Little Lulu We Love You
The Mail Deities have seen fit to grant me my contributor's copies (and sweet, sweet monies) of Electric Velocipede #13, which doth contain my poem "Under the Garden in Dreams," a title which sounds vaguely like a Dave Matthews tune, but it is not! Or if it is, it's totally subconscious, so there.
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Thanksgiving Day is approaching fast. It's one of those holidays where, if you're not paying attention, will attack and overrun you like a pitiless Mongol horde sweeping across Eurasia. But you do get turkey and mashed potatoes out of it, so it's not as bad.
We're looking forward to a more enjoyable holiday this year for Ian. Last year we walked into his Nana's house, and everyone in the room (about fifteen people, give or take) promptly turned to look at him. Naturally, he burst into tears. Hey, give him a break, he wasn't even six months old then.
Reading: Some Alan Moore stuff: From Hell and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Black Dossier. Did you see him on the last Simpsons episode? He's pretty funny.