Oh, my aching everything

As I mentioned yesterday, I've starting running again. Actually, "running" is a generous term for what I do; I scoot. I was a pretty serious scooter in LA, jogging roughly 3 - 5 miles a day. I really enjoyed it and nothing made my body look better. (I've tried to love lower-impact yoga but fuck all, I can't! I like the breathing part and the lying-on-the-floor-at-the-end part and that's about it. And for some reason, men who do yoga irritate me. I find it extremely emmasculating. Sure, Sting looks incredible and can keep a boner for, like, 9 hours but mostly they're just touch-feely wuss jobs. If you ask me.) Anyway, I thought I was in pretty decent shape - I work out several times a week and cater regularly - but running on concrete! With hills and rollerbladers and small dogs to dodge! It's a whole different game, boys and girls. How out of shape am I? Yesterday I was passed by an ancient Chinese man power walking.

How I wish I was kidding.

I aspire to be this snarky

Real quick, this week's recap of Britney and Kevin: Chaotic! on Television Without Pity is so ungodly funny I haven't even finished the first page and I'm telling you to read it. The opening alone - a Tom Cruise/Scientology bitchslap that's so spot on I started to choke on my smoothie - is reason enough, my friends. (Yes, I'm drinking smoothies every day after my run. More on that later, assuming I can make it back to the computer once my leg muscles realize that I've stopped moving and start to lock...)

Thanks, Ted!

Thanks to ted, I know know how to do links! (Read: I know know how to copy and paste the link he emailed me onto my blog.) Say, Ted - how do you know how to title your link to make it work? I get the sierrasafararizoo.com part, but then how do you know to put animals/liger.htm? If you made something up like, bigfuckingcat/liger.htm, it wouldn't work right?

Sorry to have a tech support question for all you'se out there, but maybe - just maybe - you'll all learn a little something too today. Or maybe I'm the only one.

More interesting blog later, I hope. In the meantime, check out the big fucking cat!

http://www.sierrasafarizoo.com/animals/liger.htm

Overheard

It's Fleet Week here in NYC so the city is flooded with jaunty young men (and women) in crisp white sailor suits and nifty little hats. I keep half-expecting Gene Kelly to pop and start twirling around a poll.

Yesterday, two little old ladies came tottering onto the elevator. One was two-stepping with her walker, the other leaning on a cane. All of a sudden one of the old woman leaned over her walker and whispered loudly to her friend, "Did you see all the good-lookin' sailors walking around? My!"

As I was getting off the elevator I heard her add, "Just because we're old doesn't mean we can't LOOK!"

Only-Interesting-To-Me Celeb Sighting!

This afternoon I saw Naima, America's Next Top Model (and my official girl crush) strutting it down by NYU. Her mohawk is gone, replaced by a short (and rather underwhelming) curly perm. She was walking with two friends - slightly chubby, normal types - and seemed content to let them gab at her while she strolled. She totally checked out my skirt as she passed which made my freaking day, sad as that is.

Ligers and Taigons and... BEARS! Oh MY!

Today mom emailed me a photo of an animal called a "Liger", which is what's created when lions and tigers screw with nature by, well, screwing. The pics showed this ENORMOUS creature, like something out of prehistoric times (seriously, it's crazy big). It grows to be 10 feet long and 900 lbs and eats, like, a billion pounds of meat at a time... Ligers were mentioned in Napoleon Dynamite but since he asserts that they were bred for their skills in magic, I was pretty sure this thing was Photoshopped.

UNTIL I GOOGLED IT!

Holy crap, they're real! There are only about a dozen in the world and most of them are at some Siberian zoo. (Chernobyl! There's no other explaination for the size of this thing!) There's also something called a "Tigon" but I'm not sure what makes it different. (Lion mates with tiger = Ligon. Tiger mates with lion = Tigon. The fuck?) How have I lived 33 years on this planet and never heard of such a creature? I know there are animals that exist that I've never heard of -weird birds and squirrels and stuff - but they're really far away. But this thing... I mean, it's BIG! How has it hidden from me this long?

I'd link a picture but I still haven't figured out how to do it. Ted "Tech Support" Carter tried to tell me how but I'm visual. Unless you take my grubby little paws and push the keys for me, I don't get it. Until Gunderman gets back from Scotland, you'll just have to trust me about this.

Sawyer with his shirt off...

