OK, quick update on me:

Nighthawk had his annual check-for-thyroid-cancer low-iodine-diet dance all last week, so things were craziness. Lots of driving to and from Philly hospital appointments, baking, and cooking and… well… do you know anyone who needs a couple of pints of nuts and dried fruit?

Liable to make some scary scary fruitcake.

Anyway, the radiation scans came back normal so we might be out of the torture business (at least using the radioactive iodine testing method) for a damned long time, which makes me happy.

This week I work like crazy, or try to. Monday was all about catching up on everything that had happened while I was out half of last week, and today was an all-day seminar by Edward Tufte. The seminar might result in yet-another-redesign for the comic here, but not tonight. Besides, I’m pretty sure I need to write a plugin before I give that a good honest run.

This evening has been about Inbox Zero, which I’m not likely to succeed at because there are 327 messages on the cystic fibrosis support group account that I want to read to keep track of what the hell the federal government is doing with this whole healthcare thing.

Saturday we leave for vacation down in Virginia Beach. Faithful ideaphile basschica (and incredibly awesome sister) will be here watching the terror twins, and I will go worship Neptune until Nighthawk drags me kicking and screaming back into the car. This is also known as Thursday.

Update done. Now for the weird shit:

Via @chris71williams, a Shawn Tan short story on The Guardian.

Via Neil Gaiman, well, see for yourself.

The battle in Chez Gibson rages on about whether it’s better or worse than Leonard Nimoy’s Bilbo Baggins, which appears to have disappeared off the ‘net again. Damn. Anyway, it’s a sticky little tune.

That’s all for now….