TAL update: Ooh, good one! The last segment is about Johnny and June Carter Cash. I didn't know she wrote "Ring of Fire." About him. When they were each married to other people.

Happy Birthday, Victor!

Do you build a memorial at the bottom of the basement stairs that little Bobby fell down and broke his neck on? To me it's too much like "I want to share my grief with the entire world!"

Yes, it's this demonstration of grief for public consumption that bothers me. A spontaneous outpouring that lasts a few days, weeks, even a month or two I understand and it does make me contemplate how transient life can be and how sudden death can be.

But here we have an exponentially-increasing number of roadside shrines that start off with a flower cross, and over the months and yes, years, they've been there, they expand and become increasingly permanent. I'm expecting stone monuments next. And these are merely the sites of fatal accidents. It's gruesome and inappropriate, as though either the people tending these shrines (and they are tended. Every time I drive by there's been something new added. I even saw a group laying a new wreath at a years-old spot. On the shoulder of the road) can't let go, or they intend to permanently memorialize the spot of earth where this person was last alive. Permanent monuments don't belong on public roadways, unless they're sponsored by civic action. IMO, but I realize I'm probably a little ranty about it.

(punctuation. bothered me )

Everyone's got pet peeves, Bev.

De nada. chica. Me, I go ballistic over unfilled ice cubes trays, Good thing I live by myself. I can't tell you how many times I freaked on a roomie over unfilled trays.

Hee!

Ask my StY about how many times I went off on him for leaving one cereal bowl and spoon soaking in the sink overnight after I'd washed all the dishes before I went to bed. Waking up to one dirty dish instead of a clean sink made me, ah, inappropriately angry. Of course, the fact that he always did it, after we'd "talked about it," just made me madder.

StY?

Son the Younger. As opposed to Son the Elder.

We don't believe in value-added descriptives like Number Two Son, etc.

Crap. Every time I think I'm about to get up and start being productive, the cat gets comfortable trapping me on the sofa.

Ooh, yeah, I get that one too.

Really, living by oneself really lessens the Peeve for me. But it all comes out at work or the road.

I had the World's Stupidest Ushers last weekend. I wanted to bang their heads together, and watch them cry. Grr.

Someone had mentioned that the Krumholtz character didn't have the right body language -- I'm assuming there was stuff revealed about his character in the earlier eps that doesn't jibe with how he moves? He seemed fine to uninitiated me.

'Twas I. Last week he was hunched over his calculations and scurrying from blackboard to blackboard like Igor. I got the impression that the character isn't meant to connect to the world like the rest of us--he connects through numbers, and is, for lack of a better descriptor, borderline autistic. In last night's ep he had no self-restrictive body-language in a couple of long shots. He could have been Mr. Average Surfer Dude. A small thing, but for me, it jarred because it was at odds with the way the character was set up previously.

You know playing "Blood, Sugar, Sex Magic" really loud in the morning does wonders for one's outlook on the day.