Big night last night. Patchy internet and some mild cursing. My "Long live the Plantagenets" didn't find a natural home in any of the threads of conversation, which was frustrating. I was however able to remark that of the debaters Pindar if he were still alive would probably have written an ode to the very hansom, guitar playing O'Malley. The thread rapidly deteriorated, who knew that in some quarters Pindar was such a polarizing figure and then Lostinhades called me a fudge-packer. Clearly the moderator was overwhelmed by pizza, beer and popcorn because it took a good ten minutes for the thread to be exorcised.
Nor was erudition and learning the sole activity last night. Sometime in the
early hours The Artist called up the stairs to tell me she was bound for the
Emergency Room. There was some stumbling around, followed by some very poor
listening skills on my part and before I knew it there were headlights in the
driveway. It had something to do with an "Outbreak of Hives." One of the things
about the Emergency Room, is that I should never ever let The Artist go to the
Emergency Room by herself. It leaves me alone with a most unreasonable
imagination. By the time she returned I'd already prepared my answers to the
question from grieving friends and relatives "why didn't you go with her?"