It feels like it’s been a month since the temperature rose above 45 degrees, though it hasn’t been quite a week yet. But I’m thoroughly sick of it. Sick of living in Little WisconTex, with the temp falling into the 20s every night.
Thanks to help from my IT guru, aka The Fat Guy, at least the Scribbler finally has a home that’s not vulnerable to Yahoo!: what you see here is it, the good Lord willin’ and the creeks don’t rise—if they did they’d just freeze over anyhow.
We’ve transferred all the posts, comments, and media back to infinity and beyond (actually 2006) from Ye Olde Scribbler, so, as Darkwater wanted, the Rule 5 catalogue (among others) should be intact.
As for Ye Olde, she hasn’t been scuttled over the Mariana Trench yet, but that’s coming. So if you’re feeling sentimental, go say goodbye. And if you could bring us some proper, early December, 70-degree weather, I’d be forever grateful.