Today

Posted on September 30, 2005 by ginny

Today’s an interesting day, all right.

We’re hoping to visit Steve and hang out and see how he’s doing and what not. I was laughing earlier today, remembering when he and my husband David and I went out to dinner at Max and Erma’s up north, where Steve’s very cool nephew Benjy works. We have Benjy a ration of shit, and he very politely gave us a ration of shit right back, while taking care of our every niggling little request. That was a good time, I’ll remind Steve of that.

Serenity opens tonight and it sucks that Steve probably can’t go see it due to circs etc. etc. etc. It really, really sucks. But he can do that later this weekend or next week, maybe.

Then of course I’d much rather be at home playing with Riley and petting Riley and so on ad infinitum. He’s a very happy little guy and is eating well. He still gets all skittish if there’s an unexpected noise; he freaked out last night when David came upstairs noisily and opened the door from the basement Lair O’ Computers. Riley made the Cat maneuver equivalent to “Flee! All is lost! AAAAYIEEEEE!” and ran to his kitty hideout behind the living room couch. Then he strolled out a minute or so later to greet David affectionately, kind of like “Oh. You didn’t see me freak out just now, that was some other cat.”

Today’s also the last day in yet another pretty irritating work-week where a few too many people were unexpectedly unable to come in, in addition to people that were already expected not to come in. Almost every night, I’ve been stuck at work cleaning up other peoples’ records for at least an hour or more.

Except for the night we got Riley, of course. That night I declared my intention to leave on time and warned people that NO one would be watching their stuff. That seemed to get results, as there was only a tiny bit at the end of the day to clean up. 🙄

Buns. No Sense Of Humor

Posted on September 29, 2005 by ginny

Oh, yes, it’s been posted to HIGHLA-L: Highlander in 30 seconds with bunnies.

Of course, you knew where this category got its name, right? Right.

Via **Dave

They Call Me Mr Gibbs

Posted on September 29, 2005 by ginny

Shhh. The monkeys went away and left me, so I’m hiding out behind the green sitting bench. Hee hee! The monkey lady couldn’t find me this morning because my hiding skills are so effective. I guess she was pretty frantic; I don’t know, I was asleep under this flap thing at the back of the bench. It’s like a green cave back there. I’m invisible unless the flap gets lifted up, like she did after looking back there 3 other times.

She seemed pretty happy to see me, though. Which is only right and proper, because I am the cat of the house now. She fed me some extra food and took care of my “business.” Of course. Kept repeating my name a lot again, too. It’s like a mania with her. Except now, my name’s a little longer. Weird.

Last night I was graciously accepting all the attention and so forth, and of course giving plenty in return. Then the monkeys turned all the lights off. It was nice and cuddly, but a little warm. I was restless, and not wishing to disturb them further, I went down the stairs thing to explore quietly some more.

This morning, there was more rapturous snuggling. I hopped up to see what they were doing and to ask what time I might expect my breakfast. They seemed to like that best of all! And then I got some nice food from the monkey lady. The monkey man made a big noise and went away, which is when I ran and hid so well. Then some more snuggling and this weird flashy thing kept going off right in my face, which was not so great. But there are lots of windows here that look outside, so I think that’ll keep me occupied for a while.

Then the monkey lady made a big noise and went away, too. So now’s my chance to investigate my new environs thoroughly. I’ve prepared one or two little surprises for when the monkeys return to punish them for leaving me alone, however. That’ll teach them to respect Riley Gibbs from now on.

TAR: A Family Affair

Posted on September 29, 2005 by ginny

Miss Alli checks in with her recaplet of the TAR8 premiere… you know, the one that I called an “interminable crawl to the Pit Stop.”

The overnight opinions on TWOP are still mixed but not terribly enthusiastic, with some exceptions. Almost everyone thinks Godly Ma Weaver getting run over by an Amish buggy was a highlight, along with the appearance of our beloved Kevin and Drew. Who’re fine, by the way – Kevin’s already checked in at TWOP and gotten his post edited because he committed the sin of adding a signature (signed posts are frowned on there). So Miss Alli’s changed his .sig to “Mr Anonymous,” and at least on the boards we’re off to a good start. He confirmed that indeed, the only Racer to recognize our shiny gentlemen was the younger Paolo son, which was the clan’s ONLY redeeming moment all evening.

