Poor DH is Sickly McIllington. I had this cold/flu thing before him and it only knocked me out for a couple of days before turning into the more manageable Sniffly Aftereffects That Will Not Die. It is hitting him much harder and the poor guy has been feeling terrible for almost a week.

My goal is to try to eat what I want, but it has to be actual food and not chocolate, cookies, chips, etc. I tend to snack on totally empty calories, so we are going to stock up on heathy stuff, like baby carrots and good cheese and fruit and stuff like that.

Once I get all of the crap out of my house (aided by bringing some into work), I am going to try to cook more, which will result in eating better, which should result in these jeans not digging into my fat gut.

Driver blames pterodactyl for crashing into pole

A 29-year-old Wenatchee man told police a pterodactyl caused him to drive his car into a light pole about 11:30 p.m. Thursday.

When police asked the man what caused the accident, his one-word answer was "pterodactyl," Smith said. A pterodactyl was a giant winged reptile that lived more than 65 million years ago.

A pterodactyl was a giant winged reptile that lived more than 65 million years ago.

Well, you can see how that might be distracting.

I don't even eat that badly (well, except for the cheese fries and excessive amounts of beer), I just eat too much. I cook, and it's good. And I eat it all. Or most of it. and then, there's just a little bit left, and I might as well eat it, because it's good, and it's not enough to save . . .

I never ate really huge quantities. But I was the Queen of Processed Foods. If it had high fructose corn syrup or transfats or came out of a drive thru window, I was SO there. Combine that with no exercise of any kind and only remembering to eat after 3 pm and never drinking water...well, it's no wonder that I packed on the pounds.

I have had Doritos (or similar) for dinner more times than a respectable grown-up should.

Mike Brady's angry Shakespearean critique of the Brady Bunch scripts

Robert Reed, who played Mike "Dad" Brady on The Brady Bunch was a frustrated, classically trained Shakespearean actor who sent stroppy memos the show's writers explaining How Drama Works to them in minute, enraged detail. They are a treasure. Here is one of them:

Once again, we are infused with the slapstick. The oldest boy's hair turns bright orange in a twinkling of the writer's eye, having been doused with a non-FDA-approved hair tonic. (Why any boy of Bobby's age, or any age, would be investing in something as outmoded and unidentifiable as "hair tonic" remains to be explained. As any kid on the show could tell the writer, the old hair-tonic routine is right out of "Our Gang." Let's face it, we're long since past the "little dab'll do ya" era.)

Without belaboring the inequities of the script, which are varied and numerous, the major point to all this is: Once an actor has geared himself to play a given style with its prescribed level of belief, he cannot react to or accept within the same confines of the piece, a different style.

When the kid's hair turns red, it is Batman in the operating room.

I can't play it.

I'm trying really, really hard to avoid high fructose corn syrup.

Um, except for all of the Christmas candy and cookies in the house that were given to us as gifts.