smacky and bucky

We're taking off Friday and Tuesday and heading out of town for the holiday. On the agenda: sailing, watching movies, reading a trashy book, playing poker, kayaking, taking naps, and swimming... in no particular order. I probably won't update while I'm gone, as I plan on doing more living and less writing about it.

I want to leave you with a thought of the day: I hope one day, we can all get together in the same room, be issued baseball bats, and beat the living shit out of each other.


No I'm kidding. I hope we never meet.


No, I'm still kidding. I hope everyone has a relaxing holiday weekend. On Sunday night, NASA is crashing their rocket into the comet. The impact may cause a crater as large as a stadium and 14-stories deep. If all goes well, it should be pretty amazing. If all goes wrong, the comet will change trajectory, hurtle toward Earth, and we'll all be dead by Monday.

There's an excuse to relax and have fun this weekend if I ever heard one.

Take 2: A less evil look from Mr. Buzz

As I've mentioned here before, I was in the Peace Corps from 1997 to 1999. Our group consisted of 50 people. Some I got to know very well, some I spoke to only in passing. You put 50 different people together for three months in a small compound, and they will invariably break into small groups. One of the people I only knew superficially was Julie. She was the youngest in our group, just out of college and barely 21, a minister's daughter. She was fresh-faced, and naive about a lot of things. Looking at her, you had to wonder what on earth she was thinking coming to a small African country for two years, having never been away from her support group of family and church.

She toughed it out and made it through the first three months of training (which quite a few older, more experienced people couldn't do) and was sworn in as a volunteer with the rest of us in September 1997 (right after the death of Princess Diana, if you need a frame of reference). Around Thanksgiving of that year, she got sick in her village, sick enough to be sent to the United States for treatment. She ended up not returning, and like everyone else that left early, she was never given another thought. That sounds really cold, but these people were returning to the place we all missed, the place where people spoke English, and the food was good, and the water was safe to drink. We were secretly a little envious, and also secretly relieved it wasn't us returning early. Hardly anyone ever kept in touch with people who left early. We couldn't relate to them anymore, and they couldn't relate to our experience. The Peace Corps called it Early Termination, or E.T. It was a verb: She et-ed.

I was surfing around yesterday during lunch, browsing various sites about Peace Corps. I saw Julie's name, and for the first time since 1997, I pictured her in my mind. The link went to a memorial page for her. She died in a car wreck in 2003. She had gotten her master's and had been hired as a middle school teacher a month before she died. She had spoken about wanting to return to Africa someday to do it again and see it through. I know people aren't static, but don't you always tend to picture people as they were when you last saw them? If you don't keep up with them, in your mind they are always in the same place, doing the same thing. I can't believe she died almost two years ago. I'm sorry she didn't get to finish, and I'm sorry she didn't get to return. I didn't get to know her very well. I know she liked board games and was religious. She smiled a lot. I'm clearly not the one to write the eulogy, and it's two years late anyway.

I said FEED ME.

Our new house is a two bedroom bungalow, built in 1930. We bought it because we could see the possibilities of it. For instance: the second floor. No, not the attic. This is an actual second floor, with a staircase leading up to it. Of course the staircase is behind a wall, and a cabinet hangs on that wall, and a cabinet sits on the floor in front of that wall. At least they did before Friday. I pulled down the cabinet, unscrewed the countertop from the wall, and a handyman stopped by with his fancy saw and cut open the wall, opening the staircase again for the first time in decades!

I'd been up there already, since the house has pull-down attic stairs. But going up the regular stairs was a treat. At one time, the upstairs was actual living space. It has heat registers, live electrical outlets, and overhead lights. I don't know what prompted someone to close off the level entirely. As promised, a picture:


the now unhidden steps. Does it lead to treasure? Not quite.

That all happened Friday.

Saturday I want to the other house and cut the grass. Oh, you didn't know that house still hasn't sold? That's because I was really boring myself talking about it all the time, so I imagine it's at least twice as boring for others. Yeah, it's still for sale. Over 25 groups came by the open house on Sunday. Blah, blah, blah...

