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Stumpage Reports
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Saturday, November 23, 2002 :::
She Who Shall Not Be Named: or The Origin of a Blogname:
Usually one of the pleasures of meeting She Who Shall Not Be Named at her workplace on Saturday for lunch is the emptiness and quiet of the Second City Grill. Today, it and the surrounding streets were packed with SUV-driving, sweater-wearing NCSU alumni. I guess there was a football game, I think that is the sport they're playing now.
She Who Shall Not Be Named: I like your blog.
Me: Thanks, I need to think of a name for you when you're in it.
SWSNBN: How about if you just never put me in there?
Me: No way, you're practically the only friend I have in Raleigh, you have to be in it.
SWSNBN: How about "the person you don't name"?
Me: Great, it'll be "She Who Shall Not Be Named." That's a good spin on the H.P. Lovecraft god named "He Who Shall Not Be Named."
SWSNBN: (Smiles, because she is cool and knows about Lovecraft and his pantheon of elder gods) Okay.
Quote of Day: Just in case you are not familiar with Lovecraft, or his...uh...unique, adjective-laden writing style, here is a quote from his short story The Festival:
Out of the unimaginable blackness beyond the gangrenous glare of that cold flame, out of the tartarean leagues through which that oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and unsuspected, there flopped rhythmically a horde of tame, trained, hybrid winged things that no sound eye could ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly remember. They were not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor ants, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings; but something I cannot and must not recall. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and half with their membranous wings; and as they reached the throng of celebrants the cowled figures seized and mounted them, and rode off one by one along the reaches of that unlighted river, into pits and galleries of panic where poison springs feed frightful and undiscoverable cataracts.
::: posted by tom at 8:58 PM
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