I was reading Journalista! today and found myself momentarily shocked. Harry Horse is dead -- apparently he killed himself in a suicide pact with his wife, who had MS. I found myself trying to persuade myself that it wasn't the Harry Horse I knew, the one who I met in Edinburgh, who I read with, funny and enthusiastic and endearingly awkward and charming.
I followed the links, and it was the same Harry Horse, of course. We liked each other. He loaded me up with his books, and I read them to Maddy. We shared a love for J.P. Martin's UNCLE books.
What a strange world.
And right now I can't think of anything funny or interesting to write, so here's Harlan Ellison reading a short story instead. http://www.creatvdiff.com/ and click on Prince Myshkin. (It's a DVD extra from an upcoming documentary about Harlan by Erik Nelson, who produced, among other things, Grizzly Man.)