Despite the horrifically twee episode title, it’s really not a bad kickoff for a season that can’t really help but be quite different from what we’ve seen before. We’re hanging around in our very own country this time, and as you probably already know, we’re looking at family teams of four rather than the usual teams of two. Also, nobody’s ever been eight before.

At any rate, the race kicks off with a harrowing drive around Manhattan, which: yikes, and then there is boating and tenting and, best of all, lots and lots and lots of driving and navigating with maps. You’d almost think it was a show where you had to race around and try to get yourself from one place to another. About half of the ten teams make a strong impression in the first episode, including the rude and nasty Paolos, the moppet-toting Gaghans, the pink and giggling Godlewskis, the obnoxious Linzes, and the adorable Blacks, whose sons are just about the cutest thing ever. In a tense finish, the aforementioned obnoxious Linzes squeeze out the adorable Blacks, which I am very sad about in every respect other than the unbelievably uncomfortable sentences that result from featuring an African-American family called “the Blacks.” Because I did not need to do that all season. But I miss them already, and the Linzes are like an explosion of That Guy genetics gone horribly awry — well, more awry — and it’s just sad. Boooo! But I have to tell you, my very favorite part of the episode was where they brought in famous former racers Kevin and Drew, and nobody until the very last team had the first clue who they were. Now that is comedy. That’s going on my personal highlight reel.

Yep, like I said: the Linzes are like a disturbingly inbred cheerleading squad. Still, they are funny when they’re not being obnoxious, so they’ll probably be considered more amusing and less annoying in coming weeks.

PACT Humane Society

Posted on September 28, 2005 by ginny

Signing the paperrs… this service provided by Pact Humane Society. It took a while to get through the paperwork, but at this point it was all over except for buying food, litter, a collar, a nametag, treats, and some catnip toys.

PACTHumane does it all with volunteers, and they do it very well. One of the ladies tonight was a trainee – she very happy to complete her first adoption.

We are now the proud people of a really nice brown tabby cat. He seems to be settling in nicely, though he seems to have a serious catnip jones. Oh, boy, and he has a great inboard motor. We’ve already had some couch cuddling time… up to that point he had been quite frightened and tentative – typical behavior. But he seemed to realize that the couch was his, and the catnip was his, and David and I were his, and he had this moment of sudden bliss.

Very nice to have a cat in the house again. It’s been almost exactly two years, you know. Time enough.

It’s always interesting observing a cat’s body language – it’s gone from “I’m afraid, I’ll just curl up in as small a ball as possible” when I first held him to “Oh, I am LOVING this” within about an hour of getting him home. He didn’t like the small cardboard carrier we brought him home in, because I stupidly decided against hauling the big carrier with us this morning. But I drove him home with the least amount of fuss and bother after we finished all the signing and buying and information-gathering at the adoption center at the PetSmart. So he was in the little box the minimum amount of time.

He has a nice, sweet meow – not like a certain orange stripey guy of fond memory at all. Stuey’s meow was sort of rusted, and when he was really unhappy about something he’d say “ERROR, ERROR” constantly. Riley has a soft call that sounds like “Ah? Ahhr?”

His coat is soft. He’s small for a full-grown male, and his history is sketchy. He was found as a stray, but when they got him to the vet after his rescue, he turned out to be neutered, declawed in the front, and microchipped. The chip led back to another shelter, so the last people that “adopted” him evidently didn’t bother registering him, or putting a collar on him, and he flinches and runs away if we move up unexpectedly quickly from behind. I think he’s been mistreated, but he seems to be loving the attention we’re giving him and craving more.

Just now he gave David, who was gently moving up to him by crawling on his belly on the carpet, a mighty mighty head- and body-bump. Awwwww!

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

This image was sent from Flickr as a blog entry, email or cameraphone image.

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By: GinnyRED57

Originally uploaded: 29 Sep ’05, 12.49am PST

The Life Of Riley

Posted on September 28, 2005 by ginny

What a day. Where to begin?

It was another long, boring, crappy day in my little metal cell with the picture window. Some more of the big monkeys came by. One of them came when I was trying to get some shut-eye and try to ignore the monkeys.

Then it was dinner time – the monkeys that cleaned out our cells came in as usual, cleaning each cell one at a time and letting us prisoners out for a little precious “freedom.” While I was waiting for my turn, the one monkey that’s been hanging around a lot lately came by and looked at me in my humiliating little cell.

I ignored her. I always felt it was best not to encourage them. But she kept hanging around, jabbering to the other monkeys.

