At night, the ice weasels come

You will recall, O my best beloveds, that some while since m'wife and I published a little tale of ours, "The Airship Towers of Trebizond", in Gears and Levers vol 2.

We have not been idle since. This day, Mr Steve Berman of Lethe Press announced the ToC for Daughters of Frankenstein, a collection of narratives treating with mad lesbian scientists, because somebody had to.

It reads thusly:

Introduction by Steve Berman
"Infusion of Waking Dreams" by Aynjel Kaye
"Doubt the Sun" by Faith Mudge
"Meddling Kids" by Tracy Canfield
"Eldritch Brown Houses" by Claire Humphrey
"The Moorehead Maze Experiment" by Tim Lieder
"The Eggshell Curtain" by Romie Stott
“Poor Girl” by Traci Castleberry
“Bank Job Blues” by Melissa Scott
“The Long Trip Home” by A.J. Fitzwater
“Imaginary Beauties: A Lurid Melodrama” by Gemma Files
“The Riveter” by Sean Eads
“A Shallow Grave of Orange Peel and Eggshells” by Thoraiya Dyer
“Alraune” by Orrin Grey
“Preserving the Integrity of the Feminine Mystique” by Christine Morgan
“Hypatia and Her Sisters” by Amy Griswold
“The Lady of the House of Mirrors” by Rafaela F. Ferraz
“The Ice Weasels of Trebizond” by Mr and Mrs Brenchley
“Love in the Time of Markov Processes” by Megan Arkenberg


Can I hear a "Yay!"? Ice weasels!

Chicken salad

Apparently if you say "chicken salad" hereabouts, people mostly think of something moulded out of chicken and celery and such, bound together with mayonnaise.

Not I. I like my salads neither moulded nor bound.

Today I fetched home a Napa or Chinese cabbage. Shredded that, tossed it in a bowl; added a couple of carrots, peeled and julienned, and a julienned cucumber (nope, didn't peel that; I rarely do). Shredded leftover chicken across the top, and then equal parts of soy sauce, Chingkiang black vinegar, sesame oil and chilli oil, whisked up in a bowl with a clove of crushed garlic and poured over. A scatter of chopped roasted peanuts, and you're done. That's a chicken salad.

Protocoligorically correct*

M'wife is being a technomage tonight, speaking to Japan through the medium of her computer screen. She's putting on earrings and everything. I hope she remembers the protocols of bowing. (Hunh: I wonder if anyone ever deliberately put on long dangly earrings, so that the pendulum action would emphasis the depth of their bow? These are the sorts of things we are obliged to wonder, y'know. For fictive purposes. But would that work, I wonder...?)

Me, I am checking proofs on my own screen and drinking New World wine, neither of which is particularly old-school; I am a bridge, between the future and the past. Barry, meanwhile, is the other thing. He is curled on my clean laundry and snoring softly, as cats have snored on laundry since time immemorial. I bet Ancient Egyptian cats snored on the Pharaoh's clean loincloths. (Kari, would you like to ask Horus to confirm?)


*It has been too long since I last saw The Slipper and the Rose. That may have been the first movie I ever took a girl to**.

**She was my kid sister, and it was her birthday. And I think I liked the movie more than she did.