Have just read Pitts on why he thinks he might be "disappeared," and I think he's right. Ominously, I went back to my yahoo mailbox, and found Pitts' last editorial missing. Just gone. Who cares that much? Found it again. Perhaps I am a tad paranoid. 'Tanyrate, this is the 4th of October; tomorrow will be the 215th anniversary of my own particular favourite panic point: hauling the baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's kid back to Paris. The important, horrifying thing was the ruthless, efficient massacre of the Swiss guard--and the fact that nobody much noticed it. So, Varennes it is, and soon.

I gave a sample packet of Gerald's drawings to Lucille who runs the little art gallery downstairs a couple of days ago; when I stopped in a few minutes ago to see what she thought of them, she was raving about them. She's going to mount a selection of them and exhibit them in the front window of her shop, starting Friday. She told me to tell Gerald to come to look at them, but not to introduce himself. She wants him to be her "anonymous genius." She thinks even that his stuff will sell. Like me, she thinks he's Picasso, or better than Picasso.

And now, or soon, to bed. Plan A, very simple, is to have Phil send me a planeticket that I'll pick up in Canada. If I encounter any hitches, glitches or threats, I'll revert to Plan B, which likely would be more fun anyway, and ride with the chickens and goats in the other direction. Whichever way: Out.