I do like one thing about the Yankees, and it is their hair and beard policy. What self-respecting baseball fan among us likes to see long locks cascading out of a cap? Who needs a five o'clock shadow peeking our from the shadow of the brim? It impedes my viewing enjoyment, though apparently not some players' games.

You say "action figure", I say"doll".

Finally, a quiz that speaks to me.

John Lennon was only FORTY when he was gunned down by the obsessed lunatic dude....that was a rude awakening for me. Part of the freakishness of getting older is watching those around you age. Especially children growing up - to not see a certain child for a while and then BAM, they are pre-teen or dating or married - both surreal and annoying. My husband has a hard time aging out of his sports potential. He is soon going to be too old to go to The Show, although maybe not quite yet. At any rate, John Lennon's death is something I remember. I heard about it in my eighth grade locker room that was fetid with new adolesence and blinding with orange polyester gym suits. The impact of his death only hits me with sadness now, now that I am approaching 40. Here's an mp3 to console you and me both.

John Lennon - God

The publishers of "Goodnight, Moon", a book our family has collectivley memorized after many sweetly sleepy readings, have decided to alter a picture of the illustrator to take a cigarette out of his hand. Registration required, but here's a silly take on the silly move by Harper's....Goodbye, Moon - New York Times.

Speaking of vices, I came out of the prison cell also known as our state-run ABC store today....nothing warm or friendly in that place, just older men in red vests giving you the eye and rows of carefully lined up bad and uninteresting licquors.....and was given the disbelieving head shake by a guy with a graying beard outside the store. Whether he was unhappy about the alcohol or by my personal self purchasing it, I'll never know, but he put the voodoo on me. After I got home I opened the car door and my bottle of Stoli's fell out and crashed...vodka spilled down my driveway, mingling with leafy drainage water. Shit, dude! Why'd you have to pick ME?

It's almost our anniversary - what a fun start to the holiday season in 2002! Suprisingly, pictures of my decimated minivan are not featured on this site; perhaps their camera guy couldn't get to our house due to the spider webs of power lines blocking our driveway.

I sometimes think that if that whole event had not happened, Casa Whilst would be in much better financial shape. If my husband's car had been hit, we would be golden. He'd be in some spiffy low-mileage deal that would not now be 10 years old and my car would be almost paid off and a year younger than my current Honda. (And don't forget that my children's windows would be rolling down).

But life hands you lemons and sometimes there's no freaking power with which to make lemonade, and that's ok, because there are other times when a fire glows, everyone is at home, and there's some classic t.v. moment going down.

Fa la la la laaaa, la la la LA!