Do Deafies Dream of Electric Cats

Ghost Cat – he’s still not a people person feline BUT progress is happening. On the past four, five mornings, our brave boy has stayed on the porch when I’ve brought out his brekkie. Previously he’d dash off into the yard or down the driveway, only returning once all us dangerous human types were out of sight.
Granted, he waits at the far end by the steps BUT he’s in view – he sees me and I see him. I give him a little wave and tell him everything’s AOK, time for breakfast and, as I go back inside, the porch is ALL yours now.

At this rate, maybe in another ten years I’ll be able to come close enough to pat him – just like my old Rocco.

I know GC's got a nest somewhere nearby but winter’s coming. I worry! Maybe he’ll be brave enough to take advantage of a nice blanket-lined cat condo here on the veranda. I'll set one up. Of course I will.
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I finished John Scalzi’s Lock In. Apart from all the philosophical questions and cool as shit science stuff, there’s the fun, fascinating dynamic between the two FBI agents – Chris Shane, the newbie who’s a threep-riding Haden sufferer and Leslie Vann, the hard as nails department veteran with an interesting past. Their play and banter is engaging and just way fun. The sequel, Head On, won’t be out until spring 2018. BUMMER!

Given my stone pre-MRI escapism needs, I picked up Philip Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. I figured it’d be a good reread before seeing the new movie, Blade Runner 2049. Well, sure it would be if I wasn’t trying to cool my jangled jets so’s I can make it through tomorrow’s MRI.

How is this scifi novella setting me off? It’s all post-apocalyptic-y, set after World War Terminus – nuclear war has decimated the atmosphere (to say the very least). Honestly, given the mentally banjaxed, grifting, racist game show host who’s, astoundingly, our president, the story's potential future seems to be looming large. The book feels too real right now. Yup, I won't be rereading Handmaid's Tale this week either.

So, Dick goes back in the pile for some future day when the news isn’t causing me to freak right down to my sweet molecular level.

NEXT!

Testimony : A Memoir by Robbie Robertson.

Of course I loved his big hits Up On Cripple Creek, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down  and The Weight. It was his album Music for the Native Americans that knocked me clean out – it lived on my turntable for months on end. That album was full of wild, necessary brilliance.

I probably would’ve put Testimony down after just a chapter – reading about all this gorgeous music and no longer being able to experience it is, well, mondo bittersweet. Pre-MRI I really need something gelastically escapist.

BUT as luck would have it, despite a day spent being the world's BEST doobie, I could NOT get off to Lullaby Land last night. So then, Mister Robertson’s great storytelling kept me roped in as night became day. Just so's ya know, there really are monstro swathes of sweet with all that bitter.

Robbie – fascinating dude – wish I swam in his fish tank.

So then, how WILL I chill myself our so's I can stay in the tube tomorrow? Possibly I'll lay in there yodeling out horrendously off key versions of I Shall Be Released.