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Aug. 25th, 2003

I wanted this Friday to be my day off, so I could enjoy an ultralong weekend, but I could not get to sleep last night. Part of the fault lies with Martin Amis and The War Against Cliche. I read until 3 or so before as grudgingly as possible turning out the light. Then Ellie Mae kept jumping into bed with us, but she has a sting on her muzzle, so every time Jeff tried to push her off the bed she'd let out a piercing shriek. I'm convinced she's milking it. (Not really. Poor little pup.) God loves a terrier...

Anyway, after dragging myself out of bed at 8:30 and prying open my reddened, sleep-encrusted eyes, I decided I'd be useless at work. Friday will not, sadly, be a day of rest.

So there was nothing for it but to haul myself out to the sofa and watch SportsCenter. Best highlight--the beleaguered Detroit Tigers winning in the bottom of the ninth with two outs, on a home run by Brandon Inge. Best reaction to it--Carlos Pena's, for saying "We understand what our record is--right now we don't care."

Then at 9 an unfamiliar movie caught my eye and I watched it. Time Limit, directed by Karl Malden. It was quite good, had a very Playhouse 90 feel to it, which is not a bad thing. Richard Widmark, Richard Baseheart, June Lockhart. That's a stream of word association of a cast, isn't it?

Laundry's under way and I have mailed a check to cover one night's stay at the Hotel Pemaquid. Once I have assembled the skeleton of our vacation plan, I'll post it for everyone to sigh over.

Another thing--Jeff and I started to watch the season finale of "The Restaurant" last night and realized that, after five previous episodes that had steadily declined in verisimilitude and interest, we just didn't care about this one. It took a nose dive about halfway through, and Jeff said something about how bad it was, and I responded yes, so bad that I wasn't wasting a minute's more time on it. We stormed out of the room in protest, and went into the office to waste our time with computers instead.