Woo! That was a hell of an episode of LOST last night! I was bummed that they killed of the science teacher though. His pissiness was classic.

And... scene.

Why yes, I WAS spectacular!

Although I did make my appearance in what had to be the most underwhelming season finale in all of season finaledom, I was happy that I hadn't made an ass out of myself. The audition, 3 hours of costume fittings and roughly 30 takes - all for one line. I don't know how the principals do it, I swear. (I'm still in love with Diane Neal. I can't believe Dick Wolf calls her daily to tell her how overweight she is. "Morbidly obese" was how he described her. Ah, television.)

I finally saw Britney and Kevin's show. (We're on a first name basis now, y'all.) Man, it STUNK. Wow! So bad even I can't watch it - and I loves crap! America's Next Top Model? LOVE IT. The Starlet? Uh... sure! But this? Watching KFed and BritBrit make out all, all tongues and zits and weird little man-beards... Listening to her go on and on about their sex life ("Ecstasy. Ecstasy!") It's just grody. (Her poor dad! Although once you've seen your daughter simulate masturbation on arena stages in front of thousands of people, watching her tongue kiss her rodenty boyfriend may not pack the same nasty punch.)

Bring me more Cheetos!

I've just got to know - has anybody watched "Chaotic", that new Britney Spears reality show? I know the answer (because all of you have lives) but the reviews are SO bad that I have to have to watch it. The review on Television Without Pity (www.televisionwithoutpity.com) made my day.

Estee Lauder was at my table last night. Her husband was nice - meaning he actually said "thank you" (but no eye contact) - and she... She had on a huuuuuge dress. The thing was practically a hoop skirt, I don't know how she managed to sit. It was covered in silver stars - most likely embroidered by small children - making her ass resemble the milky way. She got all pissy when I informed her that I would not be her personal waiter, that she might have to tell a different waiter she was a vegetarian if - God forbid - I was not the one to bring her food, but that they'd scurry away and bring her a vegetarian meal if she told them. (I think she liked the "scurry away" part. It implied servitude.) She was much less plastic-looking than I assumed she'd be. Rumor has it that Coco Chanel was there too - Isn't she dead?

No NyQuil callback yet. Not... giving up... hope...

It's true - Money CAN buy happiness: A rant

In case you're out of the loop, there's some money in this city - ginormous, engulfing bags of it - and the family I worked for last night had a bunch. A rundown:
- Two-storey showpalace in the West Village (the best neighborhood in the city) , easily 3,000 sq. feet
- Huge wrap-around terrace/deck with amazing views and full-grown trees and beautifully maintained plants
- The floors were all hardwood but they'd painted them almost black and shellacked them so they were really shiny (very Designer Showhouse and totally fantastic)
- All of the cabinets in his open-air office were chrome with leather pulls
- In order for light to reach more of the first floor (because the floor-to-ceiling windows just weren't cool enough), they'd put a skylight in on the top floor and the second floor floor - directly underneath the skylight - was made of frosted glass so the light would shine into the first floor living room. All us waiters were freaking out, walking on it.
- The pantry was the size of my bathroom. Not that I have a big bathroom, but it was the size of my bathroom. We thought it was a nice touch that the marble from the kitchen continued into the pantry...

The party was supposed to be outside on the deck. The forecast called for rain but hubby really wanted us to set up. So we got out the grill, set up the bar, assembled and clothed several tables, unbagged the chairs... and it started to pour. So we had to cover the grill, break down the bar, break down the tables, fold up the chairs (we are now soaking wet) then REASSEMBLE THE BAR INSIDE, PUT UP THE TABLES, PLACE THE CHAIRS, PUT DOWN TOWELS ON THE HARDWOOD, then scramble to get the rest of the party ready before the guests got there. For some reason they had a big white rug in the entryway and the wife was freaking out that it was going to get dirty so we had to do all this in our socks.

Anyway, you get the idea. It was hell. Don't get me wrong, for rich people they were really nice (Did I mention that once the rain stopped we had to reassemble everything outside again? Did I mention that? And that the party went until 2 am and then had to load up the van and return everything to the restaurant (big, heavy tubs of food, crates of booze... neverending...) which took another 30 minutes - so no bed until 3 am? Did I mention that?!!) but it was hell.

But the man ("man"! He was, like, my age which killed me a little) knew how to tip: $100 tucked discreetly into my grubby little paw. (We earned every penny...)