And then she came in the guard room. One of the other cats finished his “freedom” time and suddenly they were opening up my cell again. Which was pretty damn weird, if you ask me. I steeled myself for another humiliating rejection. Best to reject first, if you ask me.

Then another monkey, a furry-faced one, came into the guard room. They opened my cell door and waited for me to step out, rather than grabbing me and slobbering over me right away.

Well. That was something; they let me come out on my own, in a dignified and gentlecatly manner.

Then, of course, the inevitable holding. This I endured, although it was not too unpleasant. I ducked my head under her foreleg, not wishing them to see that I was frightened. After a bit, I was placed carefully on the carpeted shelf we prisoners were allowed to use for our daily exercise periods. That was better; I rested, tried not to make eye contact with the female monkey, and awaited developments.

Both monkeys seemed very interested… it’s very strange… in me. I hardly dared hope.

They stroked my fur and chattered in their gibberish, but softly. This continued long enough that I allowed myself to enjoy it. They stroked behind my ears and oh! it was like heaven, or somewhere I’d never been that I had no words to express. They stroked my jaw and under my chin, and almost before I realized it, I had begun to purr.

Then they went away, and back in my cell I went. Oh, well. Humiliations galore for me again.

But the female monkey continued to loiter in the outer area of our prison. Some of the dog prisoners were being trained in their special area and were making an unholy racket. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the way the monkeys touched me.

Then, just before the time when the monkeys all go away and leave us alone for the night, the lady monkey and the furry monkey were still out there, doing their bizarre monkey business, which seems to involve gibberish, flat sheets of that paper stuff like the one that was attached to my cell, and wandering around gathering up stuff from other parts of the prison.

They came back loaded down with stuff, and a cardboard box. Hmm. That was interesting.

Then the monkey that cares for me some nights came and got me out of my cell again, and took away my cell pad.

And this is the weirdest part of all: the monkeys came in quietly and got out the big bag of catnip. Man! I can’t resist that stuff, I must be addicted or something. I came out, reluctantly, from one of the carpeted hidey-holes they provided for the prisoners’ “amusement.”

And then the caremonkey picked me up and put me in the cardboard box.

I’m not a large gentlecat, but it wasn’t that big a box. It had a soft thing down in the bottom of it that smelled of the new lady monkey, but there was a lot of my favorite stash of catnip sprinkled in there, too. And a big pillow shaped thing that smelled of more catnip. So that made the first moments of shock and outrage a little more bearable.

The next thing I knew, I was shut up in the box, being carried out into the night. I hadn’t smelled fresh air, let alone the scent of rain, in so long! I hoped I wasn’t about to be evicted, because frankly I’ve had about enough of being outside in my young life. And some stupid monkey sometime deprived me of my lovely front-knives, so fisticuffs for me are for show only. So I can’t really defend myself out in The Wild. Then my box and I were put in a larger, smellier box and then the world moved around us. The monkey lady kept up a constant chatter, repeating my name constantly.

Wow. Just wow. I was freaked, but determined to show no fear. Dignity, always dignity is my watchword.

Then the monkey lady spoke a few words of Cat to me – a dialect I didn’t recognize, but it seemed to be a friendly greeting.

I replied, tentatively. “Please, just get me out of this box.”

After a short time, really, we arrived… somewhere. Another noisy self-propelled monkeybox arrived soon after, and the furry monkey got out. We all went inside the little building together.

It was warm. The lights were on, but it didn’t smell like the prison or of other prisoners. They fussed around with some of the items they brought with them, and then at last the box was opened and I was invited to exit.

It was frightening, yet definitely intriguing. I immediately set about checking the perimeter. What was this place? Who were these monkeys? What was all this stuff? Could I get under it or behind it?

They moved about, quietly. The obviously did not wish to alarm me.

The monkeylady remained nearby and made friendly noises in a sort of Cat jargon or pidgin. I investigated my way around the edges of several large rooms. The colors and textures (and the quiet! The blessed quiet!) were soothing. Nevertheless, I indicated that I was still on my guard.

Things went on like this for a short time. I was shown the facilities and where I might make my toilette should I feel the need. The fear began to lessen.

The monkeys ate some of their food. The monkey lady got the catnip pillow out and a little ball and indicated that I was the owner.

That seemed quite in order, so I indulged in my drug of choice for a bit. Then the monkey lady indicated that I would be welcome should I desire to join her on the soft green sitting bench the monkeys had in one of the rooms. I assented.

