Hellblazer, not Constantinople—
As far as I’m concerned, it’s Hellblazer that’s the interloper. Check the pedigree: Alan Moore steals Sting from Brimstone & Treacle and has John Totleben and Stephen Bissette do him up as John Constantine, a right bastard foil to the Swamp Thing’s lumbering straight man; he did his business deftly, hinted at a dark and stormy backstory, got in some unforgettable licks, then vanished in a puff of cigarette smoke and an unanswered joke. Beauty.
Then Rick Veitch dragged him back onstage for his run with the bog-god. And then the right bastard got spun off into his own dam’ book, and Jamie Delano got to unwind a lot of that dark and stormy backstory for about 40 issues or so until a rousing what-if send-off with art by the one, the only, Dave McKean. Next month: new creative team! —And all this before the Garth Ennis / Steve Dillon run, which most folks think of as the definitive Hellblazer.
So I wasn’t too put out by the news of the movie. LA? Plenty enough mythology to work from, trust me. (Where else can you find such a hellish city of angels? Thank you, thank you, I’m here all week.) —Keanu? Pfft. Why not? (My knee doesn’t jerk at the mention of his name; him, I can take or leave. Maybe it’s how there’s only a dozen people in the world who know why it is I laugh with such delight whenever I catch him playing Don John.) —The movie can pretty much fly or fall on its own, far as I’m concerned: though it was on the small screen, we’ve already had pretty much the best adaptation of John Constantine to moving images we could hope for. I’m good.
The which said, initial reports aren’t all that enticing.
If Delano and Ennis’ Hellblazer is Mexican food, Constantine is best understood as Taco Bell.
But: on the other hand: Tilda Swinton as Gabriel:
(I do think it’s amusing, though, that the reporter, at least, appears never to have heard of Prophecy. Some might say, with good reason.)
Liberty is what I mean when I point to it.
And second, that it captured beautifully the single most important thing that I learned from my years working on “constitutionalism” in Eastern Europe: That 90% of the challenge is to build a culture that respects the rule of law, and that practices it. A document doesn’t build that culture. And no one has a formula—either for building it, or preserving it.
Certainly not a law professor.
—Lawrence Lessig, Professor of Law at Stanford Law School
Why is it so hard for people to understand that there is a category of behavior not covered by the legal system?
—John Yoo, Professor of Law at the University of California at Berkeley School of Law
But are not limited to.
The organizations who have filed letters of protest with the committee include: the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU); American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee (ADC); American Federation of Labor- Congress of Industrial Organizations (AFL-CIO); American Friends Service Committee; American Immigration Lawyers Association (AILA); American Jewish Committee; Amnesty International USA; Anti-Defamation League; Arab-American Anti-Discrimination Committee; Asian American Legal Defense and Education Fund; Asian and Pacific Islander American Health Forum; Asian Law Caucus; Asian Pacific American Labor Alliance, AFL-CIO; Asian Pacific American Legal Center of Southern California; Bill of Rights Defense Committee; Catholic Charities USA; Center for Gender and Refugee Studies, Univ. of Calif., Hastings College of the Law; Center for Community Change; Center for National Security Studies; Episcopal Migration Ministries; Fair Immigration Reform Movement; Golden Vision Foundation; Harvard Immigration and Refugee Clinical Program, Harvard Law School; Heartland Alliance for Human Needs & Human Rights; Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society; Hmong National Development; Human Rights First; Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights; Immigration Unit of Greater Boston Legal Services; Irish American Unity Conference; Jewish Community Action; Jewish Council for Public Affairs; Korean Alliance for Peace and Justice (KAPJ); Korean American Coalition; Kurdish Human Rights Watch, Inc.; Labor Council for Latin American Advancement; Latin American Legal Defense and Education Fund; Leadership Conference on Civil Rights; League of United Latin American Citizens; Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund; Midwest Immigrant & Human Rights Center; The Multiracial Activist; National Asian Pacific American Bar Association; National Asian Pacific American Legal Consortium (NAPALC); National Asian Pacific American Women’s Forum; National Association of Latino Elected and Appointed Officials Education Fund; National Coalition for Asian Pacific American Community Development; National Conference of State Legislatures (NCSL); National Council of La Raza; National Day Laborer Organizing Network; National Employment Law Project; National Federation of Filipino American Associations; National Immigrant Solidarity Network; National Immigration Forum; National Immigration Law Center; National Korean American Service & Education Consortium; Organization of Chinese Americans; Peace Action; People for the American Way; Refugee Law Center; Rural Opportunities; Service Employees International Union; Sikh American Legal Defense and Education Fund; Sikh Coalition; South Asian American Leaders of Tomorrow; South Asian Network; Southeast Asia Resource Action Center; Tahirih Justice Center; United Nations High Commission for Refugees; Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations; Unitarian Universalist Service Committee; UNITE HERE; U.S. Committee for Refugees and Immigrants (USCRI); Washington Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights and Urban Affairs; Women’s Commission for Refugee Women and Children; World Organization for Human Rights USA; World Relief; YKASEC-Empowering the Korean American Community; and Young Koreans United of USA.
