serialdeviant.org(y)

Reason interviews the God of cyberpunk (and now historical fiction) Neal Stephenson.

Sigh. Sending couples who have no children a letter (and booklet!) encouraging them to get busy? Lack of government enthusiasm for reproductive nookie has never been the cause of low birth rates. I bet this is one of those mandatory-if-you-want-to-get-a-promotion suggestions that apparently struck civil service gold.

Via mrbrown.

At almost 2pm, the temperature is a balmy 11°C. You Europeans and Americans (and Northern Chinese) may scoff, but when there’s no heating, double-glazing, or insulation, 11°C is pretty fucking shivery. Yours truly being predispositioned to tropical weather is no help.

It doesn’t matter that I’m not even a fan of the tropical climate (too hot and sticky). I’m careful not to complain too much about the cold, besides periodically making very audible brrrrrrrr sounds and saying, “It’s cold!” now and again. After two summers in Xiamen, I am well aware that the summer is a hell of a lot worse, especially if you have a small air conditioner in the bedroom that only cools one half of the bed — not my half. I’ve got perspective, though. Neil sweats more and is smellier when he does. He’s a boy, after all. Seeing how it’s summer in Xiamen for at least eight months of the year, I definitely do not wish for summer to come back (I could wish and wish in Singapore, but summer never, ever goes away).

My only real issue with winter is my feet. I’ve never been blessed with good circulation. My hands tend to warm up after I stick them in gloves for a while, but all day in furry socks seem to do nothing for my tootsies, which are, at this moment, practically numb. On particularly cold nights, I try to keep my toes near something warm — usually Neil’s feet. Neil, unfortunately, has gone off to Scotland for three weeks and more cold days are forecast (for Xiamen, Scotland is obviously baltic at the moment — but his mum’s has heating, double-glazing, and insulation).

I’d kill for an electric blanket.

I’d kill for one of those hand warming pods they sell here. (I suppose I should go find one.)

A hot water bottle would also do, but knowing my luck, it’ll leak and the bed will get wet, freeze, and trap me between the doona and mattress. That’s a novel excuse to bludge work. “Hello, boss, can’t come in today, I’m frozen to my bed.”

In fact, I may have to kill a mammal and use the still-warm, bleeding, dripping flesh to keep my feet warm. Then I’ll be able to re-use it to make breakfast. Hey hey!