Archive for February, 2010

Are We Snowed In?

February 26, 2010

I really don’t know yet. I wrote this last night, in anticipation of having to be outside shoveling this morning. So, if I haven’t amended this blog with any snow totals or anything by the time you read this, you can figure I’m cleaning out my driveway.

But, it never fails with these storms. It began snowing here about 6 or 7 yesterday morning and since the forecast was so dire, Ariel, who had the foresight to bring work home with him just in case, ended up staying home. His ride one way to his job is, on a good day, about an hour so you could imagine what he’d be up against with this impending storm. So, we worked side by side all day long watching the snow whip around through the office window amounting to absolutely nothing. In fact, the driveway went through phases of being dusted with snow and clear asphalt. Ho hum, right?

We kept track on TV; one report said up to 6″. The next report said 10-12″ One report even said 12-24″ I’m not making that up. Then, the snow stopped and all we had was about a half inch. The wind finally picked up, as it was supposed to do while we watched American Idol and afterwards I turned on the weather channel and they were saying between last night and by the time it stops today we should have 7″

So, like I said, unless we’re tunneling our way to civilization I’ll have time to amend this post.

But it figures, I’m supposed to be having my mother and Sue over for dinner tonight, but that’s weather permitting now. And Ariel and I had plans to go visit a friend down the shore on Saturday, but that will probably go off without a hitch. But one thing the weather won’t stop us from is our weekly weigh-ins tomorrow, and I’m feeling good that I might have dropped some more.

And click in below to see how the nutty newts did on their first official vote-off.

It’s just about 7:30 Friday morning. I’ve been awake since my usual time, 4:45 (I know…. don’t ask!) and finally crawled out of bed by 6. It’s snowing and blowing but it doesn’t look to be as catastrophic as the radio would otherwise have us believe.  I’d say, here on my lawn, there are approximately 4″ of snow, with some spots obviously looking higher with drifts (big deal…another 2″). But snow has been blown to my window sills and lower portion of my windows are aproned with snow. I think I saw two flakes that looked alike, but it was my reflection in the glass. Well, needless to say, Ariel will be home again today so there’s no need to dash out to clean the driveway. We can do that later.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Hello Snowflake

February 25, 2010

Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been? I’ve been at the airport, under the machine… So, Newark Airport had another security mishap at around 6:30 Tuesday morning, during a busy rush hour security check, causing a woman and her young daughter to miss their flight to Florida and other passengers were directed to another X-ray machine to complete their security screenings. Here’s what happened: the Florida-bound woman and her daughter were traveling with their cat, who I’m going to name Snowflake because it’s a cute name for a kitty. When the cat, sorry, the 25 pound cat (?) was removed from it’s carrier so it could go through the X-ray machine, Snowflake freaked and made a mad dash for safety, right underneath the console of the 2,000 lb CTX machine underneath 4″ of space. Officers tried reaching for it from underneath, but Snowflake was too smart for them and squirmed out of their reach. So, the only thing left to do was to bring in the heavy artillery, a hydraulic spreader to lift one end of the machine to free the cat. The woman was thankful, but stressed out and planned to return yesterday for another attempt at her trip. A 25 pound cat? My beagle weighed 25 lbs. How about a cat measurer, like they have for carry on luggage: if your cat’s too fat he can’t go on the plane. Or at least maybe a leash on the animal next time, huh? There are enough things to keep an eye on that slip by during security screening than to worry about a…25 pound cat?

Speaking of snowflakes–and I bring this up because it’s the  perfect tie-in to the pending 12″ we’re supposed to be getting between today and tomorrow–is it true that no two snowflakes are alike?   I’m old school and it was part of my learning ever since I was a kid. It just comes naturally to say that no two are alike. It kind of keeps a little sense of magic alive in an otherwise jaded existence these days. So many factors go into making a single snowflake; air temperature and humidity levels. There are 14 stages of snowflake formation and if you want to see them, you can click here. Simply put, each individual flake is made up of about 180 billion water molecules and even in the improbability of two looking alike, their molecular structure would be different. But then there’s the side of argument that offers that the amount of snowflakes that have fallen since time began is estimated to be (a very large number) 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 per year, globally. Multiply that by the all the times it was ever cold enough to snow and the answer, according to this article is that it’s virtually impossible that no two snowflakes have ever looked alike. I’ve never conducted my own experiements–okay, once, but they kept on melting–so I really can’t say. I’m going with no, that they’re all different. I’m keeping the magic.

