I'm watching Samantha Who? at the moment, an episode (if I'm reading her correctly) that Pamie took the lead in writing (however that works) and man, Pamie (if you're reading this, which you aren't), the pace, the pace! And why am I so upset with the pace? Because deep in my heart I know it's because I'm growing old and the younger generation, the little bastards, have left me in the dust what with all their video games and text messaging and shit. Which wouldn't be such a bummer if it weren't so trite, so predictable, so like my parents’ generation when they discovered mine.

Oh, and Pamie (who isn't reading this) buy a Volvo. Yes, the Honda is a good car (I have a Honda myself), but nine out of ten highway patrol people buy their family members Volvos, particularly if they have any tendencies toward rear ending other vehicles on the highway. Oh, and something I'm sure no one's mentioned to you, they're advertising your show as the hottest new comedy on television. Which means this writers' strike thing really sucks.

Tuesday. Ah, yes. The day is overcast, but the breakfast was good, plenty of time to read the paper, back home now with the usual head-sinus thing going on, but the cupboard is full of pills and I have lunch planned today with Ms. V so all is right with the world. Well, with Oakland.