Then something very odd and miraculous and wonderful happened. For a moment, I was in that heaven place again, or that other place that I didn’t really remember. I think it was called “home” and suddenly it seemed to me that after a very long and lonely and terrifying and hungry time, I was there again. I curled up against the monkeylady’s leg and just reveled in the luxury. She and the furry one petted me endlessly.

It must have been the catnip. I was sure of it; but the exploring and investigating and the petting and so forth went on all evening. Almost in spite of my self-imposed monastic reserve, I began to follow the monkeys around, brushing against their hind legs and offering all the pent-up affection I’ve been holding back for so long.

Oh, it’s been quite a day. And I’m feeling a little tired out from all the excitement of the last few hours, after so many weeks of fear and tedium. But I can already tell that it’s going to be a wonderful life for me here. And, I think, no need for any jailbreaks or escape plans for this gentlecat. These monkeys seem to really want me here. What a head trip that is, even more than a giant stash of kind kitty herb.

Anyway, the monkey lady took a picture of me in my little cell – this was before I was all that into her, frankly. And that’s the first day in the brand new life of Riley.

[yawn] And now, I think perhaps a head-butt and bed. More later if the monkey lady leaves her computer logged in.

This image was sent from Flickr as a blog entry, email or cameraphone image.

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By: GinnyRED57

Originally uploaded: 29 Sep ’05, 12.43am PST

The Annoying Race

Posted on September 27, 2005 by ginny

Hey! Amazing Race’s 8th season premieres tonight, and I’m really just very “meh” about it.

I’m going to attempt to blog about each family in real time, more or less. I can’t find handy little thumbnail pictures, due to CBS’ use of Flash on the TAR8 website, but I’ll try to make do.

The teams are:

Gaghan (oh, I sense a nickname coming on)
This family includes kids, and the daughter is a little too icky-poo cute for my admittedly unkidly taste.

Schroeder – featuring a hawt daughter and a really sullen looking son. They’re from Louisiana, and had a little trouble recently.

Aiello – dad and 3 adult sons-in-law. I like ’em, pre-race.

Rogers – their teenage kids are named, I kid you not, Brittney and Brock. Another Louisiana connection.

Black (the joke will be on everyone else)- of all the families with kids competing, this is the one I like best. I hope they do well.

Weaver – AAAH! Scary blond big-headed pod people smiling! AAAH!

Linz – either a family of adult children, or a frighteningly inbred cheerleading squad.

Bransen – yikes, these adult children and dad have a serious Crest White-Strips habit.

Paolo – Refreshingly normal and unglamorous. I like them, therefore they will probably be first out in what is now The Curse Of The Huckleberries.

Godlewski – Sisters, sisters. There were never such annoying sisters.

And so it begins

What? The first clue tells the ravening horde of family reality-star wannabes to drive to EMS and pick up camping gear? Oh, not good, Skippy.

Boy, this is some exciting racing. 10 families bickering about driving around aimlessly. The exciting music helps.

The screaming while finding their way onto the Brooklyn Bridge also helps.

Oy.

The Gag-mes aren’t as annoying as I thought they were.

The Aiellos are pretty cool and pulled a bonehead maneuver. Good for them.

Laughter between teams is good. “Hi, we’re looking for Soho?”

The nicknames are starting. The Pink Ladies, the Mommycakes, et cetera.

Whoa, those French manicures aren’t going to last long, ladies.

The Paolos are fighting and yelling and driving. “Mooom!”

We’re at Broadway. Darn, I linked the wrong EMS location. And we’re arriving at the store. It’s a shopping extravaganza.

Next clue will be at a hot dog stand, 90 blocks away. This is absolutely riveting. Watchout for the cross-town traffic! Hustle! Hustle! Who’s got the closest parking spooot? Omigod! Omigod! Sorry! We’re so excited!!!

Ugh.

I wonder if they had any problems with the kids shoplifting?

The Sisters team provides a lot of … pinkness. The Paolos are still bellyaching. And there’s the official first use of the word “Unbelieavable.”

Aw! the commercials have reruns of TAR1! I’d much rather watch Margarita’s awesome bunjy jump in Africa than this shit!

AW!!!! Another Serenity trailer! I can’t wait for the movie to open on the 30th! I love me some Browncoat sci-fi drammer. Damn. The commercial’s over. Time to watch this damn annoying Race show.

Hmm. Crest has a new whitening product out. Could it be… placement??

Oy.