It’s kind of like pondering how many people in the world yawned this very second (not counting you, even after reading today’s blog), and to that end, how many people in the world are wondering that very same thing at the same time.

And now let’s see how many people are reading the newts opinions on last night’s Boys’ Night on American Idol.

Caution: Life Happening

February 24, 2010

First there was coffee that burns laps when spilled while clenching a paper cup between ones thighs while driving. She should have been drinking my coffee. I swear, I can’t keep it hot long enough to get from my kitchen to my office. Then we had a quick jab at M&M’s because a man chipped a tooth on one. And of course the bonanza of warnings against runny eggs; one week they could kill you, the next they were as safe as water, that is, unless they found something in the water and you had to boil it. But then if you boiled it you couldn’t let your kids near the stove because, God forbid, you should turn your back on the stove for an instant and the kid puts his had on the hot burner. Then it’s a trip to the emergency room and DYFS is called in to haul you-the abusive parent-off to jail while your adoring child gets shipped off with some foster family, who, as it turns out, has a history of pedophilia who got rich from the book deal they had about how they were misunderstood and mistreated by their neighbors and because of privacy laws, you couldn’t  even have known that  they lived next door in the first place. All this because no one parent can keep an eye on a child 100% of the time. In my day, getting burned on the stove was a lesson not to do that again. I also used to ride my bike without a helmet and I turned out alright. I also had parents and family members who didn’t need to take breaks and would watch when I would misbehave and correct me. I’m still alive to talk about it. Fancy that!

Oh, the scenario could go on for days. But now you can add yet another hazzard to every day living–the hot dog. I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, high on the American Academy of Pediatrics’ wishlist is to have choking hazzard labels on packages of hot dogs. Better yet, they’d like to see the weiner redesigned; size, shape, and texture so they won’t get lodged in a baby’s throat. Well, first of all, knowing what goes into a hot dog (or rather, in this case, ignorance is bliss) why would a parent be feeding a hot dog to a baby? But that’s not the point. If the kid just has to have a hot dog, how about a homemade redesign in the kitchen, using a knife and fork? And let us oldsters, who really should know better anyway, but who have mastered the art of chewing, continue to enjoy this grand old American tradition. I like mine with mustard (yellow–it has to be yellow, otherwise it’s not a hot dog), ketchup and relish.

Other  foods that are of similar concern are grapes, bananas, and carrots. Bananas? Don’t they just mush in your mouth? Grapes? How can they be redesigned? Grown larger like an apple? And come on, how many times has anybody gotten overzealous biting into a red delicious and got a piece lodged in their throat? Now we have redesign the apple. Did water ever go down the wrong pipe and make you cough? Has anybody ever blinked their eyes? Think people, we have to find a way to stop blinking.

Well, one bright spot in the article I’m reading about this hellishly dangerous hot dog is Janet Riley’s, president of the National Hot Dog & Sausage Council (didn’t know there was such a thing) take on this issue. She notes that over half the packages of hot dogs sold already have choking prevention tips on their packages but also says, “As a mother who has fed toddlers cylindrical foods…I would ‘redesign’ them with a paring knife until my children were old enough to manage on their own”.

The biggest concern over hot dogs really should be why they are packed in 10’s and hot dog buns are sold in packages of 8. That’s the real hazzard. And who can enjoy a hot dog on a slice of bread? I always refused and was sent out of the kitchen and got told to back away from the TV, I was sitting too close. And then….oh the list goes on and on.

Enough of all that, go see how the newts judged last night’s cavalcade.

Loud Whispers

February 23, 2010

I forgot to tell you how I made out at my doctor’s appointment on Friday. After I handed over my co-pay, I sat in the waiting room to see the recap of Tiger Woods’ apology on whichever news channel they had on. I think the time has come for all these public apologies to come to an end. Every time a public figure has an indiscretion–well, first of all, we all have to have it shoved down our throats–but there has to be an elaborate ceremonious apology. And then to have a press conference was a little self-serving, if you ask me, like his imprudence was any more important than any other the media deems so. I say, if you call someone a name, or sleep with every willing “other” person, don’t apologize to me on national television, take care of it one to one with that person. And I can’t even say it’s the price one pays for celebrity, it’s price one pays in this age of technological instant news and everyone is at fault and everyone is to blame

But, I’ve gotten way off the track. I had the usual; blood pressure taken (122/82), got weighed (226–but I don’t understand those sliding scales and it was late in the afternoon and I was dressed), my heart sounded good, as did my lungs. She, the nurse practitioner, felt around for any discomfort in my stomach and then I had blood drawn. The poor girl couldn’t find a vein in the crook of my elbow so took it from one she could find halfway down my arm and left me with quite a bruise. So, unless I hear from them with any bad results from the blood test, I don’t have to worry until I see my actual doctor in May. But at least I got my blood pressure Rx renewed.

