On sorcery

BeatsByDrDre_AChristmasMiracle15.jpgIt’s snowed twice this winter.  The first time was last week, which was basically just a dusting– a bit wetter than that, maybe, but nothing that was any big deal.  It melted within a couple of days.

My neighbors, down the road, have a full-sized snowman in their front yard, and it’s been there for a week.  At one point, it was completely surrounded with green grass since the rest of the snow had melted.  It’s as tall as I am.  It’s been snowing for the last day and a half or so, way more than the first time it snowed, and I still feel like there’s not enough snow on the ground to make a proper snowman.  I don’t have any idea how they pulled this shit off; there are cul-de-sacs all over the place in the neighborhood so there are plenty of crossroads to sell your soul to the Devil at, but it seems like a snowman is maybe not the best use of that transaction.

I’m this close to knocking on their door and asking them how the hell they did it.  I’d speculate about some sort of snow-packed-onto-a-giant-kids’-ball thing, but I’m no more certain that’s possible than building a snowman out of no snow.

Explain this to me, someone.


I’ve spent my weekend playing The Witcher 3 and reading.  Neither is going well.  I just bailed on Ada Palmer’s Too Like the Lightning, which is as openly convinced of its own cleverness– the narrator literally brags about it– as anything I’ve ever read in my life.  I know people who would probably really like it, and I’m not sure I’d bother arguing with someone who loved it, but it’s one of those “not for me” things.  I’ve had bad things to say about the Witcher in the past, but the huge number of accolades it’s continued to receive and a sale over Black Friday weekend where the game and both its DLC expansions went on sale for less than twenty bucks managed to catch my attention.

And as of right now?  Meh.  It’s keeping my attention– it’s not terrible, by any means, but I’m going to lose interest before I finish it.  I slaughtered a bunch of guards at one point for making a rape joke.  It’s that kind of game.

Diving into Michael J. Sullivan’s The Death of Dulgath next, which ought to hit the spot.  It ain’t gonna be art, but I don’t really need that from my fantasy.  And I’ll keep playing Witcher until either the next rape joke or the combat gets boring; we’ll see what happens first.

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