Last night we prepared to paint. This involved more staple-removing (All hail the Crooked Iron Mouth of God...), lots of nail removing, and taping of things and such. Christopher spent five hours on a ladder. This means we've prepared the bulk of the rooms for painting. There's only three left that we haven't really dealt with -- the bathroom (which isn't as bad as the others), the kitchen and the weird back living room with 14 foot ceilings. We stopped at Radio Shack and got a "boom box", as they were called in the '80s; Flaming Lips singing about Japanese girl heroes fighting robots, Jay Farrar, new Luna, old Throwing Muses ("sundown in the sinkhole, sunshine up on the hill"), and solo Kirsten Hersh help the time pass far more enjoyably. But very, very tired this morning.

It's kind of interesting, having to get this intimately involved with the surfaces and nooks and crannies before moving anything into a new abode. I think by the time we are actually living there, we'll really feel like we own the place and have exorcised its demons. And I will never, never, never put a nail lightly into a wall again. Houses should be treated with respect, because the blemishes are damn hard to fix.

The bad side of this move, and all the work that it's taking, not to mention the weather (snow) which is a separate affair of its own, is that we won't get to see Richard in Asheville this weekend as planned. The timing just wasn't right. We've rescheduled our little non-con-related get together for Valentine's Day or President's Day weekend, depending on your point of view. So, at least that's not too far off. Hiking has been mentioned.

The most interesting news in the science world today involves stick insects. You know, the ones you don't even notice until you see them moving or lumbering around (probably the wrong verb for something fairly delicate). Anyway, it turns out they've evolved wings, evolved into not-having-wings, and evolved wings again several times and that changes our thinking about evolution and "use it or lose it" very much. In a very cool and hope-inducing sort of way. Takes on "re-evolution" from the Washington Post and the New Scientist.

This story about the Little Man I like to call Tom Cruise about him being awarded $10 m in his lawsuit against the male British porn star that claimed he had an affair with the Little Man contains what is surely one of the most frightening and inadvertently funny sentences of the day. "We don't have any idea whether he'll ever have means to pay, but we've obtained the judgment, which will hopefully make it clear that demeaning Mr. Cruise will not be a successful endeavor," Cestero (Cruise's lawyer) said Wednesday. Anyone smell the stench of high school revenge wafting off this one? "You'll rue the day, you big bully!" Who cares if it's true or not? When you make as much money, are as high profile and as strange as TC (Scientology anyone? And just think of it this way--he's BENEATH John Travolta; he licks John Travolta's boots as Travolta navigates the space-time continuum...Right.) people are going to talk smack about you. Buy yourself a new estate and get over it. Sheez.

And last for today, I suggest everyone go read Roald Huffman's wonderful poem at Malacology, for Stephen Jay Gould. You may have to look in the archives for Thursday if you're reading this after today, but it's worth it. "All the world is in a snail!"