Sunday, Laura went to her cousin's baby shower. I measured the giant picture window on the side of the house that allows our neighbors to watch us whenever they get the urge, then went to Home Depot and had some blinds custom cut. Returned home and installed them in about 15 minutes. Yay! Take that, neighbors. Can't look at my underpants anymore!

I popped the first of the four DVDs of Live Aid in and watched that for a while. When Laura got home, she thought it was the Live 8 concert, and that it was live, rather than from 1985. It got me thinking about who played at the first one, and the odds of some of them playing at the second.

Artists from Live Aid who will also play at Live 8: Elton John, Paul McCartney, Sting, U2, The Who, Madonna, and Duran Duran.

A sample of artists from Live Aid who were not invited to play at Live 8: Adam Ant, The Hooters, Howard Jones, Paul Young, Billy Ocean, REO Speedwagon, Rick Springfield, Thompson Twins, Hall and Oats, Simple Minds, and the Beach Boys.

Don't worry. I'm sure your invite is in the mail!

It's funny. Most of the artists returning to play again were already superstars in 1985. Madonna and U2 are only ones who hadn't yet conquered the world. Both would within a year following the concert.

Also interesting, the decline of Phil Collins. The man was the highlight of Live Aid. Big solo artist, he played London, hopped on the Concorde, crossed the Atlantic, and played in Philadelphia the same day. The man even took the deceased John Bonham's place and drummed for a reunited Led Zeppelin. (Of course, Plant and Page will never allow that footage to be shown again because they said it sucks. They blame Phil; he recently said they were the ones that were off. And considering Collins's stature at the time, I lean toward his take on the performance.)

Phil Collins is now Disney's "go-to" guy for bland soundtracks for direct-to-DVD movies like Tarzan II. I'm sure the money's good. Anyway, I don't see his name on the list of artists for the upcoming show.

If something like this happens again in 20 years, and it probably will, who will still be on the list? Who will have become superstars, and who will have disappeared entirely?

test...smacky on the weekend!

Genius that I am, I just figured out how to post pics in my blog. Yay. Have a great weekend. We're staying in town. Laura has to attend a baby shower on Sunday, so that is my movie day on the couch!

Time for a beer...

Larry King used to have a "column" in USA Today. It was really a precursor to the blog: A set of random statements, completely disjointed. He'd say thing like, "For my money, angel hair is the finest pasta," and "If you ask me, Jackie Gleason was America's favorite funnyman." I'm bringing this up because my post today will be just like that! So let's get started...

I love my commute. At 6:33 this morning, I was still in bed. At 6:45 I was walking to my car. At 7:00 I was pulling into my parking space.

I hate to shave. It's both tedious and dangerous. I sometimes skip days when no meetings are scheduled and I'll just be at my desk in my windowless office.

I listened to Patsy Cline in the car this morning. I often forget just how utterly amazing her voice is: smooth and strong, without that fake twang country artists feel the need to force today, or worse, that vibrato weak female singers use to hold a note when their lungs can't handle it. It's not fooling anyone. Other artists that have perfect voices: Frank Sinatra and Curtis Mayfield.

I'm glad the surge in popularity in the zombie genre finally allowed George Romero (the king of zombie films) to get his fourth one made. I also hope it doesn't suck. At least they're not fast-moving zombies. WTF is up with that?
----------------------------------------

I had a conversation with someone recently about the decline in quality in your basic stormtrooper as the films progress. Viewing the films in chronological number (not in order of original release), we see that the clones are bred and trained for one reason: combat. Yet by Empire, they can't kit the side of a vehicle the size of the Millennium Falcon with a cannon. And of course by Return of the Jedi, the armed stormtroopers are pummeled with rocks and the ewoks do a pile-on more disturbing than any photo from Abu Ghraib.

How did they reach this nadir? We decided that due to the age-acceleration used to raise the clones to fighting age, by the time A New Hope begins (about 20 years after Revenge of the Sith) most of the clones are retired or dead. With the rise in power of the Empire, a rigorous galaxywide recruitment program was undertaken. Ordinary boys with no future (like farmboy Luke on his desert planet) are given three squares a day and escape from their dead end lives. Since the Empire needed to fortify its hold on the systems, they needed a lot of men and they needed them fast. No time to breed new clones. Also, the standards for entry were probably not very stringent. The Emperor realized that for every body in a stormtrooper uniform, that's one less guy in the rebellion. And so what if he can't shoot, or he's a little slow? He's completely expendible.

