Lab. Much with the cussing. Managed to figure out the matter of permissions on the thingy, which was causing much ill to the other thingy. (thingy the first: userfile, thingy the second, viewing the web pages protected and viewable only by being the user named in said userfile.) (Page being viewed said this: "This page is secret. This page is protected from the terrible secret of space." Sadly, only I got it.)
Mr. President wants to go to the Devonshire Faire. He is contemplating selling his services as an escort. He leered at me and had me feel his pecs. He has no phone. I should lend him mine.
COBOL lecture. McGuirk is back. (*sigh*)
After that, DeVry had its Thanksgiving thing. Ate with my group from Server Admin, minus Irving, who had to leave.
Hung about school and teased my EET gayboy (who is Mr. Pres's roommate) by sharing the Terrible Secret of Skippy, and also Hank's Ass, with him. Little to no progress on novel.
Picked up the "viable food source" and came home. He did homework; I tried to call Darkside. (No answer.) We chilled, and eventually went to writing night. Then we came home, and he got himself packed off to bed. Amazingly, no fuss. Even though it was too late for him to read me his school book, I read him This House is Made of Mud. (A copy was given to all school kids, evidently.)
The rest of the family came home.