The Republicans on the committee in question want to set aside the rule of law for the Secretary of Homeland Security.
Apparently, our spanking new Attorney General was not a bad apple.
By the way, if anyone here is in advertising or marketing... kill yourself.
“It’s becoming silly for an actor to think, ‘If I do a Japanese commercial, the American audience won’t be aware of it,’” Kaminsky said. “It’s becoming a tiny, tiny world. Now actors think, ‘Why should I do a commercial for a foreign market and be ashamed to do a commercial for America?’”
“Audience and consumer attitudes have changed,” added Jonathan Holiff, whose Los Angeles firm, the Hollywood-Madison Group, pairs companies with celebrity endorsers.
“We have all become much more jaded and are no longer taken aback to see celebrities from all walks of life jumping into the advertising game.”
Apparently, the paparazzi really wanted the Heineken. Isn’t that funny?
Oh, wait—there’s one more piece you need:
Lenny: I brought a bag of money in case he wants us to burn it again.
Homer: I hope he tells us to burn our pants. These are driving me nuts!
It’s going to be one of those weeks.
Prolixity.
Alan Moore: Horrible, tatty book, but what this has got in it is lots of crappy little drawings that are indecipherable to anybody else but me, but which are basically all I need for anything re: writing comics. They will give me a breakdown… they’ll just be sort of these pages—these are bits of Promethea—I will break down the page area into a number of panels. Now, I’ve got a simple, mathematical mindless formula that I follow that is—I mean if you look at these little bits of dialogue that go in each of the panels you’ll see that they have little numbers written after each of the lines and what this is is the number of words.
Now, this is basically something that I took from Mort Weisinger, who was the harshest and most brutal—
Daniel Whiston: DC editor?
AM: —of the DC editors during the ’60s.
DW: Bit of a tyrant from what I hear.
AM: Oh Christ, he was a monster, I remember Julie Schwartz telling me—who was a lovely man—he told me about Mort Weisinger’s funeral—and this was probably just an old Jewish joke that he’d adapted—for Mort Weisinger—but he said that apparently during Jewish funerals there’s a part where people can stand up and spontaneously will say a few words about the departed—personal tributes, things like that. So it’s Mort Weisinger’s funeral, and it gets to this bit in the funeral and there’s absolute dead silence, and the silence just goes on and on and on and nobody gets up and says anything and eventually this guy at the back of the synagogue gets up and says: “His brother was worse!” [Laughter.]
But anyway, Mort Weisinger, because he was the toughest of the editors, I thought: “All right, I’ll take his standard as the strictest.” What he said was: if you’ve got 6 panels on a page, then the maximum number of words that you should have in each panel, is 35. No more. That’s the maximum. 35 words per panel. Also, if a balloon has more than 20 or 25 words in it, it’s gonna look too big. 25 words is the absolute maximum for balloon size. Right, once you’ve taken on board those two simple rules, laying out comics pages—it gives you somewhere to start—you sort of know: “OK, so 6 panels, 35 words a panel, that means about 210 words per page maximum.”
DW: And if you’ve got one panel you’d have 210…
AM: …and if you’ve got 2 panels you’d have 105 each. If you’ve got 9 panels it’s about 23 – 24 words—that’ll be about the right balance of words and pictures. So that is why I obsessively count all the words, to make sure that I’m not gonna overwhelm the pictures, that I’m not gonna make—oh, I’ve seen some terrible comic writing where the balloons are huge, cover the entire of the background—
“It’s an amazing media error, a huge blunder. I’m sure the Bush administration is thrilled by this spin.”
