Perhaps the subject of this journal should narrow to the interactions between Boris and the possums? The frequency is increasing to the point where one could imagine it being quotidian. Last night's possum was released by Boris on my command, and outside this time, which was a pleasant change. Not before I heard some crunchy sounds. So off with the pooper scooper and back over the fence it went, since it was still breathing. Maybe the lot next door needs a good brushfire.

Also last night I was reading a book of short stories by Sherman Alexie. In one he has a character muse on a counter-terrorism tactic of offering suicide bombers seventy-three virgins now if they'll eschew the martryrdom they thing will bring them their seventy-two virgins in paradise. That led to wondering about the logistics, the finding and confirming of large numbers of virgins, wondering about other requirements (they'll need to be beaucoup patriotic) and do they need to be doe-eyed and melon-breasted?