Apparently the recruitment for Jubb's b-day get-together has begun in earnest. Barring some family thing I don't know about, I'm in. It's been far too long since my last Jubb party.

(It's really too bad that the ensuing ban on live bands in dormrooms after the 2005 "What's a Jubb?" party wasn't named Jubb's Law. In my heart that's what it's called.)

Plans to see the 3-D Beowulf fell through on Wednesday — as someone who was in it for the spectacle rather than the film, I have to cop to being a bit relieved. Instead we watched ANTM as usual; too bad about Heather, but she should have been gone last week anyways. I guess I'm rooting for Chantal now, as she seems to be the only remaining girl who isn't a jerk.

Worth emphasizing: now that I no longer believe in an afterlife, I find jerks far more irritating. Hell is stupid, binary, but the implicit promise of Purgatory is that your wrongs can be tallied up and a proper fine will be assessed. In actuality, however, jerks will never have to balance their ledgers. So there's no reason to cut them any slack now.

Meanwhile, that crazy puppet lady on Project Runway is growing on me. Hurrah for Bravo and its near-foolproof formula for talent-based reality shows.

That's more than enough about Wednesday, I know, but I haven't done much else. As I'd hoped, it's been a quiet week.