That's our explanation. What do you think?

[Warning: The following story includes vomit.]

Check out the map here. (Scroll down a little.) I've been to five of those castles/slave forts. Click on #4: Princesstown. Groot-Friedrichsburg is a Danish lodge built in 1658. It was converted into a fort in 1683. It's a hotel now. We stayed there three nights. It's up on top of a hill on a cliff overlooking the ocean and the small fishing village of Princesstown. The only time I was sick in Ghana was there. We went down to dinner (rice and something) and I was already queasy. I took one bite and had to head back to the fort alone. No electricity, no moon, only a few stars to see by. Halfway up the big hill, I projectile vomited into some bushes until there was nothing left in my body. I couldn't get out of bed the next day. (I felt much better after the fever and chills abated. We hitched a ride on top of a minivan, with the luggage, the day after and made it to the main road, catching another van to the next town up the coast.)

Random quotes from the Ghana trip, with brief explanations of each. I wrote them down as I heard them:

(1) In the name of God, give me money! A man walked with us in the border town of Bolgatenga our first day in the country, making polite conversation. He was wearing a suit(!) This line was the last thing he exclaimed to us, after we played dumb to his subtle requests for funds for 15 minutes. After that, we had lunch at a bank cafeteria: Red red, plantains (sixth item down menu) and a Club beer. Yes, a place in DC has it.

(2) Osu's always cookin'. Osu is the trendy area of the Ghanaian capital of Accra. Expensive and bathed in neon lights, it's got pizza parlors, ice cream shops, and a lot of Europeans walking around. A bit of culture shock for just about everyone. Not quite Europe, not quite Africa. A random African man said this line, as he ushered his children, each holding an ice cream cone, into his Range Rover.

(3) They've got everything. Fuck 'em! Elmina Castle is one of the largest and best preserved slave forts on the coast. Everything is as it was in the time of slavery, including the gender-segregated underground cells and the gate that led to the boats and away from the continent forever. Very powerful, somber place. There is a museum in the fort, and at the end of the walk-through is a wall of photos of famous African Americans, including Stevie Wonder, Muhammad Ali, and Smokey Robinson. As we stood there looking at this display, two African men entered the room and stood next to us. One of them looked over the photos and said that line. Pretty much summed up his feelings about slavery.

(The first link in #3 is a new 3-star resort that has apparently been built there. I'm pretty sure it wasn't there before, not that we could have afforded it anyway.)

Wow.


We got wireless DSL at our place over the weekend. Before Saturday, we had been using dial-up.


WOW.


* We can both be online at the same time, in the same room, in different rooms, in the backyard.

* The phone line remains free.

* It's ALWAYS connected. Instantly.

* HOLY SHIT IS IT FAST.


WOW.


Seriously, this is a momentous occasion in our house. It's like riding a rusty bike your entire life and being handed the keys to a very, very fast car. I downloaded a concert in about two minutes. It used to take about 45 minutes.


Saturday afternoon I began assembling some of the IKEA swag. There's more to do, but I made a nice dent in the pile (We bought three bookcases, four storage shelves, two wardrobes, and a storage cabinet). Our house was built in 1930, and has one small closet. One. Now we can put our clothes away.

Sunday we went to her father and stepmother's place for a cookout. We gave him seasons 1 and 2 of Family Guy. They had never seen or heard of the show. Our work is done.

Kate's shameless flirting just won't stop. She's now buying me things. She covered by buying stuff for everyone else, but I can see through that ploy. ;-) Anyway, Kate, I'll try to AIM you this evening. Yes, it's a verb too.

Week Is Done.

