Okay, so I was bored, and I did another of those ridiculous on-line quizzes that I swore I wouldn’t do anymore (and neither should you, so don’t look for a link).

This amused me though:

You’re hell’s librarian. You know more about the dark than anyone else, but you’re not really a part of it, it’s just a job to you, an opportunity to learn. Everything’s about the next life lesson; but if it’s a subject that doesn’t tickle your fancy, forget it, you’re stubborn with an iron will (you’d have to be). You’re smart *and* sexy!

How do they figure out so much from just asking you about your hair colour and the pet you’re the most likely to have? Unreal.

Oh, the image?

Ah, fantasy art. Never knew a pile of books could be so sexy, did you?

Sheesh.

December tenth? A release date of December tenth?

Howard Shore’s soundtrack for The Two Towers has been available for two days and I don’t have it yet?

Things are awry in the universe.

I must remedy them. This weekend sometime. Maybe.

Annika, Ceri and I went to the Salon des metiers d’art last night. Row upon row upon row of stuff: glass work, woolens, leatherwork, woodwork, candles, soaps, jewelry, sculpture, wall art, pottery. Nice vendors. Aggressive vendors. Shy vendors. It reminded me of the trade shows I’ve gone to, only more expensive.

It’s just too big. Annika and I burned out three-quarters of the way through and had to stop, fried and brain-dead. Ceri was still rarin’ to go.

I think it’s an age thing. Five and half years ago, I could game till four in the morning, and then get up and go to work for ten, and after work go downtown for a graduate class at night and not get home until quarter to midnight. Now, I’m regularly in bed at ten-thirty at night.

Poor Ceri. Out at the biggest, fanciest craft show in town, with two thirty-one year olds, artistically inclined and appreciative of the show in general, but betrayed by their decrepit bodies and need for sleep…