A funny thing happened on the way out of the theater Saturday. Some may say I should keep my voice in check, but anyone who knows me, knows that I barely speak above a whisper as it is. That is until there’s something I don’t want someone else to hear. I was walking with Chantal, talking about the play and we were behind a duo of, well, guys. Perhaps they had been walking all day in the city which precipitated the need for such a bundle of winter wrappings, including flowered knit caps and scarves. You heard me, flowered knit caps. Anyway, we kept a fair pace behind them, even though we were trying to pass them to get to the rest of our quintet. A sudden clang of those metal delivery doors in the sidewalks and we both looked up and I heard one of the two guys, in a dramatic sheepish voice say, “Oh, that was scary. That could have been a New York moment,” as he turned to look over his shoulder and saw us, probably hoping to strike up a conversation, or at least having someone acknowledge his little joke. I leaned over to Chantal to make a crack and I guess I must have spoken a little to loudly when I said sarcastically, “Oh, that’s scary,” referencing the two ahead of us. Well, they both turned and gave me a look and then we passed them. I tried to tell the story to the rest of our gang, but I tried to get them to get a glimpse of who we were talking about so the story would be halfway entertaining (visual aides are helpful) but I didn’t want to be obvious that I was seeking those other two out and then they eventually disappeared but I got my story out, kind of like I did just now. It really wasn’t all that exciting, I know, but the fact they “caught” me made me laugh.

Jack Bustle Terror

February 22, 2010

We had our weigh-ins on Saturday and it wasn’t as glorious a reading as the past few weeks. I put on 2 pounds, so now I’m up to 218, and Ariel took off on 1, which brings him down to 202. But we didn’t let it get us down, no, we still went out cavorting in the city.

We went to see The Miracle Worker with Purdy and Brent and we were pleasantly surprised also with the company of Purdy’s cousin, Chantal. Luckily she was able to get a ticket but unfortunately it was on the other side of the theater. Theater in the round, I found, is not the optimal way to see a dramatic piece, as the actors are alternately positioned to favor one section of the audience at a time; case in point, when Helen Keller finally realized what water was at the pump in the yard, she was facing away from where we were sitting. So any look of wonderment and jubilation she may have had went unseen by us. But we did get more than our share of glimpses of the fancy bustles of the women’s period costumes.

The show is still in previews and aside from inconvenience of theater in the round, there is still some tweaking to do. For instance, in the dining room scene, when Anne Sullivan was teaching Helen proper table manners, some of the scenery obstructed our view. The piece of scenery in question was the door frame that came up from the floor to represent the door of the dining room. From my own personal vantage point, each side of the frame perfectly blocked my view of both Anne and Helen as they battled at the table. The majority of the set was on wires that lowered and rose the pieces into the ceiling and the hanging wires were a bit of a distraction. At times, the acting momentarily lost a little steam, but for the most part the pace was even and the production smooth. What lost it for me was a too prolonged final scene after Helen discovered “water”, hugs and smiles of joy among the family were exaggerated and silent and it diminished the manic mood of Helen’s sudden need to know more.

Alison Pill’s Anne Sullivan could use just a quick, ever so slight buffing swipe to clear the last bit of cobwebs and the part will be as polished as it needs to be. Breslin needs a little more savage animal instinct and Helen’s own untamed behavior will shine. Matthew Modine could tone down his angry bitter Captain Keller role to a lesser roar and Jennifer Morrison’s Kate needs to be a little more downtrodden and desperately hopeful; she smiled too much. Tobias Segal accomplished the role of Helen’s misunderstood and rebuffed half-brother James convincingly. After all was said and done, I gave it a 7 and I left the theater wiping away satisfied tears.

We headed back for a bite to eat and watched some curling on the TV over our heads at the diner then went back to Purdy’s to attempt to kill a bottle of Jack Daniels and the five of us competed in round after round of various board games.

There was more to the weekend but it can keep until tomorrow but for now, I’ll send you over for the next chapter of McGinty Chronicles with an updated link button.

