Today is Spyder's birthday. She's twenty today, for those keeping track; well-wishers should go on over to her blog and give appropriate encouragement on having graduated from brooding and angsty teen to brooding and angsty youth, or something. Anyway, happy birthday, meu amiga, and here's hoping you get lots of whatever you want.
Today is also the birthday of gentleman diarist Samuel Pepys, who enthusiastically chronicled the major events of his day such as the Great Fire of 1666 as well as his own perambulations and shagging of servants and such, making him sort of the granddaddy of blogging. (I note that he's buried in St. Olave's, presumably the same place where Current 93 and Antony and the Johnsons performed a couple of years ago, which is quite enough connect-the-weirdness for me on the 23rd of the month.) There are no reliable sources on his relation to the marshmallow candy that bears his name, though.
In any case, if you want to celebrate 364 years of angsty personal diaries, or two decades of Spyder, today's the day.
EDIT to add: Jesus, Eris and Crowley, did anyone else notice the time this posted? I did NOT do that on purpose, I swear.