Stream of Unconsciousness

Tuesday's always a long day, and evil men have made it longer. I don't have anything funny on my mind and a tragic lack of pictures on the phone to share.

This is most indecorous.

Which is a word too sophisticated for my phone.

There are over 170,000 words in the English language and dog may be two of them.

On Friday, I began application to a Ph.D. program. Though I have been promised 1500 to 2000 pages of reading per week for the next half decade or so, I am less intimidated by the program than by the application process.

I don't want to dog it after all.

Our Happy Place

Whenever we feel down—which is unfortunately frequent recently thanks to evil people—we look to our happy place. Our happy place just happens to be occupied by a cat whom we adore tormenting.

I took video of us doing this to him on Friday and he actually fell off the couch (on to the seat of it)...5 seconds after I stopped recording.

Halftime Entertainment

As the crowds gathered and the 4th seal was peeled away, something inexplicable happened in Indianapolis tonight: Madonna performed the halftime show.

I will confess that the late January football game halftime show stopped being relevant to me after 1993's performance by Michael Jackson. It became much more irrelevant after Janet Jackson desecrated American eyes with what appeared to be Michael Jackson's face under her shirt. That singular act sent us into halftime show oblivion as the No Fun League trotted out acts old enough sometimes I felt my parents would have to ask their parents for information.

Last year, as the league scoured whatever flea market they find used performers at, they somehow managed to find a band from the aughts that had already managed to become irrelevant.

Apparently Nickelback was unavailable.

Full of Gas

I don't like to talk politics, like ever. However, I felt compelled the other day to make this poster.

The lapel pin was my wife's idea.

During his State of the State speech, our governor asked our legislature to raise the gasoline tax. That's not a typo up above, either. He's looking for an $.18/gal increase.

Friday Night Feline: Daisy the Indignant

The other day, as I got up from the couch, I tossed a cushion on to the recliner. I didn't realize there was something occupying the recliner.

Something angry.

Shakespearean Thursday: Three Little Pigs

A co-worker shared this video on Facebook. I liked it so much that I decided I'd share it here.

Pretzel Bread Stromboli

Last year, I took my wife to Gettysburg for her birthday, where we ate at a pub that served a ham and cheese on pretzel bread sandwich. I thought this sounded like a great idea, so I learned to make pretzel bread myself.

Recently, the Airport Llama posted that a winter stromboli was coming my way. I like stromboli, as in real stromboli. I know I'll be judged for saying this, but the stuff they sell at Sbarro's is stromboli. There are pizza shops masquerading as pizzerias that sell something they call stromboli but is, in fact, a calzone without sauce.

I found a recipe for stromboli and decided to combine it with the recipe for pretzel bread. Here's the result.