The Stillers are 6-1, baby!!! They broke the Patriots’ 21-game streak- payback for the 2002 AFC Championship, I assure you.
Dare I hope for the playoffs? I hesitate even to mention… the Superbowl? In the meantime, I’ll be twirling my Terrible Towel.
Note to self (and Tom): Watch out for dodgy cash machines in Tube stations.
The soup I made last night is awesome. It turned out even better than last time.
And now, for your moment of World Series Zen, courtesy of Hulk:
OK OK OK! Someone explain joke to Hulk, ok? BUG-MAN said this: “What do you call 25 people watching puny human World Series?” THEN Hulk said: “What?” BUG-MAN said: “The Yankees!” EXPLAIN TO HULK THE JOKE!!! HULK DOES NOT UNDERSTAND!!
It’s like whack-a-mole, but complicated.
I’ve got this in the crockpot. It turned out well last time I made it, if a little overcooked. It’ll be enough that I can take it to work for lunch for the rest of the week, thus contributing to the London fund.
On Friday night, I’m having a couple of friends over and making pot roast. I love fall. Crockpot weather. 
Remember when I said a couple of months ago that a possible new employment situation had presented itself?
Two months later, the guy has FINALLY gotten his act together to call me. I’m supposed to meet with him next week. Happy thoughts…
Forget the U2 iPod. I’m drooling over the iPod Photo. So I’ll just add that to the list of ways Apple has convinced me to eventually part with my money, like this and this.
Meanwhile, a number of things I have been waiting for have finally made it into the iTunes store, such as Endochine’s latest, all of New Invisible Joy’s albums, including the new one I don’t have, and finally, the Blues Traveler album that came outa year ago, but which I refused to buy on CD because all their other stuff was in iTunes and I was holding out. So when I get back from London, I’ll probably drop $30 in the iTunes store.
…that two weeks from tonight, I will be settling in for a nap on my flight to LONDON!
W00t!
Just when I thought I had made peace with my twenty-something, apartment-living existence, the worst kind of home-porn showed up: The Williams-Sonoma catalog.
*sigh*
Office Conversation:
“Nobody ever calls me Tiffany unless I’m in trouble!”
“Okay, Tito.”