R.I.P. Douglas Adams
Six years ago, Douglas Adams died of a heart attack at the age of 49. He’s sorely missed, that hilarious man who taught me words like “hoopy” and “frood,” and that I’m not alone in never getting the hang of Thursdays.
I wrote an In Memoriam entitled “Goodnight, Marvin” for him that was published in this book published by Benbella Books. The truth is, thanks to Amazon’s “Search Inside This Book” feature, you can read all of it without buying the book.
As for the living…
I’m please to be among them. I played longer with my sword this morning, did some grocery shopping and carried a lot of things all the way home. I’ve been spider wrangling as I do the laundry, pulling long, woolly threads off of the line and finding their inhabitants a safe place in the grass. We encountered a massive ochre spider the other day. Actually, I encountered it when I opened the front door and found it dangling at face level. It high-tailed it down the thread to the ground. The Frenchman wanted to kill it but I just blew on its fuzzy butt until it scrambled away. Hopefully it’s tormenting the girl who lives behind us now.
I ordered the first three Buckaroo Banzai comics and they arrived the other day. I’ve been reading them rapturously except that these days I’m not remotely enamored of the fact that the women all still seem to be either evil sex objects, carrying clipboards or knitting. Penny Priddy isn’t even in the story (yet). I’m giving it until Issue #3 and then Earl gets a Maria Letter(tm).
Another chore, and then I’m going to write. Or try, anyway.