I’m always pleasant surprised when it turns out there’s a word or phrase already in existence for something like this that would normally take far too long to describe with the typical set of vocabulary words.

Check out The Saga of the Lemon Poppyseed Cake, a hilarious blogpost by friend Anne Elisabeth Stengl, who also just so happens to be a published fantasy writer. Yeah, my friends really ARE that cool.

Sartre Wars.
No computer skills? Hack like a pro anyway.
Nathan Fillion gets owned. Staged? Almost certainly. Hilarious as all get-out anyway? Very certainly.
Best part of the royal wedding earlier in the week.
No wait, I take it back.

Why you should never stop wanting to escape.
Time for another trip to Chicago.
I’m unsure of the science behind this, but you have to admit quantum marriage is pretty romantic.
Tsunami warnings written in stone.
Office propaganda posters. In the cubicle farm, Big Brother sees all.
Paper art like you’ve never seen it before.

“Lean” by Oh Land.
Nighty Night, an album written and recorded by Neil Gaiman, Amanda Palmer, Ben Folds, and Damian Kulash in only 12 hours.
20 things to do with matzah. It actually is pretty good with peanut butter.

I loved The Game of Kings, and the main character turned out to be right heroic after all, and I loved the language and the style and the setting. But oh, good grief, finishing that book was like pulling teeth. I have no idea why; it was wonderful. But I just couldn’t seem to FINISH the darn thing. I dragged through the year 1547 in Scotland like a particularly sluggish (albeit very entertained) snail, and I’m puzzled as to why it was such an arduous task. I’m definitely going to give myself a bit of a break before tackling the second one in the series.

Then I skipped through From the Dust Returned by Ray Bradbury in a few hours, which felt much like going for a sprint after a very long, very cramped car trip. It’s a novel, but it’s put together from a variety of short stories he wrote at various times, so sometimes it does feel a bit cobbled-together. I admit that most of the Bradbury I’ve read that has been published after 2000 hasn’t been quite, quite as good, but it’s still so excellent that it’s well worth one’s time.

Now I’m zipping along with Ozma of Oz, which is pretty surreal. It’s been so long since I’ve read the Oz books that I can almost pretend that I haven’t, except for the intense feelings of deja vu I get every so often. Also, a terrible movie called Return to Oz was made in the 80s, and it combined the second and third Oz books into one incoherent storyline that (I would imagine) bore more than a passing resemblance to a really bad drug trip. Also, it was utterly terrifying and I strongly suspect no child should ever watch it. Reading the text version of the nightmare-inducing Wheelers is considerably less traumatizing. Stick to the books, kids!

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