Double post! I have some updates to last pre-day rantings, which I just now pulled off of my Visor; I'm not being productive or especially giving today, just slightly more neurotic than usual.

In regards to that wagon (Wagon, yes! Stagecoach, no!) farce, I drove by on the way to do some banking of my own. I did not stop and gawk, even though the perfect parking spot presented itself; by the time I drove by around 3:30, a crowd of at least twenty tourists and photographers had already appeared. No Allison, though, from what I could see.
Also, these festivities were apparently where half the police force of Rapid City was gathered. Fuckers! About an hour ago, though, at about 2:30 am, about the same quantity of fuzz was accumulated in front of my house. Ambulances, too. Maybe this is one of those emergent properties of complex systems.

Next: in the post before last, I mentioned everyone's favorite bane on society, instant messenging. I also mentioned J______, whom I have never actually talked to online, and whom I have not seen in person for over a year. J______ remains on my contact list, however, solely because her profile is always filled with amusing and insightful comments. Apparently she's back in town, however, because a night or two ago, her tagline read, "I will trade my family for a case of beer and a loaf of sandwich bread." This got me to thinking, so note to self: perhaps trading a case of beer to one's family for a loaf of sandwich bread might be more beneficial for all parties involved.

That's about all for now. Oh, there is one thing--I had a nightmare the other night. The usual routine: being chased, struggling against fate and failing, missing pants. Always the missing pants. And lots of CHS, somehow; apparently, back in the 70's or so SDSM&T ran out of classroom space, so fourth and fifth floors were built onto the high school for some college classrooms, offices for the geology department, and a bowling alley. Pretty much everyone I went to high school with was there, nightmarishly enough, though Steinken was fronting a band in the basement, and I eventually found my pants in a chair next to one of the bowling lanes. Even curiouser, I wasn't the only one who was inexplicably pantsless, for once, so I wonder if it wasn't someone else's nightmare too.
But the last thing that happened--the very last thing I remember before the phone rang--was walking, terrified, into a showing of Star Wars: Episode II full of the scariest, most rabid Star Wars fans I've ever seen. Never before have I been so happy to talk to an accountant.

In closing, reflections on today's referrer logs:
I am not Joan. I know, I know; I wish I were Joan too. But I'm not, and you'll have to deal with it.
I finally got a search hit from someone looking for Benoit Mandelbrot holding a chicken, and I feel really good. I bought this space to provide random crap for Google to index, and Google is finally indexing it. Hooray! Here, have the lyrics to New Slang by the Shins. The alternate video for that song, included on the CD, is eerie as all hell, by the way. I won't share that, though, because I want you to buy the CD! Instead, I will cough up the completely unrelated video for DJ Shadow's You Can't Go Home Again. Please, for your own sake, enjoy.
The Morgan Webb World Domination League and Sewing Circle is already drawing much attention from avid Morgan Webb fans. There are avid Morgan Webb fans. She's on a cable show only available in about thirty million households worldwise. I... have yet to get it, so to speak.
WE HAVE NO JOSH GROBAN SLASH FAN FICTION! GO AWAY!