Omnia mutantur, Neil interit

It's Neil Gaiman's birthday today. Happy 44th, dream-weaver; Murphy watch over you, and many happy returns.

I can think of no better way to mark this than to renew my overlong-expired membership to the CBLDF - which you should join, too, if you haven't already. Now more than ever, defenders of free speech are going to need all the help they can get, so get a membership, donate, buy some of their swag. They're seasoned champions in the war against fuckwittage, and we need them, and they need the support of Readers Like You. (And, dude, they have Barry Ween stuff. How goddamn cool is that?) As they used to say in the funnybooks: 'nuff said.

My own writing isn't quite going like gangbusters so far this week; I'm at an even-keeled 15,652 words, which isn't where I'd like to be but is respectable enough. NaNoFounder Chris Baty recommends a hearty breakfast, so maybe that'll make the difference tonight. In any case, a day that starts with a bacon, egg and cheese bagel (no doubt my first of many violations of Leviticus before bedtime) can only be so bad.