NP: Arsenal v. Fulham (TV)

Superstition is not one of my strong suits. I try not to read too much into things that, really, have no business being read into. But this week I started playing Lotto, sort of out of desperation, and the notion that my luck has to change soon, so I might as well give it a chance to do so in emphatic and dramatic fashion.

So far, I've gotten three out of six numbers in two consecutive drawings, for six bucks returned on two spent. So that's nice. The disturbing thing is that, amidst reports that al Queda is planning something big, two of the three numbers in both drawings were 9 and 11. It's a coincidence, sure, but it's still pretty spooky.

While we're being largely inexplicable, I think I broke my big toe. The problem being, I have no earthly idea how it might have happened. None. At all. Sometime yesterday, it started hurting, and got steadily worse over the course of the evening, and not even several shots of good tequila had an appreciable effect. Before you ask, the pain started before the tequila, so it wasn't like I banged it into something in a drunken stupor. On the plus side, the injury kept me out of the Dance Dance Revolution marathon that dominated our little shindig last night. If you don't know what that is, you're probably better off.

The party seemed mostly a success. I'm not going to dwell on who came and who didn't, as that way lies madness. Some minor points of clarification are going to be in order, but that needed to happen anyway. It was good seeing most of the rest of the Lindsie band again, as we aren't really in any regular bands together anymore.