Okay, Kate. I fixed the Moe's link, and I capitalized IKEA (which is STUPID. Is it an acronym now? Inane Krap Everyone Admires?) but I will NOT apologize for misspelling the last name of the taller partner to Paul Simon. And I'm not going to change it either. See, that was a secret test. Only nerds into male falsetto pop would point out how to spell his name. You lost your cool points. But your bitchy points are in the mail for pointing out errors in a blog. And calling me "Mister Editor Man"...grrrrrr.... Remember that commercial a few years ago in which a sassy woman and her gang kept stalking the SnackWell delivery man, calling out "Hey Cookie Man!" Memory refresher:

SnackWell cookies

SnackWell's promotions are almost entirely of the unique selling proposition sort. The cookie that is actually not too bad for you, but tastes really good. In fact, it tastes so good that people are tracking down the manufacturer ("Hey, Cookie man!") to get more of the product than they can find in their stores. Yes, there is an element of positioning here as well, but SnackWell promotes mostly on the basis of "here's a cookie that tastes good and is good for you." (or at least not bad.)

Final point is, I don't proof my blog religiously. If that makes me a part-time editor, so be it. It's supposed to be relaxing, writing in this thing. Do you criticize children if they color outside the lines? (I know, you would if they were professional colorers and should know better!) Just relax. Mr. Art will forgive me. If he doesn't, I don't care.



(This post reads a lot more angry than I really mean, by the way.)

Yesterday after work I climbed a ladder and cleaned the gutters on the garage. The previous owner had NEVER done it. The gutters had about 5 inches of tightly packed black dirt, with plants sprouting out of the top, and a million small ants residing there. Glad I decided to wear gloves. I've spent the last three afternoons cutting two lawns. Finally done for a while. When I was done, we went to Moe's for dinner. Yum, I needed that.

When we got back home, I fired up the laptop and deleted two tired playlists from my iPod and created a new one: Weekend Sailing. 71 songs either mellow or poppy.

Sample of the last five songs that played:
The Only Living Boy in New York, by Simon and Garfunkle
Cherish the Day, by Sade (my mostest favorite song of ALL TIME. I saw her in concert. Sigh...)
Looking for Sparks, by Seafruit (only released one album, but you should look into them.)
Carnival, by the Cardigans
My My My, by Los Pacaminos (a British band that plays Tex-Mex music. And they're fronted by Paul Young of Every Time You Go Away fame. Strange, wonderful stuff.)

We're probably going to (gasp!) stay in town this weekend. We need to go to IKEA for a storage cabinet of some sort, and Sunday we have to go to Laura's father's for a cookout. Father's Day and all that. My parents were kind enough to be away on vacation, so they don't expect us to drive hours and hours to visit. No such luck with her dad.

Well, that means less time on the road, and maybe I can read more than 10 pages a day of my book. Not MY book, just a book I own. That I'm reading. I haven't written a book. I wrote a master's thesis, though. It's about female southern writers and the hunting tradition. Fascinating stuff, I assure you. It's also about 75 pages. (silence. cough.) Someday, someone will use it as a reference in a paper. Perhaps they already have. It's not like I would receive a call if they did. Shrug.

Five bonus cool points if you can find the secret joke I put in this post. Answer in comments and claim your prize!

Running errands, making appointments, working, cutting grass, the "check engine" light is still on in my car, and I'm getting nagged by my dentist because I haven't been in quite a while. And I just realized that I read the flyer wrong and Bruce Campbell will not be doing a book signing a block from my office, but will be all the damnhell away across town.

Whine whine. But hey, at least my 20-years-older-than-me boyfriend isn't pressuring me to convert to his "religion." Poor Katie. I hope she's getting a lot of money for this from the studios. I hope that they go so far with it that they actually marry, it lasts about six months, then he leaves her for whichever actress is in his next mediocre movie. (Geez, angry about nothing much, smacky?)

Ooooh, but here's some good news: "Himalaya," premiering 9 p.m. EST June 20 on the Travel Channel, chronicles Michael Palin's six-month journey over the Khyber Pass from Pakistan to Afghanistan and then into India, Nepal, Tibet, Bhutan and Burma. I love his travel shows.

Apparently, Michael Jackson's official website has a new Flash opening: "...the phrases 'Martin Luther King is born,' 'The Berlin Wall falls,' 'Nelson Mandela is freed,' and finally, 'June 13, 2005, Remember this date for it is a part of HIStory.'" Yeah, they'll be celebrating this day five years from now during Black History Month. I don't think so. You also have to love how the verdict of his child molestation trial is as important as the falling of the BERLIN WALL. Wow, I'm so glad I was alive to witness live footage of his bronco going home after the trial. I'll always remember where I was when I saw it. (Are we still at war with anyone? You don't hear much about that anymore. Is DeLay still a douchbag? Will the Patriot Act be quietly renewed, chipping away at the Constitution a little more? Who cares. Let's hear more about Jackson and Cruise!)

