I wander off while Perry is talknig to somone on stage and somehow end up at my parents' new house. In the dream they've purchased this huge monster of a building in Downtown Portsmouth.
They walk me through the ball room, dusty and undergowing renovation, and the library, empty. I ask about living there but I can't since one of my sisters and her dogs have claimed space already.
This house in Detroit was the inspiration for the house, I think:
I picked up Les Petits Meurtres D'Agatha Christie, a four dvd , eight episode Franciphonic adaptation of several Agatha Christie mysteries. mmmmm Well produced, but they've... adapted quite a bit. I'm watching Les Meurtres ABC, and while not the worst version (you have Tony Randall of the Odd Couple to thank for that), the fact that they replaced Poirot with Superintendent Larosière and Hastings with Insp. Lampion Lampion, neither of whom are particularly impressive , especially when judged next to the definitive Poirit, David Suchet, or even Peter Ustinov.
1930s costumes and sets are BBC quality, so its easy to look at.
I'll watch them all, as it's an actual French production, rather than the dubbings I've been watching, but if I want an Agatha Christie mystery, I have the A&E Suchet/Joan Hickson 17 disk set to keep me happy.
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Conan stared in wonder at the cold classic beauty of that countenance, whose like he had never seen among the sons of men. Neither weakness nor mercy nor cruelty nor kindness, nor any other human emotion was in those features. They might have been the marble mask of a god, carved by a master hand, except for the unmistakable life in them—life cold and strange, such as the Cimmerian had never known and could not understand. He thought fleetingly of the marble perfection of the body which the screen concealed—it must be perfect, he thought, since the face was so inhumanly beautiful. But he could see only the god-like face, the finely molded head which swayed curiously from side to side. The full lips opened and spoke a single word in a rich vibrant tone that was like the golden chimes that ring in the jungle-lost temples of Khitai. It was an unknown tongue, forgotten before the kingdoms of man arose, but Conan knew that it meant, 'Come!'
And the Cimmerian came, with a desperate leap and a humming slash of his sword. The beautiful head rolled from the top of the screen in a jet of dark blood and fell at his feet, and he gave back, fearing to touch it. Then his skin crawled, for the screen shook and heaved with the convulsions of something behind. Conan had seen and heard men die by the scores, and never had he heard a human being make such sounds in the death-throes. There was a thrashing, floundering noise, as if a great cable were being lashed violently about.
At last the movements ceased and Conan looked gingerly behind the screen. Then the full horror of it all rushed over the Cimmerian, and he fled, nor did he slacken his headlong flight until the spires of Numalia faded into the dawn behind him. The thought of Set was like a nightmare, and the children of Set who once ruled the earth and who now sleep in their nighted caverns far below the black pyramids. Behind that gilded screen there had been no human body—only the shimmering, headless coils of a gigantic serpent.
Not sure why I dreamed this. I'm not a very... techie person anymore. I don't even want one of those Rift headsets.
There are too many old blankets in storage in Tidewater. Perry'd love to chuck most of the stuff, but I've got too many collections. Maybe I'd be better off just getting e-editions of most of my books. Now that Thomas Ligotti's backlist is e-books, that's a good start on my comfort reading- then Kathe Koja, Skin and Cipher on digital as well.
Still feel awkward doing this. Like Thumper's estimation of Bambi: "Kinda wobbley, isn't he?". I'll get my groove back eventually.
Scrolling through my flickr account, I see next February I'll have had it for ten years. Seeing dates on pictures from... some time ago. I've missed flickr. Time to see if instagram is all everyone makes it out to be.
This had the heavy hitters- Spider-Man, The Hulk, The Fantastic Four... and Doctor Strange, reprinting their first appearance and then a later adventure. Stan Lee introduced each story with a little background, and with the Doctor Strange chapter he talked of the influence of the radio show (and later serial) Chandu the Magician.
I'd forgotten about this until about six month ago when I started doing research for a writing project when I stumbled upon a reference to Chandu. Now thanks to youtube, I've listened to several of the atmospheric adventures of the occult detective, Chandu the Magician, aka Frank Chandler; I've even managed to sit through the Bela Lugosi movies The Return of Chandu and Chandu on the Magic Island. (I need to see the first Chandu the Magician serial, just for laughs, since Lugosi plays Chandler in Return of... and Magic Island, but in the original movie, Lugosi plays the villain.)
(This is the site where I grabbed the image above. He's got several of the books I had, including the Superman and Shazam 40's to the 70's books and the Batman Encyclopedia)