Another point for Southern California. And to think, I used to actively not ever want to live in this state. It just sounded too big and trendy and irritating. I have found it amazingly accessible. This photo was taken on a ramble at Eaton Canyon, just outside Pasadena.
Today's book: "The Mystery of Edwin Drood." I picked this up without remembering it's Dickens' unfinished novel. This library copy has been "finished" by someone else. The first three chapters are marvelously moody and strange - the book begins in an opium den - but it's very frustrating to start and know that nobody has any idea how Dickens meant it to turn out. The mystery, apparently, is quite obvious, so the theory goes that he was planning something really complicated. But it is not known what. I emailed my sister to tell her I was having regrets about getting involved in this, and she crisply replied that she always has regrets about getting involved in any Dickens novel.
Art Boy and I are still trying to get over the "Battlestar Galactica" finale. When he wakes up I'm going to propose we rinse our brains out with bleach. The big revelations were fine, it was just the song, the song... dear God. Oh well. I heard the series finale of "Rome" was worse. Maybe the lack of an ending isn't so bad.
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