I got up at 10:00 today, and after checking in on AIM with Robert, I fixed myself a delicious onion and extra sharp cheddar cheese omelet.
I have finally gotten to the point where I can make an omelet that looks as good as it tastes. The secret is patience; no wonder it’s taken me so long to figure it out.
I cleaned out my silverware drawer, both the container that holds the silverware, which somehow manages to get crumbs in it, and the lining inside the drawer under the container.
While I was at it, I cleaned the bottom of my freezer, which also manages to gather crumbs and spillage. Go figure.
I know it’s Super Bowl Sunday, but I’m not sure who’s playing, though I’ve seen several news blurbs about it on wral.com. I’m going to guess, and then check:
| I’m pretty sure it’s the Bears and somebody. (Though, I don’t know what city the Bears are from. From something I vaguely remember on SNL—”da Bears!”—I’m going to guess Chicago.)
Let’s see, are they playing the Broncos maybe? (Is there even a team named the Broncos any more? Is it football? I’m guessing they’re from either Denver or Dallas.) |
Okay, time to check:
| Ha! Got half of it right, and funny: in the story I checked, there’s a link called, ‘Da Fans’ Go Wild. |
Two of life’s most important lessons—surprisingly enough—overheard in New York City…
| Brought to You by Money |
| http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/archives/008952.html
Woman: It’s difficult to live in New York without money. Friend: Definitely. Woman: Mark, Paul… I had a lot of chances to marry rich. I would have had two kids by now… But, you know, it’s not really all about the money… It’s about the social connections, too. —6 train |
| But My Underwear Is Solid Gold |
| http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/archives/008953.html
White guy with dreads: Think about this—taking a shit is the one thing in which all people of all races, sexes and religions are truly equal. Hippie girl: Not exactly. Some people shit on solid gold toilet bowls while others shit in a bucket. Little boy at next table, standing on booth seat: I shit in my pants! Hahaha! —Wo Hop, 15 Mott St |
I went to Carmichael at about 4:30, where I did a half hour on the elliptical, and then walked briskly around the indoor track for an hour, which was about 4 miles.
I listened to 11 slate.com podcasts, 2 Grammar Girl podcasts, 1 Mr. Manners podcasts:
slate.com:
| Episode Name | Comments |
|---|---|
| That Pesky Corporate Jet | Why corporate jets are always getting CEOs in trouble. |
| The Libby Trial Hits Home | A slate regular gets caught up, actually more like “brought up” at the trial. |
| Sundance vs. YouTube | Will the web make film festivals obsolete? |
| Euphemisms for Drunk | Some good ones. I’ll be using a few at the bar. |
| Oscar Outrages | Forget about the Dreamgirls “snub,” what about Volver? |
| Windows Vista, Reviewed | Is the new Windows any good? |
| The Purloined Sirloin | I had no idea that meat is the most-pinched item from grocery stores—or—“Is that a sausage in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” |
| Curse of the Camera Phone | The gadget that perverts, vigilantes, and celebrity stalkers can all agree on. |
| O.J.’s Ghostwriter | O.J. Confesses. Really: The ghostwriter of If I Did It weighs in. |
| CEO Swag | Free beer! And other perks CEOs get when they lose their jobs. |
| The Mystery of Margaritaville | A Pirate Looks at 60: Jimmy Buffett’s midlife crises. |
Grammar Girl:
| Episode Name | Comments |
|---|---|
| Farther Than You’ve Ever Gone Before | Farther vs. Further |
| Don’t Feel Badly | Bad vs. Badly |
Mr. Manners:
| Episode Name | Comments |
|---|---|
| Killing the Cell Phone Monster | Cell phone etiquette. |
That last 15 minutes of my walk, I decided to listen to a PODRUNNER podcast, which is a podcast that provides an hour’s worth of music at a certain BPM, so you can choose one that accommodates the pace at which you’re trying to work out.
I first tried a 148 BPM one, which was too fast for walking—even power walking. I then tried a 135 BPM, which was very brisk without being ridiculous. I might try my entire walk to one the next time.
I went to Flex early tonight, in a new tact to avoid the obnoxious Sunday night karaoke. I played three or four games of pool against Jim and one against Marcus.
Marcus is so far above and beyond—”further along” (as opposed to farther along), as Grammar Girl taught me—than anyone else’s pool-playing ability in that place.
On the game I played him, he broke, and hit all of his balls in, but one. I got my turn, and tried to just edge a ball in, but totally missed it. He shot his remaining ball in, and then he sunk the eight ball. I hit zero of my balls during the game.
I left there shortly after the karaoke started. Worked out nicely.