One Last Rant For The Week

February 19, 2010

The rumor is true, it’s Friday, and thank God it got here when it did. What a week it’s been, too, from unexpected computer issues, which I’ll get to in a second, to having my head virtually served to me on a cyber platter, which I will opt to not revisit just now. And now, later this afternoon, I have to see NOT my doctor. The last time I had seen my regular doctor, ashamedly almost two years ago, he had given me my Diovan prescription with refills enough to last me through the year until I was to see him again, which was last May. But since I take only half a pill daily, it lasted me well past that. Well, I ignored the reminder card last May and I was in danger of running out of my medication (this past Sunday to be exact) so I made an appointment, but it’s not until May. They approved a small supply to last me until I see this practitioner today so I can get a quick exam and a new prescription to get me through till May. That’ll teach me!

The computer issue is probably a combination of the fact that it dates back to the two tin cans with a string days and that the external UPS battery backup fizzled on me. I was lucky it came back to life earlier in the week, but last night it happened again and I couldn’t bring it back to life, so now the floor of my office is a tangle a 3,000 foot extension cord so the computer can be plugged into another outlet until I get that other one, and it’s own tangle of wires, taken care of.

So, did you hear there was another security breach at Newark Airport. On President’s day a man was flagged for secondary screening when the initial X-ray showed what looked like 3 bottles of wine. Given the restriction of only 3 ounces of any liquid being allowed on the plane, the man was referred to another screening but he walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Security screening was halted for ONE hour while an attempt was made to locate the passenger, who, TSA spokeswoman Ann Davis says apparently boarded his plane. That’s real nice!

Here’s an idea, how about an escort for those passengers that need a secondary screening to make sure they get where they’re supposed to go? Or how about keeping an eye on someone standing right in front of your security podium who you might suspect might have something on his mind? Is it that these security officers don’t get paid enough to care? What if it was a member of his or her family whose life was in jeopardy on a flight because someone with a bottle of wine slipped through security or someone just had to give his girlfriend a good-bye kiss? How about a mandatory 3 day sequestering of all passengers at a high security facility inside the airport so they can all go through extensive searches and make sure their noses are blown and their morning rituals are taken care of? And random searching is for the birds because the guy you skip, could be the guy with the bomb.

Okay, I’m done ranting for the week. I wanted to end this week on a positive note and I have just the thing. My friend Jim, a founder of the organization Dare To Care, which you can link to from my blogroll on the right, is also busy publishing a christian themed magazine. It’s not one that crams religion down your throat, but it concentrates on the christian side of a variety of aspects. It’s called InnerVoice and in four short months, it already is slated to go national. I helped him out with a subscription–my check is in this morning’s mail–and if you want to help him out as well, to help him spread his word, his love of humanity, you can click on this InnerVoice link, go to the About Us tab and then to the Contact Us tab and click on the sample subscription form and print it out. To press the issue, it’s someone’s dream (remember yesterday’s blog) that’s coming to fruition, and that’s a good thing!

I have a fun weekend to look forward to. Tomorrow we have a matinee of The Miracle Worker on Broadway to go to. Good that it’s post our weekly weigh-in because we’re going with friends and that can only mean one thing; carousing and debauchery will surely follow the theater!

Have a great weekend!

Fifteen Minutes

February 18, 2010

This is probably going to come off like a major bitch-fest, but I’ve heard a particular argument one too many times recently and now I’m going to weigh in.

Some people criticize American Idol because of it’s potential to give what they call instant fame to someone, as opposed to “real” musicians who work and sweat and bleed for their craft to make a name for themselves. And that staying in a popularity contest for a number of weeks and being crowned the American Idol is a slap in the face to all those who have graduated from the school of hard knocks. Well, there is a slight amount of credence to that claim, I suppose, but honestly, when you break it down, a singer’s popularity is only as strong as the effort he or she puts into staying in the spotlight. And just because someone wins that contest, doesn’t necessarily guarantee everlasting fame. When is the last time you heard of Taylor Hicks?

But I’m not lambasting American Idol, it’s a fun show and it’s fun to root for someone going after his or her dream. Actually, the intent of my rant today is to compare it to book publishing. As a matter of fact, though, when I first started watching American Idol, I felt kind of guilty, in a way, laughing at some people from the comfort of my living room because I silently and miserably compared their rejections to my own and would, at times have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Maybe I’m not the greatest writer in the world, and won’t ever win any Pulitzer Prize, but I’d like to think I’m a better writer than some of the Idol hopefuls are singers. (At least during the auditions–don’t these people have friends to stop them, really?) I may never have the fame or recognition of Stephen King or Dan Brown and that’s fine, really. But I would like the chance for a little recognition, or even a response from a query? Next month will be 5 years since my book was completed and that I’ve been searching for an agent or a publisher to represent me, to help me realize my dream. I’ve received rejections too numerous to count, in every possible manner, from form letters to downright handwritten insults–We have no use for you or your book.

