Screen names are unchanged, for those of you needing a little inspiration in your life.

Sorry about not providing the next installment of 'Without Prior Notice' tonight. We ended up getting an unexpected invitation to visit a friend's house, and…how to say it?

Readers, you so got ditched. I know, I know, the suspense has been killing you. I'm sorry to suck all the oxygen out of your reading existence today, but I'm horrible and need to be smacked. So why sit here and write out a different post? Well, because I've discovered another sufferer of the Just Don't Get It Syndrome (affectionately abbreviated to JDGI Syndrome).

Yes, ladies and gentlemen! You might be surprised to learn that, while you're standing there, yapping loudly into your cell phone while filling up your gas tank, the person sitting in the next car can hear what you're saying…

Before we go any further, let me tell you something, you wanna-be darlings of the fashion world: unless your name is Audrey Hepburn, you do not look good in capri pants. I do not care what you look like, who did your plastic surgery, or what company your grandfather founded. Unless you are Audrey Hepburn, yes, you look terrible in capri pants. On principle.

In fact, let me amend that statement. Even if you are Audrey Hepburn, you do not look good in capri pants, because you are dead and have been so for quite some time now, and this whole hopping-out-of-the-grave-and-dancing-around bit really needs to be kept to the better Buffy episodes, mmmmkay?

Jeff and I take some halfhearted malicious fun from watching the Miss America pageant every year. We never mean to watch it, and we never realize when it's about to air. But each year, somehow, we manage to channel-surf right before the pageant begins airing and one of us says, "Oh, hell, we'll get a laugh or two out of this, grab dinner and bring it in here!"