. . . to public blogging, a big thanks to the generous and talented Ysabeau Wilce for trusting me not to screw up her soapbox too badly while she's away conferring, conversing, and otherwise hobnobbing with her fellow wizards in Alta Califa. As the temperature plummets by the minute here in fickle NYC, with snow on the horizon for tonight, and neither cocktails nor golf in my immediate future, it's comforting somehow to think of Ysa and Pig sipping Sidecars at Bix while whispering doubletalk in Barbarick.
I'll try to have more of interest to post tomorrow, but I do believe in closing on an uplifting note. Every so often a story comes along that makes one proud to be an American, the kind of story that renews one's faith in good old American ingenuity and inventiveness. As long as this country is capable of producing men like John W. Cornwell, I have no fears for its future. Sieur Cornwell, I salute you -- huzzah!