I recently heard of yet another prospective book deal for someone and it got me thinking how lately, all these deals seem to be the same thing as winning 15 minutes of fame on American Idol. Everyday, I hear of some book deal given to somebody because of a story in the news; this airplane pilot, that Senator’s wife, not to mention the sports figures on drugs–compelling stories, I’m sure, but we hear about them everyday in the news, played out like soap operas ad nauseum. But the tabloid appeal of them is what publishers bank on to sell books, to put cash in their coffers, to see them through until their next blockbuster gets published.

I’m whining, I know, but what about those of us who love and want to write, to have a story told? We just get told “no”, time after time just because the book might not sell. How can one person make such a cavalier decision like that, whether someone’s work, someone’s dream, sits buried in a slush pile in some back office somewhere, while newspaper articles are turned into money makers?

So, from where I’m sitting, American Idol isn’t such a bad spot to be in and established musicians can yell only so loud. Fame, or psuedo-fame isn’t being dished out only on television talent shows.  For good or bad, there are at least 15 minutes of fame waiting for most who dare.

To Shovel Snow, Perchance To Dream

February 17, 2010

I had a pretty busy morning yesterday and my blog was the one thing I didn’t get to. All before 8:15, when I started working, I straightened up the kitchen, which involved emptying the dishwasher and refilling it, washing the non-dishwasherable items by hand, shoveling the driveway of the between 2 and 3 inches of snow with a broken shovel because the other one mysteriously disappeared, showering, and going to the grocery store for a few necessities.

I had a curious snafu with my computer the day before. All of a sudden, it shut down and when it came back up, I could not get into any website that required a sign in, ie, my work, my email. The homepage of my work sign in had a certificate authenticity warning and after I would sign into my email, the homepage of which was intact, gave me the same warning. I shut down numerous times and called the help desk at work. She told me what to do to get in so I could work, but didn’t recommend I plunge ahead like that for other websites. By looking around at different things, I discovered clock wasn’t right. I hovered over it and further discovered I’d stepped back into time. It was 2004. I reset the whole thing and I was able then to access my email and everything else I couldn’t up until that point.

Let me see if I can tell you that dream real quick. I was at some sort of either convention or trade show; the setting was rather warehousey, with boxes and wooden crates all over the place. There was a focal point sectioned off by some crates and things and people were milling about inside. All women. The turned their focus on me and told me I belonged in that area because my name had been drawn and I entered the area with no idea of what was going on. Suddenly, in that marked off area there appeared a bed, of sorts, with a woman lying virtually motionless. She was dressed in a heavy purple cable knit turtleneck sweater and snug black slacks and her hair was in a tightly curled medium afro. Apparently she was dying and those of us who were gathered in this boxed off section were to be the equal recipients of her money. Each of us had some “alone” time with her, I guess she wanted to know who she was giving her money to, but that one on one time was in that same area however, somehow, it was exclusive; we couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see us. Finally, it was my turn and sat on the bed next to her. She spoke softly, but I couldn’t make out anything she was saying. Her eyes were closed and I had the feeling she knew each person individually. I strained to hear what she was saying; I didn’t know if they were instructions or conditions for getting the money, or just incoherent babble. Then, with that knowledge you have in dreams sometimes, I knew the final words I heard her speak were directed mainly at me, words she hadn’t said to any of the other recipients. She said, “My eyes are the mirrors to your soul”. I knew that was incorrectly said, but as she said it, I was drawn to her as she added, “Look into my eyes.”. I leaned forward and could see her eyes had become two quarter-sized mirrors and just before I could peer into them, I woke up.

And then we had the nutty newts’ confused take on American Idol last night. But I think they managed alright.

