Saturday, September 30, 2006

Spending Saturday Night With a Soldering Iron

The cassette adapter I use to play my iPod Shuffle in my car died a few days ago. Loose connection in the jack plug after one too many accidental tugs.

I've killed a bunch of headsets that way, too. Guess I don't have very good luck with wires.

I would go wireless, but the sound quality of FM transmitters isn't as good as the good old-fashioned cassette adapter. And I'm not going for some fancy in-dash custom solution (not until I get a real iPod, anyway).

Oh, and get a new one? Hey, that's twenty bucks. It's not the money, really, just the fact that a perfectly good piece of equipment stopped working because a bit of copper wire bent the wrong way one too many times.

The first thing I tried was cannibalizing the jack from an old headset and splicing the wires together with some heat-shrink tubing and electrical tape. It didn't work out so good (and even if it had, it was ugly as sin and wouldn't have lasted).

I did a little more research and then hit Rat Shack to pick up a real replacement jack. And a soldering iron -- I've never owned a soldering iron, and it's been a heck of a long time since I've used one.

The eHow tutorial on How to Replace a Headphone Plug was helpful, but when I followed the instructions, I had an extra wire (never a good thing), and when I tried it out, I was only getting sound from one channel.

I did a little more research. Oddly enough, the patent application for the cassette adapter was really helpful -- it has a circuit diagram. I eventually figured out that the extra wire was another ground wire and I could twist them together.

So, after a few lungfuls of solder, it seems to work. It's kind of ugly and sloppy, but I have a spare jack and a few extra feet of cord to make mistakes on, so I can always try it again.

Oh, and let's see the math:

New Cassette Adapter: $19.99
Soldering Iron, Solder, Headset Plugs: $15.72

Friday, September 29, 2006

They Say That You Shouldn't Post After You've Been Drinking

To those people, I would say,
Fuck that shit!!! Pabst Blue Ribbon!!!
(That's from Blue Velvet, for the Philistines.)

Actually, it was Victory Lager, not PBR.

Unsolicited advice to the impossibly young, hottie bartender at the local bar I frequent:

If your fella changes his personality that much when he drinks, perhaps you should ask him to not drink any more. And if he won't (or can't) stop, perhaps he shouldn't be your fella.

Virgins and Ratsie's

Okay, so I finally uploaded my photos from the Virgin Festival last weekend.

Here is my quick summary:

* It was a good show.
* It wasn't 110 dollars per ticket good.
* But it was still good.

We drove up Saturday morning, doing the silly thing by following the directions from the site instead of cutting through Baltimore. So we got caught in traffic on 695, though that was mostly due to a multi-car accident. (Too bad about the Festival, kids: Careful driving saves lives and your concert-going experience.)

I suppose I could have gotten a picture. We were going slow enough. But if I did that, I would have also had to have taken a pic of a neat triple overpass we passed. Or any number of "Festival? Yeah, festival" cars that we saw.

Along the way, I was wondering how many people we'd see that we knew. Lon doubted we'd see any -- moments later, we passed someone we knew from the office bowling league.

Traffic slowed to a crawl as we got close to the racetrack (Northern Parkway), which was when we also saw Phil (and ended up giving he and his friend a ride after they ditched their car).

We found the parking lot mostly by accident (Lon had bought a parking pass), and walked on over while Wolfmother was playing (they were about the only band that I actively didn't want to see).

The security at the gate was perfunctory. We did also get to walk across the track, which was neat. (Did I stop to take a picture? No.)

(Incidentally, if they have the same setup again, it might be worth it to get a parking pass and just tailgate -- you could hear the main stage acts easily.)

The rest of the day was pretty much just ping-ponging between the main stage and the second stage. I ended up seeing most of:
* New Pornographers
* The Raconteurs
* Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
* Gnarls Barkley
* The Who
* The Flaming Lips

And I also caught bits of
* Brazilian Girls
* Thievery Corporation
* Scissor Sisters
* Red Hot Chili Peppers

I don't remember if I saw any of The Killers' set.

Honestly, a bunch of the acts really didn't leave much of an impression on me. Outside of The Who, that is -- they rocked pretty damn hard:

Hey, look: You can almost see Roger Daltrey!

I didn't get a lot from some of the other bands. Not even the much-vaunted Gnarls Barkley. (Though to be honest, I had just a passing familiarity with a bunch of them -- I had to check the timestamps of the photos against the schedule to figure out who they were.)

