My own grandmother fought the Indians for sixty years... then choked to death on lemon pie.

Great day so far, must say. Got off work two hours early (was only picking up a half-day for someone) and then got home and found six dollars in my pocket. Get out.

Actually it's really hard to type. While I was at work it was pretty slow so I got to read a decent amount of Catcher In the Rye. Good for a re-visit every other year or so. And I'm having a really hard time not saying things like, "It killed me, it really did," or "He was sore as hell." You know.

Yesterday was shockingly constructive for a day off. I got my brother-in-law's birthday wrapped up and mailed off. And his birthday is two weeks away! And yet, I'll probably bungle the 3-year-old's birthday in October, the one who actually needs her goodies on time! God, she is three, isn't she...

Then I hit Guitar Center for some strings and a little recap on how to restring my guitar. I haven't done that since I lived in Austin (six years ago) and even then just once. And damned if the cutest thing didn't help me pick out a set and even showed me a neat trick to stretch out the strings to keep them from constantly going out of tune when they're new. (Unless D's reading this, and then he was a foul, foul toad who smelled like poop and orange juice).

I had called them earlier in the day to make sure someone could show me how to do it and apparently the same guy ended up helping me in the afternoon. He almost got a negative score right off as he said, "So where's the guy?" and I struggled to think what decade I'd landed in. "It's for your son, right?"

And perhaps this is just me, but I feel almost offended when people assume I have children. It's just that I know I'm too immature/young/selfish to have actual small people I'm responsible for, and I can't fathom a day when I won't be. I will have to be much older. And I know they don't know this. So I don't get offended, but it's hard not to act shocked, which I try to contain. After all, I could conceivably have (at least) three goddamn children by now, really.

So I explained it was my husband's old guitar but it was for me to play. (I have a twelve string but I figured baby steps might be a nice idea).

And there you have it, my guitar story.

Then I came home and successfully restrung it while catching up on the week's Jon Stewart and Colbert. I quite enjoyed the entire episode of The Daily Show devoted solely to mercilessly mocking the YouTube debates. Good times.

As far as movies, I saw a cute and peculiar film the other day. Every once in a while, Netfux makes a special recommendation for me and oddly enough, they're usually pretty accurate. (Unlike something like Amazon or google, which never cease to amaze with their cluelessness). This was a little UK something called Cashback. Even more strangely, it started out as a trite and somewhat pretentious thing. Recently dumped art boy becomes insomniac and oh yes, he's completely entranced by the female form. Kill me now, right?



No, not if you like titties. This film is full of 'em. Clearly, that wasn't what made me like it. It actually got better as it went along. It turned out to be quirky in an unintentional way as our hero started working the night shift at a small grocery store. Good lines and moments, decent ending. Nothing saccharine about it, always a plus. (Well, some of the narration was annoying, but what else is new). I enjoyed it.

Also watched 3:10 to Yuma, which I found a little...well, I hate to say disappointing, but there it is. It just didn't really do it for me. Crucify me, I know, go for it. I think Westerns have to be extra special to really grab me, as far as I can tell. (e.g. Lonesome Dove).