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I'm sure that, at this point, I'm the only one-time HP fan on the internet who hasn't read Half Blood Prince yet--but I have a bigger excuse than a complete, disillusioned lack of interest in any of JKR further works: I was at Mid-Ohio Vintage Motorcycle Days this weekend. Think Daytona Bike Week, but with older bikes, fewer bimbos in halter tops, and a really, really big yardsale-type thing called a swap meet.
The weather sucked, thanks to all those hurricanes down in the gulf, but everyone managed to fit the racing in around the rain, and there was only one major crash, during one of the road races. Once again, my Dad managed not to crash (even when he did a dirt-track-type slide around one corner in the rain). I've got notes for two articles, one on the dirt track racing and one for a British magazine, both of which need to be finished before I can find out who Rowling has randomly killed off this time. Spending all that time around old British motorcycles like Triumphs and Vincents brought back too many painful memories of her badly-done writing off of Sirius.
Sarah is back from the Air Force Academy for her two and a half weeks of leave, despite concerted efforts on the part of American Airlines to strand her in St. Louis, so my whole family is home for once. The dog is thrilled.
And I bought myself a forty-dollar used leather jacket at the swap meet. It's great--just like something out of the nineteen fifties or sixties, all black leather and more zippers than a flight suit.
The weather sucked, thanks to all those hurricanes down in the gulf, but everyone managed to fit the racing in around the rain, and there was only one major crash, during one of the road races. Once again, my Dad managed not to crash (even when he did a dirt-track-type slide around one corner in the rain). I've got notes for two articles, one on the dirt track racing and one for a British magazine, both of which need to be finished before I can find out who Rowling has randomly killed off this time. Spending all that time around old British motorcycles like Triumphs and Vincents brought back too many painful memories of her badly-done writing off of Sirius.
Sarah is back from the Air Force Academy for her two and a half weeks of leave, despite concerted efforts on the part of American Airlines to strand her in St. Louis, so my whole family is home for once. The dog is thrilled.
And I bought myself a forty-dollar used leather jacket at the swap meet. It's great--just like something out of the nineteen fifties or sixties, all black leather and more zippers than a flight suit.