Picture from the White House seder. [link] Two people that I expected to be there -- Rahm Emmanuel and Rabbi Funnye -- were not. (Also, the hi-res picture is really hi-res. You can zoom in enough to see that Obama and the woman next to him have their books open to different pages, and that the seder plates seem to be missing the green vegetable that's supposed to be there.) (Yes, I'm being ridiculously nit-picky here.)

I just got excited for a minute because I've been to about six places in all of California.

Come visit. We'll take you to Vacaville AND Gilroy.

Those are the hot spots!

Bittersweet news, Scrappy. Being able to be at home is surely a blessing.

Still have not started my taxes.

Oy. An eighth-grade girl in the town where I grew up sent a naked picture of herself to someone, and it started circulating around the whole middle/high school. The town police came to the school and warned that anyone who doesn't delete the picture by Wednesday may face prosecution for possession of child porn. Somehow, the Associated Press picked up this story.

Well, at least they're not prosecuting her for production of child porn, like I've heard some other places have done in similar situations.

I did know someone who grew up in Vacaville, and wrote a song about getting the fuck out of there, so.

Still have not started my taxes.

Still waiting for something from my sister. I could do some of it before I get the thing, but I don't seem to have done/be doing that.

True to form, my father waited until two weeks after I'd gotten my refund to send me my last bit of tax information. (Fortunately I doubt the whopping extra $14 in dividends this year is going to affect anything. If the IRS really wants to come after me, they can talk to my dad.)

I spent the day over at L's. Round about 4, we decided to hide the eggs for the kids. It was very successful and nice to just hang out with them and another couple (who turn out to live only a few blocks from the new place.)

I came home and packed the three boxes from L.

I'm afraid I am at the what-the-fuck stage of packing. The I-don't-know-how-to-pack-this. The odds and ends stage. The I'm not packing that yet. The HOLY GAWD my apartment is a mess and a hazard and filthy and ACK stage.

I did know someone who grew up in Vacaville, and wrote a song about getting the fuck out of there, so.

Vacaville is one of the teams we beat in Sectionals last year.

I recently learned that Vacaville is named for a guy named Vaca (not, I think, Cabeza de Vaca, but I'm not sure) and not for cows.