And the Flaming Lips confused me -- are they a band, or a cult?

Interesting show, though. And by interesting, I mean utterly insane.

As always, some of the more interesting moments had nothing to do with the acts:

Baggies on feet.



So, the concert was fun, even if I did lose one of my earplugs (hey, they're $12 per pair), forcing me to get standard orange foam plugs for the nutso markup of $3.

The beers were $8 for 24 oz, which was not outrageous.

I have a few video clips, but the quality is going to just be crap, so I might not put them up anywhere.

I think I passed through the DJ tent twice -- there was no one I really wanted to see, since I'd seen Carl Cox at Moby's Area2 concert a few years back -- (as with DJ Tiesto, though he was a no-show. Sick or some such.)

After the show, we dropped off the hotel-stayers to leave them to their trouble. We stopped at College Park, where after an impromptu driving tour of the campus, we got some slices at Ratsie's (which I thought was pretty good.)

Also, when did they start allowing children to go to college? Children, I tell ya.

So, that was my experience at the Virgin Festival.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Under New Mangement

Here's the latest bill from my subdivision's management company:

Under New Mangement

For the lazy, unobservant, word-hating illiterate savages out there, the URL given is "", which is of course incorrect.

(They charge a "convenience fee" too, so I just mailed it in, per usual.)

In other news, I finally adjusted the template for this blog. It's still fixed-width (since I'm CSS-impaired), but the center column width now fits a 500-pixel wide photo (Flickr's standard "medium" photo size for a 1600x1200 original).

It took me annoyingly long to figure out that I needed to upload a new background graphic for the center column -- it's a one-pixel tall gif that's light gray on the left, and white for the rest -- I had to use the Photoshop eyedropper to check the color values.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Damn Those Chinks in the Agenda

I'm conflicted, yet that doesn't keep me from also being irritated.

I was just looking over the agenda for the OnMediaNYC 2007 conference, which in all likelihood is going to be your usual gaggle of new media/social media conference circuit douc -- I mean, luminaries -- and assorted junket junkies, networkers and hangers-on. (Yes, I would still like to be one of them, please.)

Here's the very first session:
Tuesday, January 30, 2007

8:30 am – 9:30 am
Are There Chinks in Google’s Advertising Armor?
Okay, look: Chink is a perfectly legitimate and valid word. I'm a word guy -- I know this.

And as a word guy, even if I personally don't choose to use it, I'm still not going to begrudge anyone else from using it.

Even though there are perfectly good synonyms that avoid any proximity at all to racial slurs.

Okay, maybe I'll grumble about it a little bit.

For me, chink is like niggardly. (Actually, it's a little worse that niggardly, as niggardly just sounds like a racial slur, whereas chink is actually used as one.) They're both real words. There are just better words out there people can use.

Maybe I'm being overly sensitive. Yeah, I've been called a chink before, when I was a kid. (Incidentally, I think that people who try to "reclaim" slurs are morons.) I just don't think there's any harm in taking a moment to switch to gap or crack instead of chink, or stingy instead of niggardly.

As a word guy, I know you can always take sensitivity to words to absurd extremes. Everyone has their personal lines to cross. For example, I don't know if people actually use "slope" as a slur outside of Vietnam War movies -- it just sounds ridiculous to me. I wouldn't be offended by it, unless the person saying it was also, say, hitting me with a brick. But there are folks who might.

There are plenty of others. Spic-and-span. Wop as onomatopoeia. Dutch treat.

And language does change. For example, I had no idea that Eeny-Meeny-Miney-Moe used to say catch a... well, I had no idea that it wasn't always "catch a tiger by the toe." (Which made that scene in Pulp Fiction a little puzzling the first time I saw it.)

Anyway, although personally irritating to me, I still don't want to be one of those minority activists (I've mentioned that I detest the phrase "people of color," even though I've caught myself using it a few times. I dislike political correctness, even though I'm currently advocating some. As I said, I'm conflicted.) who whines about a perfectly legitimate word.

So this is not a passive-aggressive blog post done with the hope that the conference organizers, as they vanity-search their conference for their naked conversations, stumble upon this entry and change the name of the session. (See, I'm not even going to Technorati-tag this with OnMediaNYC+2007.)

In fact, I forbid it. (That wasn't reverse psychology, either.)

It just kind of bugs me. And it bugs me that it bugs me.

