If I have to stand there and wait while some slackjawed troglodyte (after just approaching me to help him find a book), with an obvious addiction to 'working out' rooted deeply in either vanity or insecurity, proceeds to talk on his thrice damned cell-phone FOR FIVE MINUTES with some poor soul that he's trying to con into letting him be his personal trainer, I think I might just have a brain aneurysm. In my brain.

Jack is still good. Getting fatter. He's regularly laughing and vocalizing. We call it talking. But it's not really talking. But he's definitely saying SOMETHING.

Want to see something really cool? Here's a comet, a thunderstorm, the beach, a sunset and fireworks, all in one shot. Well, I say one shot. I think it was digitally altered. But it's still cool.