Baby, It's The Fourth of July

We are back from a visit with the in-laws in Salado, TX. A mellow good time was had by all, except Older Girl, who is rarely, if ever, mellow. Much grillage occurred, there was beer and wine consumed, and we went swimming briefly until the rain drove us away. I feel like a fat, stuffed goose. Quack. (Or honk?)

Not quite as much wine was consumed by me today as I would normally put away at the folks' house. Our friends Bill and Julie had us over for a 3rd of July party at their house on Lake Travis last night, where we watched fireworks and enjoyed the music of Bubba Coletrane, a.k.a the band helmed by Bob Noxious. I was not really hung over today, but I did have a bit of wine and beer last night; enough that I amused The Man immensely when, at 1:00 AM, I announced that I really wanted to stay up all night talking to him and watching Buffy DVDs. But, needless to say, I was very tired today.

Anyway, it's a drizzly evening in Austin, and I can hear the Town Lake fireworks going off, but have no desire whatsoever to attempt to go see them. It's such a clusterfuck going down there. Bah, humbug, or whatever Scrooge would say regarding fireworks.*

So, this post appears to be turning into the equivalent of just punching the clock. I truly want to get in bed and finish the book I have checked out from the library (Live From New York: An Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live) It's pretty fascinating, especially since I've watched most of every season of SNL - even the Charles Rocket year - except the last couple of years. I guess I'm not SHOCKED that everyone except Jane Curtin was coked to the gills 24/7, but I think watching some of those old sketches now will be somewhat more revelatory now.

OK, chickens, I leave you with this puzzling bit of wonderment. It's an article entitled "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex," and I was made aware of it by my good buddy John over at Harvard Avenue. It's an essay, apparently several years old, regarding the physics of Superman having sex with and impregnating Lois Lane. (I don't know that I can ever see the Ice Bedroom scene in Superman II again without wondering how Superman ejaculated into Lois Lane, what with the Super Sperm that must have exited like bullets.)

It occurs to me that some people think very different thoughts than I do.

Have a great holiday; mind your dogs tonight.

*"If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Happy Independence Day' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a roman candle through his heart. He should!"