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I find myself lingering over the news of Robert Culp's death. For some, he'll always be half of "I Spy", but for me, he remains Bill Maxwell from "The Greatest American Hero", besides his fabulous (and numerous) guest-star roles. Bruce Campbell owes him a debt, I think, for introducing that brand of swaggering charm and confidence.
I am sad, too, to learn of the Glee Tour - well, not sad about the tour per se, but the fact that I can't hope to afford a ticket at this point. The original prices were somewhere between $40 to $60, but now the cheapest start at $130. I know I haven't bought a big arena ticket in a looooooong time; when did scalped prices become the status quo? A big boo to them all.
Speaking of booing them all: "An Open Letter to Conservatives" is almost everything I ever wanted in a rebuttal letter. The only thing it lacks is a chisel to open the minds of my Glen Beck-loving coworkers so that they'd both read it and give any credence to the copious, overwhelming evidence of "where the Right has gotten itself stuck in a swamp of hypocrisy, hyperbole, historical inaccuracy and hatred." How do we fix this, guys?
As usual, I can count on the Emperor for daily doses of levity. Take, for instance last night: we'd settled him down to bed, I finally got the chance to sit down and relax, when I heard the thumping of feet, followed by the inevitable "Mooooooom! Mom Mom Mom!" call.
Me, yelling up the stairs: "WHAT."
Emperor: "I had to go poopy."
Me: "That's nice! Finish up and go back to bed."
Emperor: "Aren't you going to help?"
Me: "NO."
Emperor: "I miss the old days."
Me: "What old days?"
Emperor, wistfully: "The days when you used to wipe my butt."
The great thing about being at a distance like that is that you can crack up and they can't catch you.
I am busy prepping a list of all the things I want to cram into the day I'm taking off tomorrow. It includes getting the Emperor registered for kindergarten, doing some shopping and cooking for the birthday party I'm throwing for myself on Saturday, and decrappifying the house, among other tasks. Stupid responsible adult stuff, all of it - ah, well.
I am sad, too, to learn of the Glee Tour - well, not sad about the tour per se, but the fact that I can't hope to afford a ticket at this point. The original prices were somewhere between $40 to $60, but now the cheapest start at $130. I know I haven't bought a big arena ticket in a looooooong time; when did scalped prices become the status quo? A big boo to them all.
Speaking of booing them all: "An Open Letter to Conservatives" is almost everything I ever wanted in a rebuttal letter. The only thing it lacks is a chisel to open the minds of my Glen Beck-loving coworkers so that they'd both read it and give any credence to the copious, overwhelming evidence of "where the Right has gotten itself stuck in a swamp of hypocrisy, hyperbole, historical inaccuracy and hatred." How do we fix this, guys?
As usual, I can count on the Emperor for daily doses of levity. Take, for instance last night: we'd settled him down to bed, I finally got the chance to sit down and relax, when I heard the thumping of feet, followed by the inevitable "Mooooooom! Mom Mom Mom!" call.
Me, yelling up the stairs: "WHAT."
Emperor: "I had to go poopy."
Me: "That's nice! Finish up and go back to bed."
Emperor: "Aren't you going to help?"
Me: "NO."
Emperor: "I miss the old days."
Me: "What old days?"
Emperor, wistfully: "The days when you used to wipe my butt."
The great thing about being at a distance like that is that you can crack up and they can't catch you.
I am busy prepping a list of all the things I want to cram into the day I'm taking off tomorrow. It includes getting the Emperor registered for kindergarten, doing some shopping and cooking for the birthday party I'm throwing for myself on Saturday, and decrappifying the house, among other tasks. Stupid responsible adult stuff, all of it - ah, well.
