Still going, never slowing, never swaying, with an even stride and an amused sense of determination. I was a bit delayed into work this morning, grabbed myself some breakfast across the street and was about halfway into the leap across McCowan to the office, when I caught sight of myself and thought "yeah. This is all right."

A lot of things happened over the weekend - too much to go into - but one of them is that thanks to Sarafina's Found Footage festival DVD, I fell completely ass-over-teakettle in love with Jack Rebney, the world's angriest RV salesman.

There is actually plenty more where that came from, and when he's done with the swearing he just starts gibbering about the fern and the dock. I love this man. I want to hang out with him, buy him a beer maybe, before he has a heart attack so enormous it actually concaves time itself. But then again all this shit was recorded in '88, so I might be twenty years too late.

Oh Jack Rebney. If you met Stanley (and W. W. Wooderson), who would win in a fight?

Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen. I oughta have my project work out the door by the fifteenth of Feb or so, and I just came up with the hilarious irrelevant detail that will make the comic I'm writing for Sasha leap above its own premise and become a thing that people will talk about for years. Things are developing, in all the corners, and I'm chipmunking merrily away. Otherwise, it's all just slaying dragons and drinking tea. How are you, Internet?

Postscript: My friend Alison's initials are ARR. That's awesome. Her boyfriend's last name starts with H, so if she marries him, her initials will be ARRH. That's even better. I'm so jealous! It seems like everyone's got a pirate ship story right now, except me.

"They were like Cobra. Only in band form." - me re: The Misfits