Ultra-Lazy Weekend

February 15, 2010

What a great relaxing weekend, just what I needed. Actually, I think we were both due a quiet do nothing weekend. We ended up not going to the movies on Friday; it looked like Anthony Hopkins had an 8th place listing in the credits, and really, with a movie that’s only semi-appealing to begin with, why go see it when the one actor whose name you recognize may or may not be in it all that much? But we did take my mother (Mommie Dearest, affectionately–it used to be Sybil until she ran herself over with her car and my sister and I figured that was torture enough) out for a Happy Valentine’s dinner nonetheless to an Italian place by her. Café Calore. There was a small patch of ice near where she was getting into the truck afterwards and the conversation went like this:

Ariel: Be careful. Brian: Otherwise we’ll change the name of this place to Café Mommie Dearest. (Laughter, laughter, laughter) Sure, then we could hang wire hangers like chandeliers, hang pictures of Joan all over the place and serve meat that makes juice when you push on it. (Laughter, laughter, laughter)

So, Saturday we did laundry and I fixed the upstairs bathroom sink. I also fixed the leak underneath the kitchen sink. It had been leaking for a while but lately it was dripping from inside the cabinet onto the floor. I took the toilet apart to try the suggestion toilet guy on the phone said to try, but I still can’t get the bowl to fill all the way. Even though there’s a flow of water from the  doohickey (fill tube) at the connection where the  thingamajig (rubber tubing) should lead to fill the bowl, it won’t go through. The rubber tube isn’t blocked or anything, so who knows what the story is.  But, again, it flushes and that’s really what’s important and my underneath connections leak-proof. And that’s equally important. I thought also, albeit briefly, of taking care of all the huge broken trees on my property, but, when you’re trying to relax, who wants to be trudging through the snow? Not us, we just cooked our way through the weekend, food too delicious to describe, and healthy to boot.

We got our Uni-Lazies in the mail on Friday and yesterday was the day to try them out. You’ll see in the picture below they’re really like a pair of footie pajamas. I felt like I was putting on a bunny suit. At first, it felt like it wasn’t fitting properly in the thighs, like the material was pulling from behind, but after a while, that slight discomfort went away. I hung out in it all day. As you can see, Ariel modeled the hood on his and I modeled the trap door. And let me just assure you, the trap door…works!, as I tested after my morning coffee <wink>. And of course, the front fly works from top as well as the bottom for ease of having to relieve one’s self without really having to come out from “under the covers”. I know it looks huge on me, but it IS a large and they are purposely roomy for comfort. Definitely a cool investment and I think will be part of our camping gear for those unbearably cold summer nights in the mountains.

Speaking of large, the biggest news of the weekend is I lost another 3 pounds and Ariel stayed at his weight from last week. That makes 14 pounds for me in 4 weeks and 10 for Ariel. Can my 34 waist jeans be far behind?

You know, I did have another wackadoodle dream Saturday night, but I’ll save that for tomorrow.

This week on McGinty Monday, the family tree begins to grow.


February 12, 2010

It’s a sunny and still Friday morning, the end of another week. Snow peacefully blankets the ground, my lawn peppered with huge tree branches that have to be dragged away. Crunchy ice blankets my driveway that will probably have to wait until the spring thaw. Nothing would indicate that something was brewing, but, indeed, there is more snow predicted for Monday into Tuesday. According to the weather on the radio, it may not be significant, though. Or, it may be. Oh! And this, taken from a Brian and Ariel Drought Relief file, it’s also going to snow next Saturday when we will be in the city to see The Miracle Worker on Broadway.

Tonight we’re going to see the new movie, Wolfman, with Anthony Hopkins. I see he’s listed 8th in the credits. I wonder just how much screen time he’ll have.

I had a funny dream last night. I was working for some powerfully rich family who lived in a mansion high on a hill somewhere here in New Jersey. I was a live-in servant of some sort and I was never allowed to leave the estate when no one was home. But at this point in the dream, even though the house was empty except for me, it was of the utmost urgency I get a set of important documents somewhere and my only mode of transportation was to ride their elephant. Of course I was concerned that it might trample me to death, or he would run amuck with me astride. I was also concerned that I didn’t know how to ride an elephant, but apparently I learned quickly. He was a friendly sort and as I jerked his reins ever so slightly, with a less intense ‘ya-ya’ than one would use to direct a horse, let’s say, I was able to steer that pachyderm off the grounds, realizing the driveway at the bottom of the hill was wide enough. The tiniest tug to the right ‘ya-ya’ then one to the left ‘ya-ya’ and we were on the road against oncoming traffic. Another ‘ya-ya’ or two later, we were on the proper side of the road. But whether I got the documents delivered, I’ll never know. I woke up…and here I am. Not to mention he was such a slowpoke. I most likely did not get them delivered and then lost my job as a result.

I’m a little afraid for tomorrow’s weigh-in. We had our naughty moments during the week, especially after that snow removal. It kind of makes you want to devour everything in sight. But we balanced it out with good stuff, too, so we’ll have to wait and see what happens.

Have a great weekend and Happy Valentine’s Day