Yeah, I know, we could be talking about almost anything. But in this case, it’s specifically out-of-the-ass estimates of voter turn-out and its implications that got trumpeted as gospel and slung as a cudgel and are now being walked back, well, over at Editor and Publisher, at least. I don’t know that this is even being hinted at on page A15, elsewhere, out there.
—In Iraq, silly. I know, I know, it’s hard to keep up…
I do so hate this sour mood of mine.
Gets to the point when Matt Taibbi, trying to make Sy Hersh look like an optimist—
RUMSFELD: Anyway, I guess the point I’m trying to make is that I don’t know if we’re starting another war. I tried to ask the president about it the other day. We schedule a meeting. I go in there. He’s sitting behind his desk and everything’s the same as before, except now he’s got this big brass plate on his desk that reads, “Ask me to show you my MANDATE!” He’s got a plate of tater tots and he’s hucking them at Laura’s new dog there, making these bomb noises, like “Pyew! Pyew!” And I’m like, “Sir, are we invading Iran?” And he looks up and says, “Iran? That’s a great idea! Put Rumsfeld on it!”
FEITH: Jesus! And you say?
RUMSFELD: And I say, “Sir, I am Rumsfeld!” And he says, “You’re kidding. Then who was that who was just in here?” And he points to a security monitor. I look at it, and there’s a guy walking down the White House corridor, towards the exit, who looks just like me!
FEITH: Who was it?
RUMSFELD: How the hell do I know?
FEITH: Was he Defense?
RUMSFELD: I don’t think so. I’m Defense!
—well, it just isn’t bleak enough, and I find myself scarfing up the War Nerd on the sly—
Everybody’s asking me what’ll happen if we attack Iran. To get a quick preview, just do what this guy in my eighth-grade class did: put a firecracker in your mouth, hold it between your front teeth, and light the fuse.
Your friends won’t believe you’ll go through with it. So when it blows up in your face, you’ll expect them to be impressed. And you’ll be surprised, just like this guy in junior high was surprised, when all you get is a perforated eardrum and a reputation as the biggest dumbass in the school.
Right now, Bush is standing there with a lit match and a big firecracker labeled “Iran” in his mouth. Except it’s more like an M-80 or a whole stick of dynamite than a firecracker. Nobody believes he’ll be dumb enough to light it, to actually attack Iran. Even the Iranians don’t believe it; Khameini, their head Mullah, said last week “America is in no position to invade Iran.”
He’s right about that. Even the US Army brass admits we’re “overstretched.” We don’t even have enough troops to control Iraq; a war with Iran would mean calling up every National Guard unit we have. Even then, it would take years to get them combat-ready.
And this time the Brits won’t come with us. They’ve been making that clear, on the quiet. If we go in, it’ll be as a coalition of one.
So Khameini’s right; we can’t attack Iran. But that doesn’t mean we won’t. Khameini was making the same mistake everybody’s been making: assuming Bush and his cronies have a lick of sense.
—so much so that it takes me too dam’ long to recognize the nihilism masquerading as tough-nosed realism, the second-hand armchair experience cloaking itself in coarse, pseudo–old-skool ethnicisms—I know you of old. You’ve got as much to learn from the world as we do, bucko.
I need to put it all down, the news and the knee-jerk and the flailing outrage, just put it all down and back away. Since I’m not getting the job done here. (A perennial plaint, hereabouts. —What is the job? You let me know, you ever find out.) Work on the damn reprogramming and re-design. Pick up the comics and the SF and the phantastique; start picking at the differences between trees and labyrinths. Drug myself with ostranenie; stave off with denial what I can’t move or shift with red-faced ranting.
My God. I used to live there.
Yes, it is embarrassing when Stern Daddy gets all in yo’ face muthafuckah like he’s cool or something.
But hey, it’s not like they could have gotten him elected on the issues or anything.
(My Christ. Fighting unpopular Hollywood movie stars! How terribly, terribly brave! And effective!)
You are the generation that bought more shoes and you get what you deserve.