Good advice: Don't be like Burt Reynolds. If you're dating someone, don't promise "to maintain her lifestyle and take care of her mother indefinitely, even if the relationship ended. She also said he promised to give her half of his estate in Jupiter, Florida." Now really, who does that?

"I'll take care of your mother."
"Even if we break up?"
"Huh? Uh, yeah, suuuure. And take half my Florida estate too."
"Thanks, Burt."

Sigh. Wow, that felt good. Sometimes you need to vent on dumb celebrities with over-inflated senses of their self-importance.

During the week, Laura and I tend to get stressed about work, about owning too many homes and paying bills for all of them, and other general bullshit. I rarely vent at work about anything, so it bottles up and eventually comes out at home. That's when we have an argument about something stupid. I know were incredibly lucky. Just having the ability to pay bills and mortgages for three homes is amazing. Even though it's tight, we still have the means to continue to do this indefinitely. We're not on the verge of bankruptcy or anything like that. So, I'm sorry we argued last night. We already made up, and she doesn't read this, but I thought I'd say it here anyway. I love you.

Yesterday after work I bought a lawnmower, brought it home, assembled it, and cut the grass for about two hours. I'd reached the frustration point. We were going to get a service to mow it, but every company said you had to do it weekly. No one would cut it bi-weekly. So for the cost of a month of mows, I bought my own mower and did it myself. It was in the low 90s yesterday, so it probably wasn't the best day to decide to do it, but I'm a really stubborn person sometimes. I'm aware of that.

The final result is that the lawn looks amazing. The first cut was definitely the worst, since it hadn't been mowed in almost a month and was approaching knee high. I figure from now on I can finish in about a third of the time it took yesterday.

Later this week I have to go to the other house and mow that lawn too. The house that is still for sale. Sigh.

Oh! I don't know exactly when the salaries for the next fiscal year were decided, or if winning the award was a factor in the decision, but I was told on Friday that I'm getting a 7.57% raise. That's over double the 3% cost of living (COL) adjustment. Smacky rocks!

Have you guys seen Shawn of the Dead? If you haven't, shame on you and go rent it now. I don't want to spoil it, but Don't Stop Me Now by Queen just came on my iPod, and I can't hear that song without picturing a very funny scene from that movie. If you've seen it, you know what I mean.

We made it to the river this weekend. The weather was fantastic (a little warm, but I don't complain about that too much. I was in Africa, after all.) We got to swim in the pool, watch a couple of movies, read some, and take a nap. My father-in-law and I also got the small sailboat out and tooled around some. We didn't go all the way out to the bay, because we're not that brave yet, but when you catch a strong wind and you just start...well, sailing...it's a rush.

Sunday we had to attend a birthday party for Laura's 7-year-old cousin. He got more presents than most people get at Christmas. It was tiring watching him open them all. We headed back to town after that and went to an Irish pub for dinner. We had a Russian waiter, which was a nice touch of authenticity. A Guinness on a 90-degree day makes you very drowsy. We had another open house yesterday, and the realtor never called to tell us how it went. No news is good news? Or has he simply given up? Monstee can attest to the house's condition (though he called it a dump, which seemed a little harsh, but it was in comparison to our new place, which makes it a compliment, of sorts).

I also watched three episodes of Red Dwarf. This show has been on my list for a long time, and I received the first two seasons as a gift last week from my mother-in-law. She said it was to celebrate being an award-winning editor. (She looks for ANY excuse to give you a gift. Really. She gave the neighbor's daughter an iPod mini for her high school graduation. An iPod! She hardly knows this girl, and isn't even all that close to the parents. Most people would have sent a $25 check and been done with it.)

I have work to do, and I need another cup of coffee. Have a nice day, all!

