go Weeeeeeee, even as his angry red pen scratches away at my beautiful baby.