I think we began on regency novels, progressed to discussing the apocalypse, abused the manners of the age (of school children especially) and concluded by talking about actors, specifically the unnecessarily and unrealistically handsome young men who are cast in American movies, including Fritz in Swiss Family Robinson, and Gilbert in Anne of Green Gables. (Yes, he was Canadian; it was late and we did not put too fine a point on national differences unsupported by vast amounts of salt water.) The conversation degenerated to the point where someone, discussing Michael Landon, was inspired to utter the phrase "Little Hunk on the Prairie."
Well? Really. Pa had a beard. Michael Landon had a jaw. Pa was a big man. Michale Landon wore risers. 'Nuff said.
After that we became more serious, and talked about the sad fates of Haley Mills and Judy Garland, and how Deanna Durbin escaped Hollywood.
I made it to bed c. 12:15. My head had hardly been on the pillow five minutes when my phone rang. Fuming at my technological incompetence (Did I really set the alarm for 12:20?! Could I be so stupid?!!) I picked it up. It was not the alarm at all; it was a real human bean, as they say in Cricket.
It was Brother #1. Brother #1 was calling to tell ... because he knew it would make me squeal like a teenager ... that several sources had leaked the news ... that Romney had picked ... The Man Paul Ryan to be his V.P.
It was pretty dark, and my roommates were probably sleeping; but know I yelped and I think I saw lights and gold and maybe a few angels. I definitely heard this:
The apocalypse may still be coming, but at least central casting finally found someone fit for fighting the orcs.