Good morning, afternoon, or goodnight. Or in between times. For whenever you are here, grasshopper, I am...not. Fridays do strange things to my head, especially after weeks this long. And I'm really looking forward to a busy day of compiling facts about scary terror agents and the like. I realize I have just been kind of nattering on this week and the one time I wasn't that turned out real well; but this weekend I promise to try and do some real entries. But then, promises like that aren't really promises, are they? Maybe I'll do some better entries this weekend.

I'm definitely going to look at impressionist art, and if you can't blog about that, well then...

Just a squib of a headline on the way here saying that American bases in Afghanistan are under attack. I haven't read the story yet, so I don't know what's going on. That pesky al-Quaeda just won't let us turn our lonely eyes to Iraq quite, will it? The situation is always more complex than the spin. I wish people would remember that more often. Or, more precisely, I wish more people would remember that more often.

But of course the real current event of the day is the Michael Jackson testimony flap. That's right, the Gloved One With the Mostest was shocked and horrified -- as were those of us who looked at the damn thing -- at the photograph published of him at the trial. I don't even know what the trial is about. I skipped that part of the account. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Michael Jackson is the strangest human(?) specimen out there. He really should be given to medical science for immediate experiments to determine his true nature. All in favor? That's what I thought. Put your hand down, Elephant Man; dead people don't get to vote.

Most of the reviews of the new Harry Potter movie are saying it's better this time. The special effects are higher quality and the kids fit their roles better. (Disclaimer: I read three-quarters of the first book and stopped. Thought the first movie was ho-hum but enhanced by full theater of children clearly in thrall.) But the only critic I really trust (or read), the practically divine and infinitely snarky Stephen Hunter, just hates it, in most hilarious fashion. Read the review even if you're going to love the movie no matter what. The bit about Daniel Radcliff turning into k.d. lang cracks me up.

And then there's our Big Scary Government. This one is making the rounds so you might have already seen it. And Salon has a new column on mysteries, though the reviewer doesn't seem that thrilled about any of the books reviewed in this installment.

That's it for today. Go play outside if you can.