Yet another right winger caught soliciting for gay sex: Larry Craig of Idaho.

My god, people. The future’s so bright, I gotta wear schadenfreude.

But I simply don’t get it. Is every Republican gay? Are they the counters to anyone who thought being gay brought with it inevitable fabulousness?

It’s just so very strange.

I feel like I’m living in a movie. A bad movie. With subtitles. Because bad dialogue is so much worse when you have to read it.

People keep offering you money.

Apparently, I complain too much.

Apparently, I would make an excellent panhandler!

So a new week starts, and it’s just as bad as the last one.

If anyone wants to try out a new undetectable poison, I’m your volunteer.

Steve’s doctor wants to put him on Byetta, a diabetes drug.

Steve’s insurance company won’t pay for it.

Steve’s wife is having a really bad week.

She’s a stripy, squeaky terror!

She feels much better, and is therefore taking it out on all the other cats. Not maliciously, mind you, but with a sort of body-slamming glee that only a quadruped can manage.

I swear, that cat grins at me.

And now that I think about it, her resemblance to a certain cat of Cheshire isn’t just superficial.

Like I’m going to pop out of a wardrobe after being gone for a long time, shouting “I’m back! I’m back!” only to discover that no one missed me.

We went out to look at the Perseids last night and… didn’t see much.

About a dozen in total over about an hour. The fog was as thick as peanut butter, says my internalized Yukon Cornelius.

The sky would be so much easier to look at if it weren’t so high.

Check out la fovea. The editors invite poets to submit work, then those poets invite poets who invite poets.

Neat.

The eyeball pictures freak me out, but that’s fairly easy to do.

Steve and I saw “Order of the Phoenix” last night for the second time. The first time was before book 7 came out.

The movie seems very different to me now that I know how the whole story ends. Better. Sadder.

Some of the film’s choices won’t be perfect for future films, but that was a crapshoot anyway.

I’m feeling very melancholy about the whole thing. I think I need something to obsess over.

Dickens has been diagnosed with asthma. From what I can tell, asthma is hard to diagnose, being rather what’s left after other things are ruled out.

I have a whole pamphlet on feline asthma, now.

I’m hoping the biggest expenditures are over. If not, lock your doors lest we sell our house and move in with you.