Hmmm, the US is reporting its first case of mad cow disease. I wonder if this means that they’ll eventually drop the restrictions on donating blood for people who’ve lived in the UK…?

Gendered Gift-Giving
My boss got everybody in our department gifts today. That’s nice. All the boys got bottles of booze and I got a designer sushi plate. That’s not so nice. I mean, the plate itself is pretty and I’ll put candles on it or something, but why the disparity? After a year, does he really know me so little as to think I’d appreciate homewares over a bottle of champagne? He might as well have given the guys Hot Wheels cars and the girls Barbies. I guess I should count myself lucky; it could’ve been worse. I think I saw the girl in the next cubicle opening a shower set.

As it’s still December 23 in most of the world, HAPPY FESTIVUS!

Thanks to the wonders of eDonkey, the Snook now knows what I mean when I refer to a Charlie Brown tree. You know, I choke up every time when Linus steps out into the spotlight and starts his speech.

The Snook has been having a good giggle for the past ten minutes reading this legal analysis of Lord of the Rings. I made the mistake of asking who “Morgoth” was and got a lecture on falling asleep when people are trying to read The Silmarillion to me. Oops. (Link courtesy of John.)

Ebert’s posted his list of the Best Films of the Year, which should put some folks’ panties in a twist. He left out Return of the King, for instance, and included Russell Crowe’s movie. Kill Bill is in there, as are both Scarlett Johansson films. He even included two Tupac documentaries. Say what you will about the guy… but he isn’t predictable.

[Note: I noticed that Ebert included Winged Migration, which was called Travelling Birds here. I wonder why it was changed? I think the international title was the better one.]

Whoa, earthquake in California! No word from my sister yet…

Update: The Snook managed to reach her on the phone. I guess her office is on the ground floor so she was fairly underwhelmed. Darn her! She’s ruining the perfectly good stereotype of the transplanted Midwesterner who freaks out at her first tremor.

It’s frickin’ hot here, Mr. Bigglesworth. We finally plugged in the air conditioner two nights ago when the humidity became unbearable. I have a lovely plumber’s sunburn on my ass from gardening on Sunday. (The gap between my T-shirt and baggy cut-offs was the only place I forgot to protect.) Where’s that damn ozone layer when you need it?

Me: Hey, Russell Crowe had his baby.
Snook: Did it punch the nurse?