You Can Weather the Storm or You Can Storm the Weather

Last night's tweets;

There are no rabbits on the lawn right now.
I need to put my clothes in the dryer.
I partook of the string cheese of the cow.
This is a bit like using a wire.

The world of Twitter has opened up for me like a balloon giraffe to forceps. Now I'm following David Lynch, Trent Reznor, John Cleese, and many others. Christopher Walken is surprisingly funny in a surreal way and popular. In February, Tom Waits insightfully tweeted, "Commercials are an unnatural use of my work . . . It's like having a cow's udder sewn to the side of my face. Painful and humiliating."

I think "tweeted" is the right past tense verb. Stephen Colbert says "twatted", much to Meredith Vieira's chagrin.

"Weird Al" Yankovic posted this mildly bizarre photo of himself with Malcolm McDowell and Rob Zombie.

I still don't know how all these people have time to Twitter, but now at least I'm glad they do.

I'm having a David Bowie day. There was a time--about a year--rock music was just David Bowie to me. If I wanted hard 60s rock, I'd listen to The Man Who Sold the World. If I wanted soul, I'd listen to Young Americans or Station to Station, and if I wanted punk, I'd listen to Scary Monsters. I listened to Low and "Heroes" billions of times and Diamond Dogs billions more. If I wanted modern music, I listened to Outside, Black Tie, White Noise, and Earthling. I even liked Tin Machine.

I'll probably work my way through the discography to-day chronologically while drawing, though I have a lot less to draw to-day than yesterday.

I'm pretty excited about this next chapter. I had it written in almost its entirety, down to the small details, in my head halfway through drawing Chapter 21. I compulsively typed it up one night last week about an hour after I ought to've gone to bed.

Last night, while eating dinner, I watched Revolutionary Girl Utena to replace Battlestar Galactica. I'm up to episode thirty five now, and it seems to've moved away from the Lynch influence and back into its own groove. The fairytale flashbacks of Utena being rescued by a prince and proclaiming she wants to be a prince herself one day have sharpened into, apparently, her need to become Himemiya's, The Rose Bride's, prince specifically. That is, it turns out the prince was Himemiya's brother, and her incestuous love for him somehow destroyed the perfection of the prince-who-rescues-princesses archetype, so now it's Utena's job to be the new prince, thereby rescuing Himemiya from herself and the former prince from his new position as End of the World, all using the power of lesbianism. This is a good show.

David Lynch has a new weather report online.