Apparently this story has been making the rounds of the Blogosphere, so I figured I'd join the rising tide. Pretty freaky stuff...it's almost enough to make me *gasp* xenophobic. As if we weren't already, whether or not we admit it. If Swedes had hijacked the planes that hit the WTC, I'd be suspicious of tall blond men named Sven who got on a one-way flight to New York.
For some other, better, news, I have pictures here from our summer party back in June. There's a picture of me playing the guitar in there somewhere. Actually, playing is too kind a word. It's the perogative of the subject of the photo to hate it, and I see this picture and think God, I look horrible. I had been jamming with my brother Jamie and his fiddle player Rollin, and to tell the truth I was terribly lost. I couldn't tell what chords they were playing and at one point I stopped strumming and watched my brother to try to figure out what the fark he was playing. Which is when my dad decided to take the picture. So just to confirm the scattered ramblings you've seen on this blog for almost a year now (geez, that long) you have this lovely picture of me.
Enjoy the rest of them--the pictures of my niece Geneva are quite adorable. Aren't I a lucky uncle? (For the first time in my life, I feel like one--the age difference between us is enough that I actually make an effective uncle. So naturally I dote on her.)