Nipped By the Parenthetical Remark

Disturbingly close to 24 hours ago I was writing an email to someone and parenthetically remarked that my coffee was made and I was ready to go. I added that I am one of those lucky few who can down a pot one day, then do without any at all the next and in neither case notice any physical effect. Just like the taste sometimes, is all.

Apparently, that isn't quite the case. Yesterday, after quaffing a 10-cup pot, I decided another six would go down smooth. And, er, for some reason, sleep has not gone down at all. After tossing and turning for something like 6 hours, I put two and two together and came up with "caffeine overdose" and so hauled myself from my bed.

I know, a rather dull return after neglecting you for so long, Gentle Readers. Please find below a cute photo I came across in my archives that will, I hope, assuage your collective wrath.


Summer 2002, that was. Fun times.

Beauty Is Power and Elegance ...

One night as they were falling asleep Nadia said curiously, "Why me?"

"Huhn?" He had almost been asleep.

"I said, why me? I mean, Arkady Nikelyovich, you could have loved any of the women here, and they would have loved you back. You could have had Maya if you wanted."

He snorted. "I could have had Maya! Oh my! I could have had the joy of Maya Katarina! Just like Frank and John!" He snorted, and they both laughed out loud. "How could I have passon on such joy! Silly me!" He giggled until she punched him.

"All right, all right. One of the others then, the beautiful ones, Janet or Ursula or Samantha."

"Come on," he said. He propped himself up on an elbow to look at her. "You really don't know what beauty is, do you?"

"I certainly do," Nadia said mulishly.

Arkady ignored her and said, "Beauty if power and elegance, right action, form fitting function, intelligence and reasonability. And very often," he grinned and pushed at her belly, "expressed in curves."

"Curves I've got," Nadia said, pushing his hand away.

He leaned forward and tried to bite her breast, but she dodged him.

"Beauty is what you are, Nadezhda Francine. By these criteria you are queen of Mars."

"Princess of Mars," she corrected absently, thinking it over.

"Yes, that's right. Nadezhda Francine Cherneshevsky, the nine-fingered Princess of Mars."

"You're not a conventional man."

"No!" He hooted. "I never claimed to be! Except before certain selection committees of course. A conventional man! Ah, ha ha ha ha ha! - the conventional men get Maya. That is their reward." And he laughed like a wild man.

-- Kim Stanley Robinson, Red Mars