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We had a beautiful time at the Little House, helping Cate clear space in the garage, watching The Big Liebowski and Baran, eating Dairy Queen, sitting in the hot tub and drinking extremely tart French wine, staring up at the Milky Way, petting the cats, falling asleep in total darkness, breakfast at the little cafe across the room from an entire family wearing cowboy hats, driving around the lake, watching the most incredibly awful Rob Lowe flick Illegally Yours and Cameron Crowe's crack-ass remix of Vanilla Sky, more petting of cats and dogs, strawberry juice, and utter happiness.

It took us nearly two hours to get home because of various traffic jams, including an accident in which I could only recognize the silver car as a BMW because the hood of the trunk was still intact. It looked like the car had been scraped across the pavement until it was shredded like cheese.

Alan, bless his zen soul, his cooking dinner for us and steaming genuine spinach. He slept in the passenger seat while I sang with Bob Dylan, and we're home, in our home.

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Warren Ellis, one of the coolest writers walking this earth, is experimenting with livejournal. He's posting a novel bit by bit, much like Doctor Gogol has been doing, and you can find it here. Something definitely worth checking out, and just beginning.

I remember the first time I read Transmetropolitan. I had the first three issues, and I read it on the LX ride home from campus about 6 in the evening. The bus was over crowded and I was standing against a rail, swaying as we turned at the Arbor, and the tears were running into my shirt collar while I read and Spider typed. His words went up live, and for a moment the world stopped, and something that mattered happened. Even though it wasn't enough to entirely remake the earth and the people on it, for a moment there was something amazing. It was everything I ever dreamed about journalism being for me, and it stands as one of the reasons why I continue to write. I won't ever forget that evening, or how I felt sliding into my old car, my comic pressed to my chest, or the way the sunlight blinded me.