The essays are done and the guitar has been played (badly). The thermostat is still too high and there is still nothing I can do about it. I'm going to try to avoid doing anything at all for the rest of the week that isn't "have fun." But I'm sure to fail at that because, well, the world isn't exactly sunshine and roses 24/7.

Anyway, the one person who reads this blog wants some sort of content. Bugger.

Oooh, I know. I'm rereading Ender's Game, a novel that I picked up back when I was in maybe 8th grade because someone said it was about kids playing games in space. Nothing about the rampant swearing or the naked shower fight, intriguingly. And one thing I wind up asking myself, because I'm an ends-justify-the-means kind of guy, is "Would you do all that to Ender if you were Graff?"

I mean, think about it. Rip a 6-year-old away from his family and make the kid's life a living hell for several years in order to save the entire planet from aliens that are actually just waiting to be killed. Give the kid a planet-killing weapon and pretend it's all just a game. This is how psychopaths are made, not victorious leaders. And would you also let the decidedly psychopathic older brother of your genius run around on Earth collating power?

Hey, it was either that or get eaten by aliens/invaded by Russia.

It's been ten minutes and nothing's exploded. I'm out of here.