The comments section of Nick Mamatas journal is so pretty--go see for yourself, it's like a little gallery of avatars.

Not much to report today. A busy, busy day.

SARS isn't going to kill us all, not yet. If you're worried about an epidemic, again, donate to a nice AIDS charity. They need it most.

I haven't done my taxes yet and I feel so ashamed. Ashamed in the way that I wish I didn't have to do it at all and kind of envy the fugitives who've been on the run living like mountain men for years at a time. It happens.

Coats of invisibility have a ways to go, yet. But I'd wear this.

And the thing I'm looking forward to most of all this week, even more than the Crooked Fingers and Spike Lee's talk is the annual Darwin Lecture Series of the Kentucky Paleontological Society, which features Mark Brochu talking all about Sue. I maintain that my Paleo-hero will still be Jack Horner, if for no other reason than that there's really no other paleontologist who makes an unnamed cameo in a David Quammen essay. I need no further reason.

d'etre.

Alan's finally talking sense, otherwise known as English (and I don't mean the way the Amish know it as English).