I need to take a cold shower

I go to check my blog this morning and, what's this? SEVEN comments! I live for my comments so I was pretty psyched - until I discovered that, aside from an innocuous post from Missy about her children, my comment area was filled with SMUT! Yes, some dorkbag got ahold of my blog and posted a bunch of porn. I'm no priss, but butt plugs and horses (naughty horses, that is) have no place on this family-friendly blog.

Idiot!

(Have you all seen Napoleon Dynamite? It's only intermittently funny and goes on way too long, but the parts that are funny are really, really funny.)

God works in mysterious ways

I've had a cold all week, leaving me stuffed up and chapped nosed and generally pissy. And of course this week I've suddenly had a wave of auditions. The first one was for Verizon; I was supposed to be a bride or a bridesmaid. ("Dress is casual, but bride-like.") After realizing that I don't own a single article of white clothing, I decided to just screw it and wear jeans. There I was tanked up on Nyquil, only able to mouth-breathe, surrounded by perky young things dressed like they were ready for mint julips on the porch. We had to improvise being at a bridal shop and blah and blah and text message and blah. I'm nodding and pretending to pay attention when all I'm really thinking is "kleenex" and about the fact that I've never sent a text message in my life. (I think instead of texting I just dialed.)

Shockingly enough, no callback.

The next day I had an audition for Hallmark where we had to laugh on cue. For those of you who think, Yeah, so? Trust me - it's really fucking hard. We were handed a fake Hallmark card then told to open it and laugh in one of five different ways.

1. Hold sides and laugh.
2. Hold sides and laugh until you fall down.
3. Make a hiss-like laugh.
4. Laugh until you start to cry.
5. Snort-laugh.

Aside from Missy (who might be able to do #5) , I don't know anyone who can laugh on cue and sound authentic. There's a commercial running now where a guy who's test-driving a car laughs hysterically for, like, three minutes. He deserves some kind of statuette, for reals. The shit is hard - especially when you can't breathe out of your nose.

Then I had an audition for Pilot Pens. They were looking for an "Elaine from Seinfeld" character so I kicked up my general state of neurosis and hauled myself there. Usually when casting people give a character description, it's just a guideline. The Pilot folks wanted Eliane from Seinfeld. The only people they were interested in were the ones with long, curly, dark hair. I have short, curly, red hair.

Shockingly, no callback.

I'm not a religious person, but occasionally I send out little shout-outs to the Man Upstairs. As I was saying my nightly prayers, I threw one in asking for an audition that I was actually right for (yes, I also pray for peace and shit. Leave me alone.) and lo and behold what do I end up having an audition for today?! NYQUIL! That's RIGHT! I had to play a girl with a really bad cold! Who can't breathe and just wants to take some Nyquil and go to bed! Seriously, it was spooky!

From now on I'm going to be very careful about what I pray for. I think I have some powers, kids.

To the bathroom I am going, yes!

My friends, REVENGE OF THE SITH kicks some serious ASS! I totally loved it. (After waiting two hours in line I'd better have loved it...) Maybe my geekster hubby is putting something in my food but I thought it was incredibly fun. Sure, there's some wooden acting and George can't write a love scene to save his life (I stand by the statement that no woman has ever, in the history of the world, uttered the words, "Hold me.") but nothing beats watching Yoda kick it with a lightsaber. (Matt might've come home and gotten out his lightsaber and challenged Tinkerbell to a fight. I'm not saying he did, but he might've.)

My schedule, she is stupid.

The two women at the place where I'm interning sent me home early last night because I was feeling so crappy (at least that's the reason they gave me). I suspect that I'm actually doing more harm than good there. (If you saw some of the things I gift wrapped, you'd agree. I actually heard an "aye-yi-yi" at one point.) I also suspect that I'm not all that interested in running a store anymore. I thought it was just that I was bored with being a shop clerk but when I see how much time they have to devote to it I can't picture it. There's no way you could do it with a kid unless you had the cash to hire help. I love the idea of decorating a store and naming a store but in truth I think I just like shopping. I don't get any pleasure out of the day-to-day stuff that keeps the place, you know, going which seems a bad sign.

That whole purpose-in-life thing still eludes me...

I have more to write but I have reviews to write and cats (and kids) to sit.

Out of service

No post tonight as I am still working my way through this miserable freaking cold. But I'm saving up stories, I promise.

