I'm looking forward to the day when people call upon the name of Saint Cope.
Terror* runs free in central Ohio.
At the sprawling palatial estate of my benevolent employer today we observed the time-honored tradition of giving white elephant gifts (hence my top-notch two-fold gift to my editor) and in a sign that the Sweet Baby Jesus likes me, I benefited from my gift-giver's lack of knowledge as to the definition of "white elephant." She is something of a music aficionado and therefore handed down seven CDs that had been sent to her to listen to.
Because I have a personality defect that makes it sound like I'm being sarcastic when I am, in fact, being enthusiastic, I don't think I properly conveyed to her what a great gift this is. I used to be music director for a college radio station and I have more CDs at home than I have shelves to put them in. I've always dreamed of being John Peel. So giving me seven CDs from artists that I've never heard (well, actually, I've heard of Beth Gibbons) is the rockingest gift I can think of.
*Assuming you are terrified by cows.