Maybe it’s the bourbon talking, but I just figured out the shorter meme that insists the MSM (sic; oh God, how sic) is successfully holding back the most sophisticated army on Earth with a handful of disgruntled insurgents half a world away when it couldn’t manage to rig an election in its own backyard against an incumbent with staggeringly low approval ratings and a Washington Redskins team that lost the crucial pre-election home game, and this despite its best efforts in discrediting those lovely Swift Boat chaps:
How is it the people who show us the news always just happen to be where the news they show us happens?
Fighting evil.
I suppose it says—something—that just before the doubletake I was thinking, what, now they’re selling superhero costumes?
Because it is better to light a candle.
Thank you, Billie Miller. —Via Eschaton.
Sponge 1, kulturkampf 0.
I’m not a huge fan of the comments over at Kevin Drum’s place. I’m usually not that fond of the comments on high-traffic political sites: slapshot chuckles, me-too high-fives, the distressing propensity of entirely too many no matter their ostensible politics to get all chest-thumpy and dick-wavy—really, the sheer number of smoke-this-suck-that-stick-it-where-they-ain’t-no-lube I wade through sometimes makes me think that evolutionary psychologists aren’t all blowing smoke, and the serious business of government is nothing more than primate dominance dynamics with keyboards. —Political Animal isn’t so much with the sodomite-catamite power struggle, and his own personal trolls Al and Charlie saw their shadows a while ago, or something, and don’t come out from under their bridges so much these days, but the dreary Camazotzian drone of Tim Graham Kevin’s Konscience still ends up suffocating most threads with the tragic call-and-response that violates rule no. 1 of the internet everywhere.
Still, I’m glad I cruised through the remarks following Amy Sullivan’s recent post on Tinky Winky 2: Porifera Boogaloo. If I’d written it off, I’d’ve missed the wonderful Gospel according to NTodd:
Does that mean I can wear cotton/wool blend pants, and touch my wife during her period?
Yes. The sponge has set us free.
(Really, I’m shocked at the good Doctor Stickypants’ sadly slackening grasp of the Zeitgeist. Everybody knows Spongebob is all about the stoners.)
Extremism in defense of what, exactly?
But in the middle of all of this, I get a call from a mother in the East coast, Northeast, working class, lower middle class, very religious, Catholic family. She said, I have to talk to you. I go see her. I drive somewhere, fly somewhere, and her story is simply this. She had a daughter that was in the military police unit that was at Abu Ghraib. And the whole unit had come back in March, of— The sequence is: they get there in the fall of 2003. Their reported after doing their games in the January of 2004. In March she is sent home. Nothing is public yet. The daughter is sent home. The whole unit is sent home. She comes home a different person. She had been married. She was young. She went into the Reserves, I think it was the Army Reserves to get money, not for college or for—you know, these—some of these people worked as night clerks in pizza shops in West Virginia. This not—this is not very sophisticated. She came back and she left her husband. She just had been married before. She left her husband, moved out of the house, moved out of the city, moved out to another home, another apartment in another city and began working a different job. And moved away from everybody. Then over—as the spring went on, she would go every weekend, this daughter, and every weekend she would go to a tattoo shop and get large black tattoos put on her, over increasingly—over her body, the back, the arms, the legs, and her mother was frantic. What’s going on? Comes Abu Ghraib, and she reads the stories, and she sees it. And she says to her daughter, “Were you there?” She goes to the apartment. The daughter slams the door. The mother then goes—the daughter had come home—before she had gone to Iraq, the mother had given her a portable computer. One of the computers that had a DVD in it, with the idea being that when she was there, she could watch movies, you know, while she was overseas, sort of a—I hadn’t thought about it, a great idea. Turns out a lot of people do it. She had given her a portable computer, and when the kid came back she had returned it, one of the things, and the mother then said I went and looked at the computer. She knows—she doesn’t know about depression. She doesn’t know about Freud. She just said, I was just—I was just going to clean it up, she said. I had decided to use it again. She wouldn’t say anything more why she went to look at it after Abu Ghraib. She opened it up, and sure enough there was a file marked “Iraq”. She hit the button. Out came 100 photographs. They were photographs that became—one of them was published.
—Seymour Hersh, speaking at the Steven Wise Free Synagogue in December
via Sidelights
In which I take the words of an old friend woefully out of context.
