movies

Renegade Roundup (life in the fast lane)

For those of you with short attention spans, here's a quick rundown of what's going on:

  • Tenzing has an ear infection. Like most sick kitties, he's sleeping a lot. Hard to tell if Edmund's got the same thing. Took Tenz to the vet, who weighed him and said that Tenzing (little Tenzing!) weighs twelve pounds. I shudder to think what Edmund must weigh, then…
  • Tonight's meal: chicken piccata. Not bad. Tomorrow night I braise ribs for the wondergeeken.
  • I've got to get my chef's knife resharpened. Once again, I've attempted to lop off the tip of my middle finger on my left hand. Silly me—I was sawing down to create 1/8" thick slices of lemon and the knife slipped. Truly sharp knives are much safer. No sawing.
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pith pith pith subjectline

Sigh. I'm guessing no one's going to see this entry for a day or two—or until Gareth can take a look at the DNS entry for domesticat to figure out what in the world is wrong.

I think I did everything right on my end, but things are just horked. Not much I can do about it in the meantime.

I got the new Wall of Shame put up. It actually looks really nice…and, at last, there's something on that enormously long wall behind the couch. This is a good thing.

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Small surprises.

Well, I had a nice little bit of commentary ready to go for this evening, and then I decided to put it down and go do some other stuff for a while. I went to see X-Men with friends, and then chatted with the crew (tonight: Jeff, Katharine, Jessica, and Brian) over at the wondergeeks' apartment.

Then I came home and checked my email. Discovered that my sister's getting married in September. Needless to say, this is a bit of a surprise. She and her husband Jackie divorced in December of last year or January of this year—I don't know when the divorce became final. I didn't know that she was dating someone seriously. I now know that his name is Carl, but I don't know a last name.

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The truth about (domesti)cats and dogs

I have to confess. I watched The Truth About Cats And Dogs for something like the zillionth time on television last night. For the zillionth time, it put that hangdog "awwwwww!" look on my face, and when it was over, I had this irresistible urge to cuddle my cats.

I don't know what it is about this movie that does it to me every time. Maybe because I project waaaaay too much of myself onto the Janeane Garofalo/Quasimodo character. You know the type all too well—the person whose agility with words is almost enough to make anything—even wild passionate luuuuuuv with sexy brunette British men—possible.

I probably need psychiatric help for this, don't I?

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