It's your birthday! It's your birthday! La-La-La-La-La-La-La!

Let's all give a rousing HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my friend, Dan. He's turning... he's... how old are you, Dan?

Bring on the spankings and cake!

No more cheese popcorn and watermelon before bed

I had the best dream last night. I dreamt that I was taking classes at this college but instead of being a normal college the campus looked like a little town. All the buildings were all old European castles and there were green fields everywhere. I was wandering around trying to find my class when this little round woman popped into the hall and pulled me into her Linguistics class. She kept joking with the students and trying to convince me that I should study Linguistics but eventually I snuck out because I needed to find my class. Suddenly everyone came running out of their classes for lunch but there wasn't a cafeteria - instead they had little farmer's markets. Some of the students were making cheese and decorating enormous cookies shaped like Easter chickens (in my dream we celebrated Easter with chickens, apparently) and there was a baby goat wandering around. Turns out they were filming Finding Neverland on campus and I had been cast as Johnny Depp's half-daughter and Chris Miller (my junior year prom date) was cast as his half-son. Then I woke up.

I won't even begin to analyze. (Anybody know what happened to Chris?)

CORRECTION!

According to TV Guide, my episode - "Goliath" - is airing on Tuesday the 24th. Let's cross our fingers that they're right. (Thanks for pointing that out, Mary!)

TIVO alert!

I think my L & O - Special Victim's Unit is airing this Thursday. There's a significant chance that I will suck, fo' rizzle, shizzle. (I'm letting my inner Snoop out, ya'll.)

I figure, even if I tank it's my network debut! I'm pretty psyched.

It's time for Chewy to kick some ass.

I planned on posting yesterday, but between getting up at 7 am to work a wedding and being sick as a d-o-g (how did that expression come to be? Do dogs really get that sick?) and Will Ferrell on SNL I just didn't get to it.

Today I'm heading out to a stationary show at the Javits Center which I'm ridiculously excited about. I'm hoping for free swag. The store where I'm interning gave me a pass but it's in the name of a former employee/partner - so we'll cross fingers that I don't get asked for ID. I have to remember that my name is "Julie". (I always forget that and tell them my real name.) I would make one hell of a spy.

There's also a big food fair on 9th Avenue today (a block away) so Matt and I plan to head there at some point. Yesterday Matt saw a group of people dressed like characters from Revenge of the Sith. Apparently they were on break from waiting on line at the Ziegfield and had wandered over for some grub. One was dressed like... um... the Liam Neeson character, one was dressed like Natalie Portman, and one like the main bad guy (not Darth Vadar, the Count Dooku). I'm crossing my fingers for more of that sweet action today.

Don't forget the cheese popcorn and Swedish fish

They kicked Brittany off America's Next Top Model. If Naima goes, somebody's getting hurt.

I actually watch very little television anymore. And by "very little" I mean "less than I used to", and by that I mean "I need to read a book". OH! Best book ever! Stardust by Neil Gaiman. I haven't yet read any of his other books (to the shock and dismay of my comic-loving hubby) but if they're close to as good as this one, I'm there.

Anyway, guilty pleasures in no particular order:

- The aforementioned Top Model. Tyra bugs me but I do like that she's gotten a little chubby and totally owns it. ("They'll airbrush me! I've paid my dues!") It's no Project Runway, but I'm hooked.
- Project Runway
- Battlestar Galactica - SO GOOD. So, so good. Seriously - So. Good.
- House Hunters - I sit there and drool over the Craftsman bungalows and marvel at people's love of naugahyde couches.
- Gilmore Girls - A town where everyone has a great house and no real job and talks like they're in a Noel Coward play? That's for me!
- Lost - I'm madly, desperately in love with John Locke. But they really should've killed the Hobbit.

WHEW! That was fun, huh? (Slow news day, folks.)

He's gonna PUMP! (clap) YOU UP!

NEWS FLASH: There's a man sunbathing on the roof across the street. Right now he's applying sunscreen to his nipples which, while practical, is not something I ever needed to see.

Nothing will top the time that we watched a man posing for what (we hoped?) was a men's bodybuilding magazine. He was pulling out all the classics (ah yes, there's The Hulk... the Ah-nuld...) It took every ounce of strength not to invite people over.

IF IT'S FREE, IT'S FOR ME!

