Oh, the drama

There's been a lot of drama in my life over the past 48 hours. Drama that involves possible plagiarism (not on my part, thank you very much). skullduggery, spies, a comparison to the attack on Pearl Harbor, being sworn to secrecy by a guy who works for the armed forces in undisclosed locations so undisclosed even Dick Cheney doesn't know where they are, and jokes (mine) about cyanide suicide pills. The drama is not job-related. It's hobby related. Which tells me I should have stuck with the damn stamp collecting. Just whatever you do, do not go near the Internet at all over the next few days or you just might die.

Mascot-wise: No decisions yet. I have one vote against Cutty the French pig, calling him "gross." But then since the comment is from my sister who was once chagrined to learn her father used her purse to smuggle horse sausage out of the Netherlands, her opinion is tained. But as she did post the first comment on my blog, I will count the vote and let the record show that unless the worldwide Internet community rallies in Cutty's behalf, he's doomed to the slaughterhouse. Which is just as well.

I decided today that I am official sick of winter. Usually, the feeling hits me much later in the year, say late February or early March, but the older I get, the less and less I like winter. I think the freezing rain we had Thursday night pushed me over the edge. I spent a good five minutes today hacking away at that storm's remnants, watching their bits fall to the ground at Wal-Mart from our minivan. It felt good.