Actually, I probably shouldn’t refer to Rob as an “old” friend. I’ve known him longer than almost anyone I know now outside of family, true; Phil’s the only one who beats him, and that’s only due to a chance encounter when I went up to Oberlin my senior year of high school as a prospective. (“Is that ‘Memories of Green’? I said, and he looked up from the piano and said, “Why, yes. Yes, it is.”) —Rob was (briefly) in my froshling Russian class, first semester, and I actually officially met him when I responded to an Infosys post about a neat-sounding PBM game. He sold me his position, which I never did anything with, and later on when he was shedding all his Heinlein books I bought his copy of Have Spacesuit, Will Travel. Not because I had an especial thing for Heinlein—as all liberal SF aficionados must, I’d shed him like an old coat, leaving only “The Menace from Earth” and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress behind, and Spacesuit, because the protagonist’s name is, um, Kip.
But that was all a long time ago, and while I dropped out and wandered off this way for a bit, he headed off yonder, and our paths have crossed only a couple of times since, in the occasional Seattle living room. And we can argue all night about whether you ever really change or just become more of who you always already were—I’m pomo enough to know that things look different from different points of view, and so while I might shrug and shake my head and say (with some little wistfulness) that he’s gone through the looking glass and over the edge off the deep end, he’d smile (I’d like to think he’d smile) and tell you I’d always had too much heart and not enough head, and what there was was woolly, at that. (Of course, by that standard, Giordano Bruno was postmodern. But I digress.) —The facts on the ground are this: he’s pretty much as right-wing and reactionary as you can get from my linchinography, he is by a long shot, and he’s only there because I knew him when, and he knows jokes that most of you don’t, and it was through him I met Elkins and Barry and Phil (again), and through them everybody else; without him, I wouldn’t be who I am today. A link on a blogroll is chickenfeed, next to that.
(Charles? Charles had the room under me, froshling year, and borrowed my copy of The Darkest Road, and he still swears Carl Muckenhoupt was the one who broke my slinky. So I would still have met Charles, and could have through him everyone else etc. But that’s not how it happened. So Rob gets the glory, and the blame.)
This is what Rob had to say, in another context, just recently:
You are certainly entitled to treat other people as you see fit.
The broad political grouping that I find myself a part of has adopted a different approach. We don’t all agree on everything, but we have agreed to support one another on the issues that we do agree on. And, as part of our compact, we each try our best to refrain from casting aspersions at one another—so I don’t call my bozo fundamentalist friends bozos, for example. It makes coalition building much more effective, as we’re able to reach out to groups with whom we have any common ground at all.
Other political groupings adopt a different strategy—one where ideological purity on a wide range of issues is required before there can be any cooperation, mutual respect, or basic courtesy. This prevents idiosyncrasy and heresy from infecting the loyal troops; you can’t be infected by the evil meme if you drive off the memebearers with vitriol.
So far, my side has taken control of the government, is setting the national and regional agenda on many-to-most of the items that are important to us, and is daily making huge inroads on the popular culture.
How’s your side doing?
Well, we aren’t trying to get Alberto Gonzalez in as Attorney General. That’s how we’re doing.
Leaving aside the stark fact any fule kno—that utilitarian arguments for torture crumble before its staggering uselessness as a means of generating trustworthy, actionable intelligence—there’s the craven, callow figure of a man Gonzalez presents, willing to bend any rule, write any memo, fill out any form that does what his boss wants done. Forget, for a moment, torture: Alberto Gonzalez, attorney, judge, Republican, insouciantly opined that the President could “set aside” whatever quaint laws got in his way—thereby setting aside almost 800 years of common law pretty much because a few bad apples might otherwise rough up the ride a little.
A woolly-headed socialist with anarcho-syndicalist leanings shouldn’t have to remind a libertarian what happens when you grant a government powers like that.
And maybe my “side” does demand a certain ideological purity, comparatively speaking; maybe doing so means we’ve pretty much lost on this one, and we’ll have Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez, and Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice, and the sick-making transposition of an “n” for a “q” in today’s Times will prove a harbinger, not a typo, and we’ll be talking about the horrible photos coming out of Evin in a couple of years. Maybe that’s not how it will happen. I don’t know. But whatever happens, however it happens, I’ll know I never valued liberty so lightly that I’d toss it out the window at the first sign of trouble. I’d know I still thought some ideals were worth a suicide pact. Torture is wrong; we should never, ever do it; anyone who ever tried to write it off as no big deal for whatever reason has no business as our Attorney General—and if my “side” fails to prevent that from coming to pass, well, that’s something we’ll have to live with, yes, but at least we’ll know where we stood, and for what.