Yeah, yeah, scare at the White House... President evacuated... All I know is, the guy in the plane? He's screwwwwwed.

This will probably apply to - oh - me but on NY1 yesterday they gave a list of sites that offer free music downloads. Since most places charge roughly $1 a song, this is exciting stuff. Amazon.com's got an amazing selection. If anyone's interested I'll tell you how to find them.

So Dave Chapelle's checked himself into a "mental health facility", huh? That's a damn shame. His show was seriously genius. My friend Stefanie worked on one of the last episodes and had quite an experience. I'd rather let her tell it in her own words (unless she doesn't feel like writing it, then I'll do the Cliff's Notes version)... Feel like sharing, Stef?

And finally: roaches. We have roaches. I know, I know, we live in New York, roaches are practically pets, blah-blah... BUT WE HAVE ROACHES! The exterminator can't come until next Tuesday which means:
A: I won't sleep for a week. (They crawl in your ears and lay eggs! Seriously, I heard that!)
B: I will no longer be carting in bottles from the recycling bin (I turn them in for the 5 cent deposit.) Some people have 401(k)'s, I stand next to homeless men and separate cans. But since roaches have been seen in the vicinity of the recycling room, that's the end of that. Bye-bye, tiny amounts of money...
C: The cats better get off their butts and start earning their keep. Can't roaches smell cats?

There's a McDonald's right across the street...

Last night I watched a woman squat, pull her panties between her ankles and take a piss right at the top of the subway stairs. She was white, mid-50's maybe, wearing a pink puffy jacket and flip-flops (which is not the shoe of choice when you're squatting over a puddle of piss). She kept smoking her cigarette the whole time, squatting and puffing, casual as can be...

I also saw an old man tottering down the street with a parrot on a branch.

Quite a day.

It must be love

Have you seen Katie Holmes' feet? No, seriously, have you seen them?

ME WANT-UM MEAT!

I was down in Chinatown today and walked past one of those meat-on-a-stick carts that live on every corner. They're all pretty much the same - with names like Mustafa's Gyros and Shwarma Kart selling skewers of questionable meat to neighborhood laborers and slumming suits - but this particular one caught my eye. Perhaps it was the unbridled use of color or the plastic flower leis that did it. Or maybe it was the name, spelled out in silver glitter graffiti:

FROM ATLANTIS,
WITH LOVE

Looking back, I think that it was the worker dressed head-to-toe like an American Indian that really grabbed me. I didn't see if he had a tomahawk but I'm pretty sure I saw a tear roll down his cheek while he stared at the garbage collecting on the street.

A call to all female New Yorkers reading this

Does anyone have a black button down shirt I could borrow for a job on Tuesday? I'm afraid I'll never be able to find one since it's summer... I'll wash it and fold it and spritz it with something pretty-smellin'!

Hold my calls

Lies! All Lies! is taking a little nap for a few days while the hubby and I take a trip to the heartland to visit the moms. To tide you over until Tuesday, check out these little goodies:

www.baldandeffective.com for a nice political rant
www.home.earthlink.net/~vekann/ for the trials of raising twins
www.belledejour-uk.blogspot.com to read about the life of a high-class London call girl
www.gawker.com the best gossip site ever

That should hold you.

More Cap'n Tightpants...

After last night, it is also clear that I can no longer drink whiskey and eat half a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos ("Now BETTER tasting!") while playing card games with my husband and his buddies. (Baby's folks got home early.) But it was worth it to get a glimpse of his secret gaming world - a world I am forbidden to enter, lest I spend the evening asking everyone if they're a gnome.

It was fun, but if you think that whiskey and ginger sounds like an innocent concoction you'd be mistaken. It's a sweet-talking little bitch.

Just call me Captain Tightpants

My husband has informed me that I can no longer pull off leather pants. He'll probably argue this point, yelp that "NOBODY wears leather pants anymore" or some such nonsense. Of course people wear leather pants. Sexy people. Models. Granted, leather pants were more suited to my former life - the one where I dated over-the-hill wannabees and lived in LA - and, no, I haven't been able to squeeze myself in them without my belly doing the smooshy pooch over the waistband but still! I want to be someone who can pull them off. Frances McDormand still rocks the leathers and she's... however old. It's always freaky when you hit those milestones, and I'm not talking the usuals: 21, baby, marriage. The ones where you realize perhaps you're no longer the target audience for Jane magazine (although you're a die-hard reader). Or the first time you get called "ma'am". Pretty soon it'll be that first AARP magazine. (It's not that far away, kids!)