Aaaand more driving. What is with these Paolos who sound like they’re local but can’t find their way around? Maybe they’re used to taking the subway?

And here comes Team Daddy-Daughters. Stop screaming! Stop knocking shit over in the store!

“The Weavers, they scream so loud. They knocked over a whole display.” Hey, they must be The Evil Weavers!

Yay! The Blacks found their way to the store!

Paolos: still wandering and yelling aimlessly.

Linz: annoying. “We are not followers.”

The Gagmes discuss “street art.” It’s graffiti, kid.

“Too bad we don’t have any handicapped children.”

Aiellos discuss how they’ve never been camping.

Only 70 more blocks to go.

They all seem to know each other’s last names, though. Man, those Weavers are still screaming!

The Blacks are just traveling around New York. It’s a teachable moment.

Paolos: sons screaming and heads exploding.

HEY, that’s TAR1’sKevin and Drew making with the hot dog stand heah!! YAAAAAY!! You guys so rock! 😉

Well, that’s about the only cool thing thus far, and we’re 28 minutes in.

Next: Cross the George Washington Bridge and drive to Washington Crossing. Wait, that’s not redundant is it?

Let’s see if the next family will have a clue about who the hot dog guys are: The Gaghan girl gets the dog and the clue, but is clueless.

And the next one, also unaware she’s interacted with TAR royalty.

Drew hands out another frank clue to one of the Godlewski sisters.

Aiello: the boys speculate that Dad will have a heart attack. Aw, I love Kevin and Drew.

Blond sisters make a favorable impression.

Screaming Weavers: meh

Rogers: that Brock kid is pretty funny. Hey, they at least recognized the Frats.

Meh, another bridge too far for this crappy premiere.

Gaghan: the daughter is zonking out already.

The Blacks get a frank.

The Paolos: last, but the son says “By the way, you guys were the best.” That was nice.

Aiellos: “Yankees suck. Yankees suck.”

Family pileup at various points to grab maps. UGH!!!! People praying aloud to the Lord on TV! EW.

“this is a real pain in my ass.” Boy, kid, you said it.

Aiello: first to the Crossing, and the cute historical rowboats. I think these 4 adult men have a little advantage. Next: Bransens. Oh, boy, another teaching moment with historical flag-folding.

Well, an actual racing moment: Daddy Daughter and Daddy-SILs are rowing and racing. And falling out of boats.

Not so good with the rowing, though. However, there’s time to respect the flag. Aaaand more falling in the water. They all start to row back with a George Washington clone holding the flag.

“Pink Ladies, where are you going?”

Un…beLIEVAble!

Okay, commercial break, thank God. I wonder if that Geena Davis show is any good? I might watch that next week.

Ah, Ty Pennington on a riding mower. Did he lose his license or something? I’d still rather see Carter Oosterhouse shirtless. Welcome, Googlers!

Dyson Vacuum Cleaners. Only one thing sucks more than they do.

And there is a reason I do not watch Dr. Phil. He puts screaming children on and then berates their parents. Oh, so not entertaining.

Okay, back. Aiellos have figured out rowing. Daddy-daughters are still working on it.

Rogerses arrive next.

Screamin’ Weavers.

Gaghan: kid says “I’m doin’ it.” Dude, this isn’t a Roadblock, you don’t have to declare.

Next: 34 miles to Philly to Fairmont Park for some fun CAMPING!!! Teams must set up their tents fast to get the earliest departure time! This is way better than digging in the sand on some exotic beach in another country. Boy, Daddy sure reads clues slow.

Shroeders: the edgy family with the competitive Steroid dad and the kind of hawt Brock son.

Rogers: Oops, not fair swimming instead of rowing.

And we’re paddling while amusing fife and drum music plays. The Gaghan son chants “stroke, stroke.”

Rogers in third. Screamin’ Weavers in fourth. Stop chewing on your hair, Weaver girl.

heh, the Gaghan boy keeps chanting on the way back, too.

Hmm. Schroeders fell back a little. Not so much with the navigating.

Oh, here come the Blacks! They’re not so much with the navigating, either. “Oh, geez, those kind of paddles.” The guy tells them not to lose the General after a short lesson.

Hmm. the Linzes are still behind. So are the Paolos.

Hmm, the Blacks are not so much with the rowing, either. “Austin! Stop playing!” “I caaaaan’t.” Aw, crap, the first whine. However, it was Austin that spotted the clue box as Dad was driving by.