Friday, September 22, 2006

01 (and other dumb things)

Blogger was being naughty last night, with some 01 error that kept me from publishing. I'm not sure if publishing from another computer did the trick (it shouldn't have, as far as I can tell -- should be a problem on the other side); even though the entry had allegedly "published", I did a Save as Draft and was then able to publish the entry for real, so we'll see how that goes this time around.

In some other quick updates, since I don't see myself doing a lot of blogging this weekend:

* If you see me at the Virgin Festival, say hi. (In my case, it should probably be the "Born-Again Virgin Festival.")

* I was accused of being a poor wingman last night. Fellas, for that to be a valid criticism, you got to at least get a shot off.

* My washing machine died last week. Actually, I think my mom worked it to death, during her and my family's visit earlier this month.

Yes, I'm in my early-to-mid-thirties, and my mommy still does the laundry when she visits.

Hey, you try telling her not to. I swear I'm going to have to turn the water off next time she visits.

Fortunately, I have enough clear clothes to last me until I get my ass to Sears to order a new washer/dryer, which should happen sometime this month.

People Doing Dumb Things

Here's an item tucked away in the Sept. 25 issue of People -- it's their "BEST (& Worst!) DRESSED" special double issue:
Correction: In a photo on page 124 of our Sept. 18 issue, the faces of Dalton and Dillon Corbin should have been digitally obscured. We regret the error.
Now, first off, I get People for free. It's usually a few days late, but it's free.

It's a "perk."

(Have I mentioned yet that I strongly believe that people who write in to the People MailBag to express an opinion on the latest celebrity whatever should, at the very least, be forcibly prevented from reproducing, and in certain cases, simply be euthanized outright?)

I still had the Sept. 18 issue lying around, so of course I had to check it out.

Turns out, the Corbin boys' mother was shot to death in 2004 (They found the body. They were 7 and 5. Nothing funny about that), and that the father's previous girlfriend was previously shot to death 16 years ago.

Anyway, the photo in question is pretty grainy and they're wearing hoodies, so this isn't the worst thing in the world for them (since, after all, the worst thing in the world has already happened for them.)

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Your salad is tossed for you while you wait.

A sign. At a place. Just look at the damn photo.


Alternate headline:
* Putting the "Ho" back in "Sodexho"

Sunday, September 17, 2006

There's No Frisking in Kickball!

Saturday was the midseason party for my fall kickball league, at Breaker's Billiards in the Herndon clocktower shopping center.

It was an okay party, as these things go. However, one thing set this party apart from your usual kickball event: At around 10pm, the bouncers set up a velvet rope and started patting people down at the door.

Okay, now sometimes things get a little heated on the field (there was a game a few weeks back that I thought was going to end by rear naked choke), but there's never been anything resembling frisking at the parties. (There's an obvious frisking/friskiness joke in there that I choose not to pursue at this time.)

As it turns out, apparently hip-hop/R&B station 93.9FM was doing an event.

This also explains why it was so damned loud (this was even through the 20 decibel reduction from my Etymotic ER-20 earplugs -- they reduce the volume without muffling sounds like foam earplugs. They look kind of funny, but I'm not proud anymore -- I've already got some tinnitus.)

Anyway, violence was averted. I didn't bring my camera, so there aren't any scandalous pictures. Or if there are, I don't have any.

Friday, September 15, 2006

The Illiterates Have Won: "Yer" Time Has Come

I give up. It's time to admit defeat. The illiterate idiots have won. From now on, instead of trying to argue with or educate the morons who can't distinguish between your and you're, I concede and now advocate abandoning both words and switching over to a third form that is correct in both cases: Yer.

In addition to simplifying grammatical rules, it's also beneficial because it makes you sound like a pirate. (Arrrr.)

Old paradigm

Wrong: You're mom is a whore.

Right: Your mom is a whore.

Wrong: Your an idiot.

Right: You're an idiot.

New paradigm

Wrong: You're mom is a whore.

Just as Wrong: Your mom is a whore.

Right: Yer mom is a whore.

Wrong: Your an idiot.

Still Wrong: You're an idiot.

Right: Yer an idiot.

Perfect: Yer an idiot and yer mom is a whore.

Once this unfortunate business is settled, next up is replacing It's and Its with Itz. (Arrrrr.)

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

9/13/99: Never Forget

Sept. 13, 1999: Never Forget

September 13, 2006 marks the anniversary of the tragic events at Moonbase Alpha, where all 311 of the base's inhabitants were lost and presumed killed after terrorists set off a thermonuclear chain reaction on the moon's Nuclear Waste Disposal Area 2.

