Fulmination Nation

My head is about to explode. Katherine has just laughed at me for making the world's largest pot of coffee to cuddle up with for tonight's essay-finishing extravaganza (just getting off the ground at this hour!). However, I laughed at her earlier for putting on oven mitts to open the fridge door, and then for declaring that she could "smell" the sound of the coffee bag opening. So HA! I have still got it together, after all. And I know someone who has all twelve pages of his essay left to write. Tonight. I don't think Wulfric reads this, but I wish him luck anyway.

Tomorrow, if I can muster (a) the energy and (b) the troops, we're going to see V for Vendetta. I am muy excited, because Hugo Weaving rocks hard, and apparently the art direction and angry political dissidence quotient are most satisfactory. This is how we can tell it's fiction.

I am very pleased with myself because I predicted Dad's reaction to a newspaper piece from all the way across the country. Some fairly asinine thing in the New York Times featuring a seed merchant fulminating about some imaginary lobby of "environmental xenophobes". Apparently the Aliens list-serv is abuzz (even more than entomologists are usually abuzz!). Boopsie didn't get to go to her fencing tournament because of dreadful blizzardiness. However, I am also told that Uncle Dick is feeling slightly better, which is good because he's been under the weather lately.

So very, very tired. But strangely cheerful! Good night, moon. Good night, sanity.