Annie, a friend of mine from the Art Department, and her husband are trying to get pregnant. She'll find out on Valentine's Day if they were successful this time 'round. If they are, she plans to send him a card that says:

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Somebody knocked me up,
so I guess it was you.


When I learn new facts, I share them with Bonnie. Since she's asleep, I will share this new fact with you:

Right now, it is 10 degrees in Boone. According to accuweather.com, the wind makes it feel like -18 degrees. I don't know how to make the degree sign in html.


Every boy wants to be a tender warrior when he grows up, especially Coy, Jonathan Drake, and Dickson. I emphasize tender.

I know I've seen it before, but it just never gets old. I want to say, "Oh, this is my favorite part" or "Oh, that's my favorite part." But really, it's all my favorite part.

Go see it for yourself at Dickson's blog. Scroll down to "Fight Club, Nyala, South Darfur Style."


Alright, Dickson. Here's a peak into my surreal personality.

This week, this very week, the H88 household welcomed a new member: NEUTRAFACE and NEUTRAFACE CONDENSED! After 3 long, long years, it finally resides in my computer. The bestest, most wonderful, most beautiful font ever. It's all there. Light. Light Alternate. Drafting. Display. Book. And more.

Hmm, what else . . .

After falling, open, five feet off a weaving loom, tumbling, open, off my bed in the middle of the night more times that I can count, crashing, open, off numerous surfaces due to the curiosity of Lucy, careening, open, off the coffee table after I've tripped over it's cord, all those computer drops have finally taken a toll on the ole' PowerBook. Loose connections in the screen are causing kernel panics, so I have to very carefully move it when it's on. It looks like yet another trip to the Apple store is in the future.

Thinking . . .

I now have a legitimate web presence: www.kate-reece.com. It's primarily for class, so it rough. Ruff, ruff. Suggestions are welcome. Right now I'm working on an homage site for A.M. Cassandre, and I'm totally stuck. The teacher for that class makes me feel like crying every Tuesday and Thursday.

What else . . .

Oh, that photo teacher and I are getting along great because I am in the very same class again! I think that makes my fourth repeated class in the art department. I asked God to show me what to do after graduation next December and his answer was . . . "You aren't graduating!" What ever happened to that "immeasurably more that you could ask or imagine business"?