Feel free to contribute.

I'm off to babysit the baby. Safe to say I won't have to do much.

Techno-bozo

Last Friday I did a focus group. Now I've done my fair share of these things over the years; I even recruited for a few during my razzle-dazzle days as a "trend forecaster". (I will never stop loving the sound of that. It's practically magical.) For those of you who've never done one, you sign up online at one of the various focus group places, and if your stats (age, income, job) match up with a group you get a call. At that point your job is to lie, lie, lie. Seriously. As one who's spend hours desperately trying to find a 20-25 year-old Asian male who makes $70 - 100K and only drinks Cuervo, you just want someone who fits the suit.* The recruiters often make your job easy, steering you towards the proper response ("Are you sure you only exercise twice a week? Do you sometimes exercise more?") so really, all you have to do is remember your occupation (you can't be an actor so make something up. Right now I'm fond of sales - nice and open to interpretation - but for a long time I was an exceptionally well-paid tutor) and show up on time to collect your dough. They're always about something really dopey like shampoo or running shoes ("Why yes I AM a marathon runner!") so it's pretty easy to bluff your way through. Sometimes it's even interesting, seeing the prototypes and being asked your opinion, like they might actually take it into consideration.

This particular group was focusing on digital technology. Now, I pride myself on being an early adopter (see Trend Forecaster) and can pretty much tell you anything you want to know about a whole mess o' crap, but I don't know squat about digital technology. I don't own a laptop. My cell phone is the one I got for free when I joined Sprint. I've never once sent a text message. Still, I figure I can b.s. my way through it.

Rule #1: You cannot fake knowledge of digital technology.

I show up at the Westin inTimes Square and try to pick out the other frauds, but all I see are a group of slightly puffy looking people carrying gadgets that would not be amiss on an episode of Star Trek. (I make a mental note not to pull out my cell phone.) We head upstairs and meet Damien (his real name), then go around the room and introduce ourselves, telling everyone what we do. Two owned large consulting firms, one was a lawyer, one did something with sports marketing that required a huge amount of travel, one was a fine art dealer, one was a sound technician on Broadway, one owned her own clothing line and one was in, uh, "sales". Damien mentioned that they'd overbooked the evening so he took a look around, then handed the sound technician and the clothing designer their cash and sent them home. Luckily (?), he kept me.

"We've called you here because you are the experts!" Damien started out by asking each of us to tell him about our personal favorite piece of digital technology. Sports guy nattered on about his Blackberry while one of the consultants expounded on the virtues of the iRiver versus the iPod. Other consultant owned a Fugimoto laptop that was compatable with a blahbadeeblahblah - and then it was my turn. I tried to fake it by saying that I was "embarrassed to admit" that I owned a Compaq Presario but that I was "obviously looking to upgrade".

"Oh! Which direction are you thinking?"

I muttered something about Apple's fantastic design team and tried to change the subject to the joys of iPod ownership (ah, safety!) but Damien was having none of it.

"Which models are you considering?"

Have I mentioned Rule #1?

Finally we had to draw our version of the perfect piece of mobile digital technology, including gigabytes (or was it megabytes?) , screen size, price point. I kept trying to pretend that I wasn't about all the bells and whistles but mostly I just went to the bathroom a lot and hid.

Longest two hours of my life...








*If you know this reference, you are truly the product of the 70's.

Sleeping like a baby

This one is for all you mothers out there.

Forgive the short posting, I got up at 6 am to babysit. (Not Billy this time - a seven-month-old baby. We'll call him "Baby".) They used one of those "Teach Your Kids Healthy Sleep Patterns" books (the ones where no matter how much your kid is crying you don't go in) and believe you me, it's a keeper.

Baby went to bed at 6:30 pm and slept solidly until 6 am. When he woke up they fed him, then put him back down until 9. When he woke up I fed him, then put him back down until 11. When he woke up at 1, I fed him... and put him back down until 4 - After which, I hazard to guess, he woke up, was fed, and put down for the night. (I called mom to tell him how good natured he was and she shouted, "Good natured?! He's STUNNED! He can't believe he's awake!")

I'm telling you, as soon as I'm pregnant I'm buying that book.

the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy: a review

You must go see this movie. Oh yes, you must.