2. I am going to start calling my apartment a "den" or maybe a "lair" to connote the level of heaped debris and shed fur that is my life. My own shed fur, by the way. I don't have a cat.
3. "Monk" was priceless last night. Freaking hysterical. Several sharp shrieks of laughter escaped from the depths of my couch. It was pretty much a het version of the old "we must pretend to be gay" cliché, where Monk and Sharona had to pretend to be married (which come to think is probably just a cliché in its own right, but gay is so often the default template to me for these things), and go undercover at a couples counseling retreat. Jane Lynch played the marriage counselor--she was the vaguely butch lesbian in "Best in Show"--and my god, what perfect casting, with an entire hour of deadpan psychobabble punctured at the end by her final line. And the writing was especially loopy last night; the passage Monk first read aloud from the prospector's journal was insane, stream-of-consciousness brilliance, and the compulsory kiss, and the whole thing with the pup-tent...I am dead of the laughing sickness.
4. My season-three QAF DVDs arrived. The packaging just keeps getting more gorgeous with each set. I haven't watched them yet. I'm still just in the cover-art ogling stage.
5. I am now going to go have bacon and finish a reread of "Strong Poison."
Some days I feel like Bill Murray's neurotic Bob. "Baby step to four o'clock. Baby step to four o'clock...." Baby steps, baby steps, get up, shower, leave the apartment, check antifreeze, eat, stare at blank Word doc for three hours with fingers poised over the keyboard and cursor blinking. You know.