ME! (and the author, illustrator, designers, et al. who put the book together, of course). I'm going to give you a clue, since Kate asked: It was the 2005 Annual Awards Banquet and Gala (which sounds like it's been going on every year since the time of Christ, but I suppose the urge to edit the event's title demonstrates that I belong in this group, and it's not called 2005th, so I'll let it slide). The category I (we) won under was Whole Publication-Reference-Supplemental. If you need more clues, I can give more. (The initials of the title are E&M). I'm not being purposely vague. Well, maybe a little...

It was actually a very nice feeling. I don't get in many competitive situations anymore in my life. I do my work, and the majority of my hobbies are either solo or have no competitive aspect to them at all. When the greatest joy is making a deadline most people (including your boss) had written off as impossible, it's a nice feeling to receive praise from an unbiased third party. I went up and picked up a plaque and got my picture taken. I feel like Milhouse's dad when he said "I'm a bigwig at the cracker factory." Of course then he was fired, divorced, and has been in a downward spiral ever since (probably going on 5 years now), so I'll keep my pride in check.

Immediately after work today I have to go to our old house and mow the lawn as quickly as possible. They are calling for major thunderstorms from 4pm on, and this is the last time I'll be able to cut the grass before Sunday's open house. We dropped the price and put it back on the market, so hopefully this is the weekend it is out of our lives.

Feeling calm and happy this morning. Now if you'll please excuse me, I have a manuscript to get through. Have a nice day!

Too busy to post much today, but tomorrow I'll have highlights of tonight's gala event at the Renaissance Hotel. C'est tres chic. I know you can't wait.

But I wanted to post this bit of news: Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe denied rumors that he died of heart failure last week, the official Herald newspaper reported on Tuesday. I love our absurd world sometimes...

I was responding to Kate's post about music on the iPod, and it started to get so long, I decided to just move it over here and make it a post of my own. Sorry Kate!

One of my favorite things to do recently has been to create playlists for the iPod, name them whatever is happening in my life, then play them on shuffle. The songs don't have to relate to the title of the playlist(and usually don't). I just corral a bunch of songs I haven't heard in a long time. I'm listening to one now here at work. It just played these songs (from a 100-song playlist called House Hunters):

Ricky Fante: Are You Lonely Too?
Coldplay: One I Love
A-Ha: You'll Never Get Over Me
Blur: She's So High
Go-Betweens: Right Here
Big Country: I'm Not Ashamed
Glenn Tilbrook: Untouchable
Bow Wow Wow: Cowboy
Al Green: Too Many
Katrina and the Waves: Going Down To Liverpool
Brazilian Girls: Don't Stop
Commodores: Sail On
Nick Lowe: What's Shaking on the Hill
Frank Sinatra: Too Marvelous For Words
Air: Surfing on a Rocket
Scritti Politti: Here Come July
Kylie Minogue: Red Blooded Woman

Yeah, it's a bit 80s heavy. What can I say? I graduated high school in 1989. I'm part of the Breakfast Club generation. [If you're doing the math, I'm 33. Have I ever admitted that here? Is that news to anyone?] I've been out of school--and working at the same job--long enough that age has ceased to have meaning. I don't go to the next grade, I don't receive promotions on a yearly schedule, and I don't seem to be maturing all that quickly either.

Tomorrow Laura and I are attending an awards banquet downtown, black tie optional (I'll stick to a suit, thanks). One of the books I edited is up for an award. Fingers crossed. My boss (a female) registered herself for the banquet so she could give the ticket to my wife. That was very nice of her. I told Laura if we win, we can't kiss, or we'll start a scandal in the DC publishing arena. "Oh my goodness, he just kissed his boss on the lips. Oh my..." Hee hee. Hopefully I'll be able to control myself!

The good news: We're getting settled in the new place. Emptied a bunch of boxes, built some shelves, hacked back some crazy bushes, pulled up old carpet, pulled up old linoleum, vacuumed, mopped, collapsed on the sofa.

The bad news: Wife is getting really depressed and stressed we haven't received an offer on the other house yet. But we also haven't lowered the price yet. I think if we lower it, the offers come in and we're done. I thought the original asking price was a little high myself when she and the realtor agreed on it, but I didn't protest more than once since they shot me down. Yet it's not exactly a moment I want to gloat over. This is definitely one time I would have happily been wrong.

