Another Animania Saturday, another Saturday given over to nothing else but the club. It's worse than normal, though. We just had elections and this is the first screening under the new officers. As a consequence, even fewer people are doing all the work than used to. El Presidente and his roomie Snarky are both leaving. Hey, fine, I'm leaving the club, too, so I can respect that, but while you're still a club member you should do your share of the work. I'm actively avoiding Q-Girl as best as I can; Bachelorette No. 3 is around, putting off a weird vibe. (She called me last Saturday. Why the fuck did she call me?) Gah, we've also got the worst crowd ever, a bigger collection of freaks and degenerates than I've ever seen, and I've been attending screenings for five years. It's just a very frustrating day. Only three or four more to go, though, ever.

I've successfully called Lindsay the past two Thursdays and has two lovely conversations. However, something's up. I can't at all put my finger on it, but something's definitely up.

I've decided on this year's Halloween costume: the Golden Age Sandman. Also, Neutral Man and I figured out a maxim to live by: "If you go for Halloween as either the Golden Age Sandman or Jack Knight Starman and a girl knows who you're dressed as, marry her." (This is a modification of a BBC America ad for Monty Python's Flying Circus. "If your girlfriend laughs at this, marry her.")