October 3rd, 2005


Just another Manichean Monday

Within three minutes of waking up this morning I had a) found the fresh cat puke by the simple expedient of stepping in it barefoot and b) chased a millipede out of my bathtub.

Hey, universe! I already knew it was Monday! But thanks for the reminder.

Need a little research help with hand weapons

Anybody know what you call a weight clamped in the fist to strengthen a blow? Like brass knuckles, so to speak, except inside the fingers. People sometimes use a roll of nickels (or quarters) for this. What's the name of that as a technique or a weapon? I'm having trouble googling up a coherent answer.

Update: Thanks to lead from caprine I've run down the term "fist pack", which seems to be what the unlimited brawlers call this.

Rocket Science notes

Rocket Science had an excellent September. It's sold more copies than I have friends. This is a good sign.

One of my moles in the library system reports that the book is now in the Siuslaw Public Library. Heh. Party on.

Misc. updatery

I'll be appearing at Future Dreams bookstore here in Portland this coming Thursday evening from 6 to 7 pm, at a signing with the inestimable Ken Scholes and the boustrophedic boustrophedonic David Goldman of Writers of the Future XXI. The Child will probably be there too. So if you want a copy of Rocket Science, or wish to hang with the Child, or even me, come on by if you're in the area code.

Also, the Child is most distressed because her rock band buddies are apparently being forced to move by the sale of their crib across the street.

And I knocked out a couple thousand more words tonight along with some editing.

Mutual of Portland's Wild Kingdom

Well, turned the light back on because sleep was Not Coming and watched a large -- maybe 1 inch, 1-1/4 inch legspan -- spider crawl out of my blanket and across the lower end of the bed. This Did Not Please me. I'm not arachnophobic, but come on. Well the cats then noticed it scuttling around. Fascinating. Ahriman watched it walk up the wall. When the spider stopped, he sort of lost track of it. Big brown dude on white-painted brick, obvious as a fart in church, but until it moved again, he couldn't seem to find it. He's now playing pat-the-spider with Port looking on, ready to tag in.

And to think I could be sleeping instead of watching this drama unfold in my very bedroom.