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No-boil lasagne is VILE.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon. Todd is in a hotel, halfway between the Ozarks and the Southwest.

Todd I’m choking down my second cup of Cup O’ Flavor coffee. I can’t get them for false advertising, since there is a distinctive flavor.

Sage Think of it as the coffee version of grape flavoring.

Todd If it resembled coffee at all I could. I think of it as chewing Nodoz, and about as pleasant.

Sage Ew. Try iced tea at the Quickie Mart. You know, like Lipton iced tea.

Todd Really, I’m doing okay. It’s partly the social addiction - a hot cup of “coffee” in the morning is what I do.

Sage You sound like an ad for Cup O’ Flavor coffee. “I have to drink it…it’s what I DO.”

I’ve read one biography of Queen Victoria, and I’m halfway through a second, because I had the impression that she was an uptight, cold, unfeeling woman who nonetheless ruled the country brilliantly and I was curious about the details.

Victoria is portrayed as a stupid and unpleasant, dependant on her husband and idolizing him to the point of absurdity - to the point where you start to wonder if she’s being sarcastic. However, even if both biographers bought into the ideals of their day (late 60s, early 70s), believing that women are inferior to men, that a woman could not possibly rule alone, that women are flighty and silly, you can’t ignore Victoria’s own words, which are sprinkled liberally throughout both books. From age ten on, she wrote in her journal every single day of her life. Uptight? Cold? Unfeeling? Not so much. (Okay, she kind of hated her kids, but otherwise…) In fact, were I to write about the events of the past day using Victoria’s voice, you would see something like the following:

Woke up before the sun had risen above the horizon. After drinking a cup of apple juice to help with my ongoing malady, I sat reading the letters I’d received as I slept. Soon, dear T. alighted from his bed and we discussed his upcoming journey to the Southwest. He assured me that he would be back within a fortnight, but I dissolved in floods of tears at the thought of being away from my darling for such a long time! He promised to write a letter as soon as he arrived at the halfway point between the palace and his destination.

The Boy woke, demanding food and attention. I gave dear, dear T. a wistful smile and promised with my eyes to continue our conversation in a letter. T. made breakfast for The Boy while I cleaned the cat’s box and sighed sadly for the journey my love would soon take. How can I be happy alone? I can only console myself with the thought that we will all soon live together again, in the great country of Canada.

After eating a hearty breakfast himself, T. packed up the rest of his dear belongings and gave The Boy a hug, then held me for a too-short time and set off. I spent the morning teaching The Boy arithmetic, then we both sank into a sad malaise and were unable to gather the strength to do more than sit and frown unhappily.

Mother, who is much better after the terrible influenza virus, came for a short visit. I spent my time reading voraciously while she and The Boy played in the nursery. After she had gone, I took The Boy to the local market where we looked in vain for fake beef. It was too vexing! Afterwards, we walked to the moving picture show and found to my great glee that a moving picture suitable for children was just beginning. On the spur of the moment we decided to go inside and watch it from beginning to end.

When we arrived home, we found that my beautiful Prince Consort had arrived at a hotel and he helped The Boy practice his typing skills by speaking to him via basic text. He is such an amazing father. All other fathers should construct an alter to him and pray upon it before they interact with their children.

Soon The Boy and I were too tired to continue, and after I read to him, we both fell asleep, exhausted.

Only seventeen days until my sweetest love is here again!

See? I mean, the woman ran a whole fucking country, and she never did stop sounding like a starstruck seventh grader in her journal. I feel completely disillusioned. I’m going to have to go read about Elizabeth I to get the bad taste out of my mouth.

Also in 2003: Mary Poppins is diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.

We join the backgammon match already in progress…