The resulting catastrophic explosion blasted the Moon out of Earth orbit and into deep space (an event that has been seared into our collective consciousness through repeated viewings of footage from Alpha's internal cameras):

It seems hard to believe, but only 7 years after the Moon was stripped from the sky, the events of Sept. 13, 1999 seem distant and remote -- as if they had happened 30 years ago, not 7.

To commemorate this horrific event, and to honor its victims, I've created some graphics to show our resolve and prove to those who would harm us that we will NEVER FORGET:

We Will Never Forget Moonbase Alpha

Similarly, we must always remember the heroism of the Eagle Transport pilots and crew as they tried to rescue the trapped Alphans:

Let the Mighty Eagles Soar

May the victims of the Moonbase Alpha attacks always be remembered:

God Bless Moonbase Alpha

Spread the word with graphic badges:

Space 1999 Memorial Gif: 9/13/99

Space 1999 Memorial Gif: 9/13/99

Space 1999 Memorial Gif: 9/13/99

9/13/99: Never Forget.


Okay, so I liked Space: 1999 as a kid. I had some of the toys -- an Eagle transport (not the big one... though I wanted it), the playset (with action figures), the Colorforms, and a jigsaw puzzle. But I'm not a diehard fan. I don't participate in any of the online fan forums. And I especially never thought I'd be doing up tribute graphics for the "anniversary" of a fictional event from a 70s TV show.

So why do it?

I blame YouTube, and two blog entries that were floating around the geekosphere last month: The best and worst sci-fi openings of all time.

I didn't geek out about the lists then and I won't now (other than to say that the Blake's 7 opening and closing themes should have been on the best list).

Not only did the Space: 1999 theme song bring back memories, but it rocks. It still kicks ass (listen to that bass line! the wailing guitars! the orchestral break!) -- and it's aged really well (unlike, say, the Star Blazers theme, which, though still epic, is a lot more like a show tune than I remembered).

Anyway, when I was watching the Space: 1999 opening credits, I zeroed in on the "September 13, 1999" title cards.

Obviously, because of the Sept. 11 anniversary, we've been seeing a lot of remembrances and memorials on the Web, including graphic tributes of genuine sincerity (but varying quality) with crying eagles and "Never forget" and such.

I think it was the eagles that did it for me. Eagles and the Eagle Transporter. I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, I'm not trying to make fun of anyone's 9/11 memorial graphics -- I guess I just kind of overloaded on them over the past week. So that's why all this "Never Forget: 9/13/99" silliness.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

You Are Dumb. Yes, You.

Given the title and general subject material for this here blog, I guess I'm obligated to say something about this.

Guy Kawasaki did a blog entry entitled "Why Smart People Do Dumb Things" (Like Not Backup Their Hard Disk).

The title pretty much covers it.

The entry quotes extensively from the book, "Why Smart People Do Dumb Things."

Instead of doing a long, point-by-point exegesis, I will just say that smart people do dumb things because they are just as dumb as everyone else.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Fashion Is a Tax on People Who Think Personality Is Something You Wear (Not Something You Have)

This is going to sound angrier and be much longer than I originally planned. It was supposed to just be an entry making fun of the breathtakingly effortless condescension in Washington Post style and fashion editor Suzanne D'Amato's Sunday column. (I'm still catching up on my reading from the weekend.)

You should just read the article. I don't do fashion, but I was in awe. I mean, it sports a level of condescension that's typically reserved for the unfortunate souls in the flyover states. (I assume those people have souls.)

She says that because DC folks don't care much about fashion, a sophisticate such as herself (displaced New Yorker, of course) can be part of a secret sorority of fashion giants walking glamorously among the troglodytes, swooping in Indiana Jones-like and scooping up the treasures hidden under the noses of those who don't share her raised style-consciousness -- all the while sharing knowing glances with the other cognoscenti and laughing up her sleeve at the natives' ridiculous naivete and shockingly gauche fashion faux paus.

As a bonus, since no one else here is as stylish as she, she is just that much more fabulous by comparison -- a brilliant light flaring against the sackcloth, instead of being washed out by those even more fashionable than she in New York.

Oh, but don't worry -- there's a moral to the story. The peasants, in their charmingly naive way, ultimately dress only to please themselves (which is fortunate, since they have no way to compete with the truly style-conscious). And isn't that what fashion should be?

