I burned the stuffing. B spent all day making it and piled it up in two pans under tin-foil on the stove, to be heated at Rich and Martha's house when we got there. I turned on a burner to make myself some tea (I've had a sore throat and cough since the night I spent in Boulder Creek - I think it's a phony cold, really just an extended allergic reaction to dog and cat dander) and was trying to deal with the fact that Internic had surprisingly acted quickly and switched the ezone.org domain to our new host, with nothing yet up on the new volume. Although it was Thanksgiving morning, we were still getting hits and sending out error messages. I put up a dummy page, with a link to the old host and the news that we were moving, but that wasn't going to help with specific links to pages at the site. That's when I smelled something burning.

Honestly, I should have moved the pans off the damn stove anyway, but worst of all I had committed the perennial error on our fucking electric stove and accidentally turned on the wrong burner. (No flame to tell you so immediately!) Briggs had to salvage it, but the burned smell still lingers and I had done irreparable damage to both of our moods. (Like the nightmarish family cliché lampooned on the Simpsons a few years back: "Are you happy now, Christian? You've ruined Thanksgiving!")