I heard a radio report (on NPR) a couple days ago that mentioned something scheduled to happen in “twenty twelve”. I’d begun to wonder if everyone in the world was going to go on pronouncing years in the 21st century as “two thousand and whatever”. Many decades ago, when I was a wee lad of the golden age of 12 (or close enough), people talked about the film “twenty oh one”, and I came to understand that that’s how those years in the wondrous future would be said. That it’s never happened has somehow ameliorated the disappointment at not surviving to the world of wheeled space stations and Pan Am orbital clippers, not to mention fuliginous monoliths.
I’ve reached the very bottom of my Inbox!!! I almost did this a couple times in the past month, but not quite, or with qualifications or reservations. As of this moment, however, I believe I’ve dealt with or responded to everything that’s been sent to me, even if only to status a later definitive reply.
Speaking of which, I have essays upcoming for Locus Online, tentatively/probably, about SF operas, and POD publishing. As well as Claude’s next column.