Yes, the joys of simple folk -- they can show us what life is really about.

It's an amazing read. I'm hoping she's just really bad at satire.


Now, I typically avoid blogging about matters of fashion and style. This is because I am a heterosexual male (occasional misidentifications notwithstanding).

It's easy for guys to ignore fashion, since despite the best efforts of the fashion industry to turn men into women, guys' clothes don't change. They don't have to change. And they won't change unless the phantom WMDs really do exist and we all have to start wearing radiation suits with activated charcoal liners.

As long as they fit, a guy can realistically get by with a pair of regular, plain old straight leg jeans, a pair of straight leg khakis, a pair of straight leg dark slacks (notice a pattern?), some nice long- and short-sleeved t-shirts, a couple of dress shirts, a sweater or two, maybe a sports jacket.

Solid colors preferred. Shirts fitted if you're in reasonable shape. Pants not too loose, not too tight. A few extras for variety. Limited redundancy to allow for the laundry cycle. Replace when worn or it doesn't fit anymore.

It's even easier if you have to wear suits. If you want to get all a-twitter because the high priests and priestesses of fashion decreed that this season's suit trend is three buttons instead of two, or that seersucker is back (hint: it's not), you can replace your entire wardrobe if you want. The rest of us will get by.

It's easy to do if you can avoid the need to feel fabulous and fashion-forward. And it is easy, for those of us who've been around for a while. We can remember firsthand how stupid we looked in the 70s, 80s and 90s, trying to adhere to the pronouncements foisted upon us by the arbiters of style in the name of fashion.

Paisley shirts? Turned-up collars? Rollneck turtlenecks? Striped pants? Two-toned jeans? Plaid? We remember.

Ah, but the tastemakers and trendsetters are different now -- we've learned from our past fashion mistakes. Listen to us now.

No, you haven't. And no, I won't.

Not going to play that game again. It's a stupid and pointless exercise designed solely to sell clothes.

Maybe not being fashionable is boring. There is compensation, though: In return for forgoing the distractions of worrying about clothes and being fashionable and fabulous, men get to run the world. It's like school uniforms, writ large.

An oversimplification, I know. And I don't run anything. But, now that you mention it: Why yes, I do happen to think that fashion is a frivolous pursuit meant to enrich a handful of designers, the garment industry and assorted commentators and hangers-on, at the expense of the fashion-conscious.

If the lottery is a tax on people who can't do math, fashion is a tax on people who think personality is something you wear, not something you have.

(Having more money than sense also helps, though that applies to a lot of things.)

It's an even bigger scam than how the entertainment industry comes up with a new format every decade or so, so that people have to repurchase the media they already own. This is because it happens twice a year, every year. And what's more, people look forward to it.

Now that's good training.

Mind you, I can appreciate good design. (Though there's a lot of pointless frippery involved with that, too.) Well-constructed clothes that fit and last. I get that.

What I don't get, and don't care about, is mindless designer-worship. Repeat cycles where everything old is new again. Pointless changes in the cut of a jacket, a rise in a hemline, or the crowning of a new in-color by people who only wear black. The next brand fad that's going to look completely ridiculous in a few years (if not sooner).

And not just fashions defined by clothing designers. Black duster raincoats in a Hong Kong summer. The same thing as before, with tailfins. The next shiny thing, the next pointless distraction.

(I am similarly annoyed by audiophiles who spend hundreds of dollars for wooden knobs, or young folks who spend tens of thousands of dollars tricking out their boom cars [which was the '80s version of pimping your ride -- the terms change, the idiocy doesn't] -- though at least the audiophiles who waste that kind of money tend to be more financially established. They're probably not going to be the oldsters eating dog food in 40 years, screaming to the government for a safety net, after they blew all their income from their early 20s on an Alpine for their IROC-Z / NOS and rims for their Civic.)

Why the long-winded hostility to something that's essentially harmless to those who can afford to indulge in it (simply because it's so completely and utterly meaningless)? I'm not sure. It's not any different than sports-worship, technology-fetishism, celebrity gossip-mongering or any other pointless and self-indulgent pursuit that garners more attention than it should in a sane existence.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

A Simple Entry on DVD & CD Purchases Meanders Into Thoughts on Media Consumption

So I didn't manage to do most of what I set out to do this holiday weekend, as expected.

