Poor John Harmon.

He needs to formulate a Cunning Plan.

From the Department of Massive Understatement

"The Blitz makes me nervous."

--Emma (she's not the only roommate I have who makes blogworthy comments-- she's just dominated that catagory recently.)

You know what would make election week more fun?

If, after all the results were in, everyone got invited to Washington to a feast, in which we acclaimed the president-elect as our lawful chief, and were fed on roast venison and frothy tankards of mead. That'd be pretty sweet.

Emma's interpretation of

what's going through Eugene Wrayburn's head when he first sees Lizzie Hexam:

"Hey! You're cute, and surprisingly clean for your station in life."

Emma, while ordering tea catalogues:

"Twinings is too exciting for _words_!"

So I came home, and

Emma had some troubling news for me.

Apparently Lord Peter Wimsey has figured out how to get himself up on top of our fridge.

I guess it makes a little more sense if you know he's a cat.

A little bit shameful

I've joined Facebook. Not very hortus conclusus, is it, this blogosphere?