humidity's bitch

Good mid-morning/almost-afternoon. Where does Saturday morning go? Every week, we plan and nod our heads and agree that we will go to the farmer's market early early early and then come home and be happy. And yet, we always end up going down there late and frowning through the crowds and desperately needing breakfast. But still, worth it for fresh tomatoes!

So, we'll do that presently.

Been reading stories in the new Year's Best. As always, an extremely strong volume. I have yet to start a story and not finish it, or not love it. I just started Robin McKinley's, which I expected to be lukewarm on, but am liking immensely so far.

Went to the comic book store and picked up our comics on Thursday. Lucifer was brilliant. I'm really liking The Creeper as well.

We have a dripping, in the little closet thing that contains the machines that make the cold air for the apartments above ours. The obnoxious thing is that our landlord is too busy thus far to be bothered with coming to Check It Out and Fix The Damn Thing. So we are made to swap out containers for catching the drip. And can I just say that the hippies upstairs are insane. It is in the 90s here. Their air conditioner went dead three days ago. Did they report this to anyone? No. Do they seem concerned about it? No. Are they concerned that the landlord might need to come in their apartment when they aren't home to fix it? Yes. Must be really good pot, or really low on brain cells. One of the two.

(And, if by some odd twist of fate--doubtful though I feel it is--someone from that contingent is reading this thing, I don't mean you. I mean the other hippies upstairs. What other hippies upstairs? That's a secret.)

Anyway. Today will be farmer's market and writing and going up to the Woodland Arts Fair and possibly doing some laundry and shopping for birthday presents. Tomorrow, we go pick up the George! Yay!

Have good days, one and all.