I'm now reading over all my own opening sentences in a paranoid fit.
(Sudden weird metaphor: In your next story opener, instead of "Rocky Racoon", go for "A Hard Day's Night".)
In other news:
I'm waiting for my coworkers' verdict on Dollhouse. Last week they were all of the "it's Joss Whedon; of course we're watching the pilot" opinion. Let's see what they think this week. They're all ahoo over BSG and bored stiff by Heroes.
My list of obligations both fannish and real-life is piling up horribly. I have a story to beta-read (yes, I got it,
So. What should I do today? If you say "laundry", then I'll cry. If you say "open the week's mail and pay bills", I'll know you're Mr Pedia and respond by throwing a small dog at you.