And it says something cold and horrible that I even have to say these words, and take this stand. But anyway, that’s how we’re doing. Or what it looks like, from where I’m at.
X had been the editor of Upton Sinclair’s EPIC News, a political newsletter with a peak circulation of two million, and one of six men chosen by Sinclair to write a constitution for EPIC in 1935 as it set out to become a nationwide movement. Clearly this young man was no mere fellow traveler and certainly not “the moderate Democrat” he would claim to have been when he once referred to this otherwise deleted section of his curriculum vitæ. No, he was the genuine article, a ’30s radical leftist, and his name was Robert Heinlein.
—Thomas M. Disch, The Dreams Our Stuff is Made Of
Let’s say amen together.
The Mother of All Bombs, folks.
(Why are you still here?)
Sticky eyeballs.
Yeah, I know, I should lay off the AFA; low-hanging fruit, kulturkampf is a rationalization of assholery by other means, ignore the bully, strike them down and they will become more powerful than you could possibly imagine. But hey: they want you to write a letter to the FCC, telling them to stop cutting sweetheart deals with CBS, and that’s something we can all get behind, right? Anyway, here’s the pitch:
In November 2004, the FCC cut a backroom deal with CBS and its parent company Viacom.
In summary, Viacom agreed to donate a paltry $3.5 million to the FCC in exchange for dropping thousands of indecency complaints filed against it by taxpaying consumers.
Basically, the FCC cut a deal with CBS. What was the result? CBS immediately went back to their standard fare of lewd and indecency programs.
On December 31, 2004, CBS re-aired an episode of Without A Trace, complete with an extended teen-age orgy scene. The original broadcast of this episode had thousands of FCC complaints against it, which were tossed out in the November FCC/CBS “back-scratching” deal.
Click here to view the abominable Without A Trace scene for yourself! Be warned, it contains offensive and graphic scenes.
Because of these kinds of backdoor deals, the FCC continues to allow networks like CBS to flood the airwaves with indecency.
Do I need to tell you that the emphasis was in the original? —Way to drive the traffic there, Don.
Leather.
Apparently, that’s the traditional type of gift one gets and gives on the third anniversary. (The modern? Crystal, or glass. There’s a moral to be drawn, if you’re so inclined.)
I’ve been at this for three years now, which is roughly a twelfth of my existence, which doesn’t sound too bad, I guess, you put it that way.
Trying to move it all over to another server and use WordPress instead and prevent another round of galloping linkrot and maybe redesign the whole shooting match while I’m at it which means I’m trapped in an another round of why am I doing this again and what is it I’m doing, anyway, and wouldn’t I have more fun if I just committed to the shallow end of the cult stud game instead of trying to come off like a second-rate Rude Poor Man, except then I feel like I haven’t done the reading, which is usually why I fall back on coming off like a second-rate etc., and anyway shouldn’t I be doing more local politics? And culture? I could have sworn there was a resolution around here somewhere to that effect. Oh, and since the day job went back to what passes for normal, I’ve been trying to do more non-whateverthisis writing. Like City of Roses. Good God, has it really been that long?
Which would explain the relative silence hereabouts of late in part, I guess.
(No, it’s not pretty. It never is. Nor does it help to realize Barbellion said pretty much what I’m trying to say 102 years ago, or thereabouts.)
So.
Um.
Oh, head over here for some photos of our cats, and me in my new silly hat; “Hänger Långsamt I Luften,” “Raining Twilight Coast,” “Red Rain,” “Polchasa,” “Ask DNA,” “Caught Making Love,” “Dead,” “Letter to a John,” “Filipino Box Spring Hog,” “Pigeon Toes,” and let’s throw in the Nappy Roots / Mountain Goats mashup, since it’s fun; vote in the Koufax Awards, where I think I’m up for best writing, but also, I got nominated for a Perranoski for design, so vote there, too, I guess, and, um, I’ll be back. Browse the archives, or hit the blogroll, or, hell, you know how this works.
