There is a fabulous article in today's Post about US figure skater Johnny Weir. For those who aren't keeping up with the Olympics, Weir flounced (yes, flounced) out of the Palavela last Thursday night, having received less-than-stellar marks on his free skate. Weir, all of 21, is a shopping fiend and something of an enigma (or a weirdo, I'm not sure which), all of which journalist Libby Copeland masterfully captured in her article. At one point, she asks him to talk about the mess of tangled necklaces he wears around his neck. He replies, "I don't take them off ever and I don't untangle them because, like, their powers are all hidden in this knot." Even if you don't know who he is, you'll find the article both amusing and disturbing. I highly recommend it.

I love Wednesdays. With the new year, John and I brought in a new tradition: every Wednesday night, we go to an authentic Mexican restaurant in town and listen to a Mariachi band. It's a group of middle-aged guys who stuff themselves into traje de charro-- traditional Mariachi outfits-- and dance around while they sing and play their instruments. Not only is the whole thing fabulously entertaining, it's also the perfect interlude to an otherwise trying work week. The next time you find yourself in the area, be sure to experience Mariachi Wednesday.

So many people who bring their dogs to the dog park do it not just so their canines can get exercise, but perhaps more importantly (to them) they do it to see and be seen. A while back, John and I were having a conversation with a woman who frequents the dog park fairly regularly and at one point she said, "Ya'll, I sat next to [UF President] Bernie Machen at dinner last night." Now, in retrospect, I'm sure the appropriate response would have been some measure of oohing and ahhing. But instead, John and I looked back at her blankly, not knowing how to react. I wonder if she got better results from other dog parkers.

There's a Scottish lady at the dog park, Helen, whose accent is so thick that at times it's difficult to decipher what she's saying. Every time she sees Luke, she tells me how fit he looks. But because of the accent, it took me awhile to decide if she was trying to say he was fat or fit. "Look how fit he is! It's amazing!" could easily be "Look how fat he is! It's amazing!"

One of my colleagues, a person not known for being socially well-adjusted, recently tried to pay me a compliment. It came out as, "There's less of you than there used to be." Compliment? Cause for kicking her ass? It was a toss-up.

Finally, I have come to a decision: whenever anyone asks you, "Have you lost weight?", the appropriate response is "Yes!", even if you don't know.

So, you know the crazy next-door neighbor? The one who used to trespass into our yard to try to talk to our dog? The one who is supposed to be kept out by our new six-foot privacy fence? Well. Shortly after the fence went up, he started coming into the yard just by the gate on his side, to talk to Luke. Then we put a bolt through the handle of the gate to keep him out. Today, we saw his new plan for viewing and/or talking to the dog: He bought a ladder so that he can stand it up next to the fence, climb to the top, and see over our fence. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS MAN???

The other day, John and I were in the grocery store at the checkout counter when suddenly the cashier started interrogating us as to our plans for Valentine's Day. The exchange went a little something like this:

Cashier: "So, what are you two planning for Valentine's Day?"

John: blink, blink

Emily: blink, blink

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Even if you don't have any plans.

Quite possibly the worst smell ever. No, it's not poo. It's the smell that permeates the room when a spatula has fallen from the top rack of the dishwasher onto the heating coils below.

These days, it's increasingly difficult to remain blissfully ignorant. I'm speaking, of course, about the Olympics. More specifically, the problems involved in trying to watch the Olympics at night when all day long, it seems that you can't escape finding out the results before they air on TV. At least NBC-- the network broadcasting the games-- gives a spoilers warning on the nightly news. But you can't count on the same courtesy from, say, the Washington Post online or the local news. Somehow, I will find a solution to wanting to my dilemma: separating the general news from the Olympics news.

Searching around on the internet tonight, I found what is easily the funniest thing ever. Behold:

Without coming across as self-aggrandizing or pretentious, I wanted to quietly pass along some good news: On Monday, I defended and passed my Master's exam. I now officially have my MA. And now, on to the PhD. As Mark Twain once said, "All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, and then success is sure."

I think that TiVo needs to add a "Mute Madden" button on the remote. Think about it: by employing the Mute Madden button, you could watch the Super Bowl without losing IQ points. I think it's a winning idea. Either that, or take away his light pen.

I just came from a trying meeting. Without dwelling on the details of it, let me just say that it is rare that I am reminded of the fact that there are people who are violently and diametrically opposed to my own beliefs. People for whom "live and let live" is apparently not an option. It's rare, but when it does happen, it always takes me by surprise. I'm reminded of Lincoln who, in his first inaugural address and facing the collapse of the Union, appealed to "the better angels of our nature." Now ultimately Lincoln was assassinated, but I would like to think that in this day and age, we could find a way to listen to the better angels of our nature and seek harmony and community instead of divisiveness and hatred.

I can always tell when I'm stressed out because I get nightmares and I can always tell when John is stressed out because he talks in his sleep. Last night, our two worlds collided at 4 am.

Me (still half-asleep and yelling): I had a nightmare. I had a nightmare!

John (still half-asleep): I'm sorry-- did you get an error message?

Me (more awake now, and confused): You're dreaming out loud, go back to sleep.

John (more awake now and equally confused): Didn't you just tell me you had a nightmare?

Me: Yes.

John: Well, did you get an error message?

Me: ..... No. No, I didn't.

John: Oh, good. *snore*