Well. It’s almost over. Boy Ninja has been Tinker-Toyed and craft-supplied, Lady Ninja has been Ani-DiFrancoed and fudged. I myself have been Indian-Cookbooked (biryani, my house, January — be there!) and am now the proud filler of a black shirt with a small grey dot over the caption “goodbye pluto”. Cryptic crosswords have been lined up and knocked down, as have cases of a local dark beer aptly named after a motor oil. Naps have been taken, showers eschewed, sleeping stomachs lept upon by nigh four-year-old feet.

I’ll prepost a few things tonight to appear tomorrow morning. But real communication will resume in earnest next week. I have tonight and tomorrow left in dial-up purgatory, and then, I think, when I shack up with my novelist buddy and his family for the new year, I may actually get some proper baudage (2400 baud!?! It’s like LIGHTNING! Wait ’til I tell the guys on the BBS) under me. I assume so. Those novelists are all filthy rich and well-connected, right?