To Do:

1) Call pest control. Might as well start off new house treated and bug-free.

2) Call lawn service or you'll be spending all day Saturday cutting the grass.

3) Figure out how to install gas line to stove. Hopefully it's as easy as it seems and I won't blow myself up.

4) Cut grass at other house tomorrow or Wednesday (unless it sells before then. HA!)

Sigh (of contentment). Yesterday I worked without thinking, ceaseless. Well, I stopped when it was done, obviously. You have to stop then. If you keep working when you're finished, you just look stupid.

I'm talking about moving, of course. Moving boxes. Moving furniture. Yesterday was rather amazing. Every worker, every person I was supposed to meet with, showed up at the earliest point of their estimate. The movers said they'd arrive between 8 and 9, got there at 8. The locksmith to change the locks on the doors. The storage company delivered the pods. Unfortunately, they delivered them at noon, and the movers had finished and left at 10. I spent the next five hours emptying them both alone. Direct TV guy came and wired the house, meaning I was able to watch a marathon of America's Next Top Model on VH1.

Our new house is great. Smaller than the old place, but that's perfect because we had rooms we never entered there. It's a bungalow, built in 1937. It has the biggest backyard I've ever seen in the city.

I was bad in one way yesterday: I smoked. For the first time in a long time. It was nasty at first, but got better as the day went on. It's like riding a bike. A bike that fills your lungs with over 500 poisons. Nasty. So I've stopped again. I just did it yesterday because only nicotine and caffeine could get me through. Yesterday I had a bowl of watermelon and a cup of coffee. Then is was straight cigarettes and bottles of water the rest of the day until dinner.

The animals are getting settled. Lexi is exploring the big backyard, slowly coming to realize she can run without having to make tight sudden turns, as at our previous house's smaller yard. The cats are poking their heads in every inch of the house. They explored the basement and found a dusty corner somewhere, coming up with their heads covered in cobwebs.

Oh Oh Oh! I caught the premiere of a fantastic show last night: Hit Me Baby One More Time NBC describes the show this way (parenthetical comments are my own): Veteran Hitmakers (has-beens) perform and compete (watch to see who got fat: the lead singer of Loverboy; who lost his hair: the lead singer of Flock of Seagulls, ironically; and who still looks pretty good, I must confess: Tiffany).

Each artist played and/or sang their big 80s hit, then returned and performed their rendition of a current hit. That's the genius part of the show. In the first half hour, you get to decide how closely they still sound like they did 20 years ago, and in the second half you decide how much you like their version of whatever hit they chose to do. Some of them just did a straight cover: Loverboy did Hero by Enriquez Eglasias (I know I slaughtered his name. I don't care enough to google him to get the spelling right). I know this show is a copy of one done in England last year. That one used all British artists, some who only had hits there and are unknown in the US.

The point of that rambling was to say I loved that show. With CSI in reruns all summer, my pop culture loving inner geek can just have a geekgasm.

By the way, future artists on the show will include Wang Chung (Wang Chung Tonight), The Knack (My Sharona), Irene Cara (Fame), Cameo (Word Up!), Tommy Tutone (867-5309), and Vanilla Ice (forgot the name of his hit. Kidding! Who could forget the immortal Ice Ice Baby, with its opening riff stolen from Queen's Under Pressure.)

I love this stuff. To quote the completely clueless McDonald ad campaign I mentioned a month or so ago, "I'd hit that."

We closed yesterday and got the keys to our (third!) house. Crazy. We drove over after and ended up meeting half the block. We finally made it to our (soon to be empty) other house and climbed into bed. For the first time in a week, all the animals were home with us, and they were sooooooooooooo happy. All five of us (wife, me, two cats, dog) hung out together on the bed.

Taking off tomorrow. Movers are coming in the morning. If all goes well (and when does it?) we could be having a late lunch in our new house.

Talk to you Friday, sore muscles and all.

Oh, and I love that that 92-year-old spilled the beans early about being "Deep Throat." Woodward and Bernstein have waited 35 years for him to die so they can make a big announcement (and a multimillion dollar book deal, of course). HAHAHAHAHAHA.