Thank Bog for The Watergirl's album Can't Stop the Love Sled. After work today, it was exactly what I needed.

Grandma Wilson died in July. She's already been cremated. We're going down to Austin immediately after Christmas for a wake/remembrance of sorts. Who the fuck honors the dead almost six months after the death? The Wilsons. Jesus H. Christ in a motherfucking chicken basket, these are some seriously fucked up people. My dad actually seems to be looking forward to seeing his siblings; this only seems odd since he normally talks to his sister maybe twice a year, and his two borthers maybe once every two or three years. Needless to say, I shall be cliquing up with Evil Lisa and the Mountain. The other day, Dad said that his views are almost identical to my Uncle Fred's (uncle by marriage). He said this as if it was supposed to impress me. "Oh, well, if Uncle Fred's a Nazi, too, I must have been wrong about you guys all along, Dad. Say, where can I get me a pair of those stylish jackboots?"

I am concerned that DC Comics is going to hell in a handbasket. But, as I have philosophical objections to worrying, there's nothing for it but to wait and see.

The other day, I offended Steeze by saying that I do not think any of us are yet skilled enough writers to produce scripts of high quality for episodes of the Space Pirates Project. He took this as a sign that he should just give up. If you do not want to hear my opinion, let me suggest that perhaps you should not ask.

My beloved Lions are 4-8. Wow. Matt Millen should still be sacked (9-35 over the last 2 3/4 seasons; only compared to 2-14 and 3-13 does 4-8 look appealing), but my hat's off to Steve Mariucci. The man is a godsend. For the first time since 2000, there is legitimate hope, not just the hope that there is hope.

If there are spelling and/or grammatical errors, it is only because I did not feel like proofreading. Be strong. You'll survive.