Oh! Hello. I was going to write all this a few hours ago, but it required electricity which we didn't have at that time. We got out the candles and prepared to live as our forebears did; one of the Old Songs had just begun to blossom on my lips. Honestly it might have been a cold sore. But the power came on shortly thereafter and we blew the candles out.
My mom and sis came over for Thanksgiving; it turns out one of our cards had a genuinely freaky amount of points on it so I guess BECU flew them over. One of mom's knees was beyond its service life, and needed to replaced with a chipped out knee like something from the old Cyberpunk 2020 Chromebooks - a bulky, ham sized clock of post-war Russian cyberware. There isn't any problem with the new one that we can tell, it's substantially better than her old knee, whose cartilage was… not. It was not cartilage, at least not anymore. Apparently when the ends of your bones rub together it hurts so much that the idea of a person cutting open your leg, sawing off the ends off the bones, and capping them with synthetic nubs becomes something you would consider.
Pokemon Trainer Gabe has returned, cloaked in darkness, ball at the ready. We cover it in this month's bonus Club PA strip and post, but Gabriel had purchased the new Pokemon game precisely because it was being raked over the coals for its performance and graphical issues, purchased it with what is legally speaking my money also, because his feeling was that we would extract big value from our ironical subversions of same. Except, whatever issues it might have, it's basically his favorite Pokemon game ever, now - God of War? God of Bore - as in, it's boring.