What I did manage to do, though, was buy a whole lot of digital media, from a variety of retailers:


For the DVDs we've got The Tick vs. Season 1 (or rather, most of season 1, since Episode 11 wasn't included, apparently because it featured a parodic cartoon likeness of Cindy Crawford that they couldn't secure the rights to) , Real Genius, Syriana, Logan's Run and Galaxy Quest.

CDs, I finally succumbed and got Goldfrapp - Supernature (Circuit City had an all-CDs for $9.99 sale, but good luck trying to find anything in the racks; their shelving system is only marginally influenced by the alphabet); The Postal Service - Give Up; Soul Coughing - Tokyo, Japan 03.02.97 (Live) -- I passed up one for the '94 Paris show; Suzanne Vega - 99.9F; Stereolab - Mars Audiac Quintet ($1.99 -- it was playing in the CD Cellar); Ivy - Guestroom; Pete Yorn - Nightcrawler; and Beastie Boys - Licensed to Ill.

The music I should have no problem consuming; rip the CDs and I'll be listening at work or on my iPod shuffle. The DVDs, however, join my growing stack of bought and unwatched movies.

The problem with consuming DVDs (ignoring portability) is that video has to be watched -- and for movies, preferably in a continuous, uninterrupted block of time. You can't really "info-snack" your way through a movie -- or I can't, anyway. You have to watch and listen for the full two hours, and there's not much else you can do solely using touch, taste and smell (without a willing partner, that is).

I went to a presentation last year on the habits of media consumption, which said (paraphrasing) that as new media consumption grows, its growth doesn't come at the expense of old media (especially because people multitask) -- it comes at the expense of non-media activities.

I think this is especially true with visually-based media -- you have to be primarily focused on it to consume it. It demands and holds our attention. At least with music or books on tape, you can be doing other stuff. But to watch a long-form movie, you have to be plunked down in front of a screen, and you pretty much need to pay attention.

Anyway, I guess that explains why I keep watching movies I've seen a hundred times before -- because I've seen them before, I can be messing around on the computer and I can just look up at the good parts. Or it won't matter if I fall asleep somewhere in the middle, because I know the story.

Finally, this was supposed to be a simple list (with a picture) of the CDs and DVDs I'd bought this weekend. (I'd also gotten a few books -- 3 for $10 off the Barnes & Noble remainder stacks, but that would be so analog.)

Oh, and I did find myself tuning into the 'Dark Angel' marathon on Sci-Fi Channel, even though they were episodes from Season 2, which I now own on DVD. Why do this? Commercial breaks. Also, Jessica Alba is hot.

Leave No Childhood Theme Song Unmolested

I was never a fan of The Ren and Stimpy Show, but it's just wrong that the 'Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy' song is being used as the centerpiece for a Sara Lee campaign, as I heard mere moments ago.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

One Way to Make Sunday Morning Easier

Even though I don't think Sunday mornings are particularly easy, here's one way to at least simplify things:

If you make mouth noises about seeing a play in the last week of its run, it would probably be best to reserve a ticket:


Well, at least I checked the site first. There are still a few chances left.

Speaking of Sundays, I would just like to say that Giant's decision to move their weekly circular from the Sunday paper (Sunday to Saturday) to a mail-based Friday-Thursday cycle has really disrupted my schedule. It's like they're inside my OODA Loop, man!

Saturday, September 02, 2006

"Stay in, watch TV and drink all day."

From a Washington Post article about the Ernesto-inspired rain:
"The bars will be packed today -- stay in, watch TV and drink all day," a patron interjected before heading out the door with a bottle of Appletini mix and a bottle of Jagermeister.
Sounds like a plan to me. The beauty of it is that while the quote is from Ocean City, it works anywhere. Genius.

I'm not going going anywhere this weekend; I could have gone to hang out at the lake, but I just didn't feel like it. I'm sure I will hear many stories of the awesomeness that I missed.

So what will I be doing instead?

Probably a lot of catchup blogging. (I seem to be on a weekly schedule at the moment.) Also, treating and uploading photos.

Basically, everything I was doing for work all week to get ready for the long weekend.

Now, I have been making noises in my head to go see a production of Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead up at Catholic University; maybe a matinee tomorrow.

Also, the Smithsonian's American Museum of American History takes a 2-year renovation break after Monday (though to me, the distressing thing is how fast the time goes by, looking at the Washington Monument and National Portrait Gallery closings and reopenings).

We'll see.