The announcement is out, but with yet another curve ball: three more seasons of Lost, but with two seasons' worth of episodes. A compromise between what, respectively, the network wanted and what the writers wanted. Structurally, though, this throws everything straight to hell. Each season of lost has been a finely parcelled concept - the beach, the hatch, the Others. What now? Well anyways, I'm sure they'll work something out, and I'm even more sure that, as usual, Lost will work way better on DVD.

Every year on Free Comic Book Day we miss this. Or, more accurately, walk through this, and make plans to come back next year. I write for a Toronto publication and yet I never hear about this before I am actually standing in Queen's Park getting stoned for free. Why? Because stoners can't get their shit together to get a press release out, that's why.

Well, I went home and fired up my Nonno's pipe, yes I did, with the finest pipe-weed in the Southfarthing. Then I tried, and failed, to watch Alien.

Our first soccer game yesterday was terrific. Tina scored the game-tying goal in the bottom of the second half, everybody was in good spirits in spite of the nominal shortage of female players, and our game-on banter was near-poetical in its mastery of the banterrific form. I also got another 15K on the bike Sunday morning, solved a few crises and challenges with speed and efficiency, and fell ass-over-backwards in love with that Sensational Spider-Man issue I mentioned, once I finally read it. A whole annual about the now-elusive concept of how relationships actually work. I obviously can't comparison-shop but I'd say I chose my weekend Spider-experience wisely.