First floor swept and mopped.

I? Am Mr. Mom.

Never mind.

I can't even think about Mr. Rogers for too long or I get all teary at how thoroughly, down to the bone decent he was, and how that decency was a kind of genius. The haters clearly have not seen or read anything of him in ages and are just working their hate off of fuzzy memories and a general pall of get-offa-my-lawn grumpitude. They make me want to say words that would make Mr. Rogers very disappointed in me so I won't say them, but it's hard not to.

He wouldn't be disappointed in you, JZ, just in your behavior.

Mr. Rogers died three weeks to the day after my father died. I didn't think my heart could take it. I don't know when I ever felt so alone. The two were already very connected in my mind. My father used to watch Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood with me. Sometimes he'd pretend he was King Friday. And I believe he enjoyed Lady Elaine Fairchild as much as he enjoyed Jonathan Winters and Peter Sellers.

He has an arc welder in his living room.

And my first response was, "Uh, yeah? So? I've got a reciprocating saw." I'm a junk enabler.

I've been trying to pin down my Mr. Rogers quibble, and I think it comes from what everyone is so charmed by, the sweet smile, the slow kindly voice--he seemed, well, (white fonted for the Mr. Rogers lovers) impaired, either mentally or socially, in a "if you're left alone with this person, bad things will happen" sort of way. I don't know if this is the key to something utterly blocked by me and both my sisters, but we've all agreed that no one that kind and sweet and obsessed with kid things could possibly be up to anything good.

Sorry. My issues.

He has an arc welder in his living room.

And my first response was, "Uh, yeah? So? I've got a reciprocating saw." I'm a junk enabler.

Heh. The other night, there was a new pile of metal in the living room, and I said, "If I'm going to move in, we are going to have to have a written contract about bringing scrap metal home."

His response? "No problem. [pause] There WILL be a section in the contract about....YOUR BOOKS, won't there???"

Dude. Busted!

Possible yuck alert: I was just outside taking pictures of Winchester, and will post them as soon as Stephen uploads them, but I wanted to ask if anyone knows what kind of cost might be associated with getting his tail fixed.

It was ... I don't know, run over, maybe? It's about a third of the length it should be, and about two thirds of what's left is bald but oozing and pink, clearly not healed, so that blades of grass and other stuff sticks to it. Ick. The last inch, nearest his butt, is still furry and fine.

And *he* looks amazingly healthy. His coat is soft and smooth and shiny, and he doesn't even seem to have fleas. But the tail ... poor guy. Also, shudder. Anyone have a clue what it might cost to have it clipped and cauterized, I guess, properly?

Amy is there a Humane Society or something similar, near you? You might want to call, tell them he's a stray, and that you'd adopt, but that you don't have the dosh to fix his tail up, right now. Poor kitty.

we are going to have to have a written contract about bringing scrap metal home

Put in a clause about using the kitchen stove for annealing steel. Hubby's been pissed that we've only had electric stoves since we moved because he liked using the gas flame for annealing and paint removal and melting lead and . . .

Heh. The other night, there was a new pile of metal in the living room, and I said, "If I'm going to move in, we are going to have to have a written contract about bringing scrap metal home."

His response? "No problem. [pause] There WILL be a section in the contract about....YOUR BOOKS, won't there???"

If he gets a scrap metal shelf and puts it all on there, sure.

*snuggles into the Mr. Rogers love*

but I really loved those minatures.

So. Awesome. I still to this day remember the one where he showed how they made crayons.

Plus, music nerd, so...

Sorry that he creeps you out, connie.