Although various things continue to happen, when you have a dark looming deadline bearing down on you, it is hard to sit around eating Milky Way bars and whistleing. Even though I had two of those bars just yesterday, and they were as tasty as I remembered them to be, even with the ugliness of promise of the bone saw which will roar to life in just a week and a half. Not to be morbid. I mean, there could be plenty worse on the horizon than a little surgery around the old clavicle and some ribs removed.

And I have much to be amused by and thankful for, such as, but not limited to the Veat I had Friday, prepared in an orange remoulade by my kindly wife. Veat, in case you are not aware, is a wheat gluten, pressed into the shape of a chicken breast. I'm not sure why they made a veal reference for the name instead of chicken, but maybe all the other cutesy names were taken. Anyhow, that was some tasty Veat. Plus quinoa, which I used to eat all the time, but haven't had in a while, but is the mystic, secret ancient Aztec supergrain. So that was a real pleasure. Then it was time to watch Jon Stewart on DVD, which is nice, since there are no commercials, but is a little lame, since all the news he refers to is topical, and long past it's due date.

I also built some Sovietski style shelves this weekend, but in spite of their spectacular appearance, they didn't make the cut with the Old Ball and Chain, so I will be forced to set them on fire. I find this somewhat unfortunate, but part of being married means setting stuff on fire.

I busted out some Comet this weekend as well, which I haven't seen or thought about in quite a while. But the song came right back to me, as I scrubbed Comet/It makes your breath smell mean/Comet/It tastes like gasoline/Comet/It makes you vomit/So buy some Comet/And vomit today.

I'm not sure why we all learned that song as school children, or what Comet had to do with anything except that it suggested the obvious rhyme with vomit.

Oh, and I did go out on the water and saw my friend the seal, who likes to pop up his head and stare at me when I row around Alcatraz. I'm really getting fond of that guy. Rowing is kind of painfully solitary in some ways, and when you are all alone and he shows up, I feel like the fictional character Tom Hanks potrayed in Cast Away who befriends a volleyball, only less fictional.