I was going to write a long post about Happy Feet, the ways in which it's subversive, the ways in which it may or may not recapitulate a short essay I wrote this summer about the problems involved in Reverend Billy's expropriation of the black church, and about revolutions in which dance is not only permitted but the central tactic of direct action, something Emma Goldman, or at least as she is always invoked to have said something she may never have actually said, might approve. But I'm not going to write it, because I'm swamped, I'm stressed, and I need to eat something and get back to work. If I do see something somewhere and I want to blog about it, I probably will, but be forewarned that posting may be slim for a while. (Although it's been slimmer in general this year than it has in its past two years of existence, and it was only around for two thirds of 2004, so that's saying something.)