Our six-foot privacy fence was installed this past weekend and we couldn't be happier. The 85-year old man has been successfully exiled to his own yard, never to trespass again. Here's a photo of Luke, enjoying his new freedom:

So, I've been noticing some spam coming across my blog, in the form of comments. I wanted to bring your attention to it just so you know that I'm not the one putting gay porn and meth ads on my own blog. This has been a public service announcement.

When babies have gas, they smile. My question is, at what point do we lose that?

It's done! At long last, I'm finally done with my MA paper. I had some final edits to do this weekend and, after some technical difficulties (which involved my Word program crashing-- no exaggeration here-- no fewer than twenty times in ten minutes), it's printed and ready to go. A short trip to campus will be in order Monday morning, and a trip to the UPS store to overnight a copy to Jersey, but after that, it's out of my hands. Where is a marching band when you need one?

Do you ever get weird food cravings? There are a lot of things that I like to eat that others think are nothing short of revolting. Witness: bread sticks from Pizza Shuttle in Manhattan. You *have* to get them at the one in Manhattan, not Lawrence, and they are simply divine. John thinks that you can get the same effect if you loaded down some bread with salt and a ton of other salty spices, but I disagree. I also like (and I rarely admit this) those apple pies that you can get at gas stations-- you know, the ones made by Hostess? Yeah, those. John swears that they cause cancer, but when I'm driving long distances, there's nothing I'd like better. At the moment, I have a hankering for these cinnamon rolls that you can only get at a bakery in Manhattan. Mmmmm....

These days, I set foot in a mall and suddenly I'm transformed into an 85 year old, trying desperately to resist the urge to scream "Pull up your pants and get a job!!!" I find it's just easier to avoid them altogether.

This story comes to me thirdhand, from my friend Amy who heard it from her cousin Jay. It's a true story. Those who are easily offended will want to pass this one over.

Jay, a teacher at a high school in Wichita, Kansas, was having a conversation with Mrs. Grant, the special ed teacher at that school, about a recent trip she made to McDonalds. She pulled up to the drive through, but because the line was so enormous and wasn't moving, she parked and went in. When she got inside, she heard a voice yelling, "Miz Gwant! Miz Gwaaant!" She looked to see who was shouting her name, and it turned out to be her deaf student. Who was working the drive-through. That wasn't moving an inch. Leave it to McDonalds to not think twice about putting a deaf employee on drive-through duty.

John is off to California again tonight for work, this time for eleven days. It's no secret that we both hate it when he has to travel. The house always seems so big and lonesome when he's gone. But I always have to remember that it could be a lot worse. He could have a job in Orlando, which would mean that he would live there and we would only see each other on weekends. When we were flying back to Florida after Christmas, we were sitting in the Kansas City airport, waiting to board. At the gate there was a young couple, about our age or a little younger. The guy was in fatigues and, since the woman with him was crying, I gathered that he was shipping out and probably to Iraq. What must it be like to be in that situation? Knowing that it's possible you'll never see each other again? Those are the things that I have to keep in mind when John has to travel. Yes, it's a bad situation. But it could be so much worse.

Somehow, though, that doesn't make the house seem any more homey when he's gone.

I don't want to jinx anything by talking about it, but it looks like my MA oral defense will take place on either the 6th, 7th or 8th of February. As the light at the end of the tunnel grows brighter, I vacillate between unbound euphoria and feeling like vomiting.

So I finally called the fence guys to come put up a fence around our backyard. What drove me to make the call? Our pesky neighbor who, while our dog was basking on the deck, decided it would be a good idea to walk up to him and try to engage him in conversation. Now, Luke is a really nice dog. But if you cross onto his territory, you'd better have a good reason. Before you could say lawsuit, Luke was on high alert, barking and snarling, the hair on his back raised. Our 85 year old neighbor was unfazed (or deaf AND stupid) and continued to advance. Knowing that Luke wouldn't hurt him (though sort of hoping that he would...), I picked up the phone and made the call. We should have a fence within a week.

You know what has always amazed me? That Maury Povich is married to Connie Chung. (Okay, truth be told, on the list of things that amaze me, this isn't exactly leading the way. But it's up there.) I've always thought of Connie Chung as sophisticated, intelligent, worldly, and insightful. And Maury Povich has always struck me as... well, not. In my book, he ranks somewhere between Rikki Lake and Jerry Springer. How they ever got together is a mystery to me.