Hello. That was sudden. I apologize for any sudden waves of seasickness or decapitations due to standing up before the roller coaster came to a complete halt.

There will be no new tradition of randomosity, just a continuation of what went before but instead of there, here. (Christopher is chortling alarmingly behind me; JANE AUSTEN humor will do that.)

And Justine, I promise you'll come to love the new format. Change=necessary. I promise. Just think of those morning bells in San Miguel. Bliss. You'll have all three books written by the time we arrive.

So, we all know what the top story is, don't we? Bumped Bush and the queen right off the front page of everything but The Mirror. That's right. Jacko is Wacko! You, dear readers, knew this already. How we already long for the seemingly innocent dangling of a baby over a balcony, of the secret special tree, of the friendships with chimps and, more alarmingly, Brooke Shields. The most intriguing thing is probably the implication the Glove Monster had two other secret places, probably not inside the tree. This is what happens, when you have too much money and surround yourself with people who will take it and nod and say whatever you want them to. This is what happens when parents are too damn crazy themselves to question why a grown and freakish man wants their 12-year-old to sleep over with him, in the same room.

(Don't talk to me about the backlash against MJ criticism, the persecution defense. This man is a breathing (possibly) example of a great many things that are wrong with a Great Many Things. We must look, long and hard, and shake our heads.)

But I'm ranting, aren't I? A couple of interesting things from the Washington Post: Howard Kurtz's media column and their timeline with photographs. Glove Monster tirade gracefully exeunt.

From the "We don't know what's down there, but it's terrifying" File, No. 109, new whale discovery, and for good measure, even old fish in tanks are scary. (Go look at the photo on the second link and shiver your timbers.)

And, one last thing from the WP, a comical chronicle of Bush bumbling his way through the state dinner at Buckingham Palace. A moron, you chant? An idiot? Can you hear my voice all the way AROUND THE GLOBE?

And that's all, except to say thanks to those who follow Shaken and Stirred here, and to Kenny and Jenn for making me feel so welcome blogger seems like a Tool of the Machine.

There's more, like a rant about a good radio station shutting down, but let's not sully the night with that. Not when it was such a lovely evening. (Except for poor Rupert. Poor, poor Rupert. They make Jon cry next episode, which is the only reason I will watch it. I will feel no pity, even if they kill his children and stuff them inside a fish and make him eat it. Grrrr.)

Unsullied good night, wasn't that what I was saying?

earworm: "Black Girl," Snakefarm (Songs From My Funeral)

random rec: BOX OFFICE POISON, Alex Robinson

namecheck: Alan "blogroll" DeNiro