T-minus.

For what seems to be the hundredth time, I'm going to fall back on some half-assed observations, or whatever you choose to call them, instead of writing anything substantial. Not because I lack anything substantial to say, but rather that I've spent enough time today feeling venomous, and there's no need to cough it up again. So, here you are, readers, be you loyal or disloyal.

The new Slayer record, Christ Illusion, is something you should purchase inmediatamente. Easily the best thing they've done since Seasons in the Abyss (though Divine Intervention was admirable in its own way); as others have pointed out, Dave Lombardo's return means more than you might initially realize.

I'm actually looking forward to my birthday celebration, to the extent that I'm starting to think that Sunday, when said celebration goes down, is my real birthday, and not Monday. The only concerns I have are that I pace my drinking so I'm not already soused when folks start showing up, and that my birthday proper isn't spent on the couch, gagging on Sunday's cigarettes and flipping channels. And man, do I wish that some folks who can't make it could- Scott, Eric, Amanda, Bill, Kara, my folks (though they'd probably be unimpressed by their son's boozy idiocy), Tam, Pete, and many others.

Finally: since finishing His Dark Materials, nothing has really struck my fancy, reading-wise.

And with that, Smith out.