And when he called me Ethel, I just called him Beatrice back

My computer remains on this side of the wall; i.e., it crashed fewer times today than yesterday. I'm still wary. Much thanks for movingfinger for all sorts of advice, some of which I am hoping never to need to act upon.

In similar vein, nineweaving has kindly provided me with a source of much new musical crack; current piece included. To my admittedly sleep-deprived brain, it sounds rather like what might happen if a 1930's big band crashed into a film noir soundtrack got tangled up in a Morris dance and the whole thing went out for piracy afterward. (Possibly with those drinks with little umbrellas in them.) And it won't get out of my head. I tried playing some Silverwheel and Demon Barbers to make it go away. No luck. Is this what is referred to, in learned circles, as an earworm?

I'm too tired even to answer a meme. This is a sad statement. It's pomegranate tea and bed for me.