A weekend of fireside naps, brutal editing, and melacholy whores

Yeah, I knew the "melancholy whores" would get your attention.

One of the books I read by the fire over the weekend was Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Memories of My Melancholy Whores. It's an itty-bitty thing, only 115 pages in a small format and a quick read. It's about the same length as Chronicle of a Death Foretold, another Garcia Marquez shorty. Both interesting tales to fly through. If you're looking for interesting tales to fly though, that is. If not, go for the longer Love in the Time of Cholera.

Atlanta's weekend was cold and windy - perfect for pulling my comfy chair and ottoman around to face the fire and settling in. My feet stayed nice and toasty as I read a couple of books, revised and edited some of the stuff I've written lately (I was ruthless), and - naturally - dozed off every now and then. The only time I left the house was for church yesterday morning. Didn't turn on the TV until last night. Ahhhh.

The only bad thing that happened was that my internet connection went out Saturday afternoon (still out, but Comcast knows about it), and I had to rely on picking up a wireless connection on the laptop. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Frustrating, but at least I have the laptop. We'll see how things are when I get home tonight. Repair guy can't get out to me until Wednesday afternoon.

That's my weekend report. And now, back to work, friends -