My goal of not murdering anyone was substantially assisted just now by the consumption of a generous corned beef sandwich. Boy: blood sugar's a bitch, huh?

Last night I had what you'd call "thick sleep" - the sleep of total nonexistence. I guess I was tired. We stayed up very, very late with delicious wines and party games on Wednesday night for Sarafina's birthday, and while the overall reaction to my being able to guess Sarafina's "tofu" in charades will remain one of my favourite moments ever in the history of moments, yesterday morning was nonetheless a little rocky. I couldn't get the Gatekeeper's Eastern European shrieking out of my head, for one thing; I also couldn't eat solid foods or get entirely comfortable with the thickness of Jemaine Clement's lips. Still, this has been a big fat satisfying awesome of a week. And it's still going.

You know what else is still going? Insane-O-Winter '08, is what. Another big snowstorm for the next 36. There's been so much fucking snow in this town this year, they've run out of shovels. Who runs out of shovels? The same yolks who run out of Wal Mart snow pants, that's who. Poor planning, Canada!

Lost: I am confused about "island time." Aren't we within about 3 days (on the show) of the episode where Jack told Kate he loved her, and Charlie died? What happened in those three days wherein Claire seems pretty content and well-adjusted, and Jack's mackin' on blondie? I'm sure Daniel Faraday could explain this (with the aid of a rocket!), but I can't.

Buffy: Haven't been to the Snail in a while, and unfortunately I have now been liberally spoiled on this week's big reveal in issue #12. I'll try to actually read the issue in question shortly, after which point we should probably talk. In the meantime, I'll be in my bunk...