The Pink Ladies decide on their strategy: “Panic.”

Meh. Commercials. Ghost Whisperer. Meh.

Man, these Blacks are just not paddling hard enough. Go, Team Black!

Aiellos: first to the campsite. Eagle Scouts watch with eagle eyes.

Screaming Weavers: scream.

Gaghans arrive.

Bransen: “How did the little kids beat us?”

Aiello and Weaver: 10:00 am.

Gaghan: 10:00 am.

Bransen: 10:30 am

Blacks are 7th to leave the Delaware River.

Pink Ladies caught them and almost passed them.

Linzes finally arrive at the river. “Andale! Andale! Arriba Arriba!”

Paolos: can’t get to the marker from the parking lot.

Linzes head away from the river.

Paolos: begin rowing and yelling.

Hmm, at the campsite Brock offers to help someone else.

Mingling begins. Schroeders attempt tentage and get 10:30am.

Paolos leave THE CLUE BEHIND at the river, complete with the Zing! of brushed piano strings that means OH SHIT. And they go north instead of south on 95. Dad just keeps driving. Mom starts looking frantically for the clue.

Un-FRIGGING-believable.

Commercial: OOOOO! Preview for CSI:NY!

And. Paolo recriminations begin. We go back. No we don’t! We don’t need the clue. Oh, yes you do.

The Blacks: welcome to the camping neighborhood! Let me help you!

Pink Ladies arrive and offer chocolate chip cookies for all the help. Gee, this is a helpful bunch. 11:00 am

Linzes: 11:00 next to last.

Paolo: 11:00 departure, but NO CLUE?

Next morning, it’s raining. Oh, it’s fun to camp in the rain.

The first group jumps back in their FREAKIN CARS. Drive 92 to Mountjoy, PA to the Brubaker family farm. And the Widow family starts out with another Jebus prayer.

I kind of like the little Gaghan boy. He’s like a mini Drew.

Uh, oh, I think Brock thinks the Schroeder girl with the black hair is cute. Mack!

Speaking of Mack, a Linz boy macks on an older Pink Lady. Arrrump!

Ah, the Amish country. We’re going to be dealing with the elements of life.

Weavers: Detour. Build it, or buggy it.

Aiello: They’re gonna buggy like the Screamin’ Weavers.

Gaghans: they have little kids. Will they buggy? The kids can ride, yep. Yah! Moo!

OOOPS! Buggy crash! Accident! Screaming Weavers screaming! Uh, oh, it ran right over the girl pulling it, due to the downhill.

Commercial: “It’s time to pull over when our children start screaming. Mommy, I have to go potty. She needs a diaper change. Got product placement?”

Ooooh! Wallace and Gromit!

Meh, the show’s almost back on.

Ooooh! CSI preview… in a Chinese laundry?

Man, I wish Kevin and Drew would come back. I wonder if this edition will drop in on previous Racers all along the route? I’m somewhat spoiled for this one, because remember? I just don’t care who wins this crapfest. I hear they had to stop taking bets on it because of an unusual number of bets from one family’s home town. So, yeah the outcome is probably already known.

Okay, we’re back. Let’s scream and crash again. The brake did not work, the Screamers scream. This is the family that lost their dad, remember. They totally busted up the buggy and are crying on camera, except for Mom. She’s strong.

And the Weavers abandon the buggy and go for the build, because it’s busted.

Godlewskis navigated to Mountjoy alright.

Paolos are dealing with ants in the pants.

Man, I cannot keep the damn families straight.

Weavers appear to complete the build.

Pinkies: “Our first Detour!”

Oh. Linz brother farted in the close confines of the buggy. Nice one, man.

“She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes.” Man, them Gaghan kids can also be annoying. Heh. In a funny way.

And here come the Blacks! Once again, the kids spot the cluebox first. They decide to build.

Gaghans: make the turn and now it’s downhill. Oh gosh! Goats! “Mom, Dad, I’m wicked proud of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t contribute.” His sister says “Get used to it, dork.” Heh. I think they’ve actually contributed very well, surprising the hell out of me. And the kid sings a mean “She’ll be comin’ round the mountain,” too. One of the Aiello boys threw up his hands in disgust as they were passed.

And the Schroeders and Rogerses pull up.

Paolos are last to arrive. Again. The inevitability of it all.

“It’s the Jersey team!”

The Paolos decide they aren’t physical enough to buggy.

The Linzes are pooped out. All that farting around, you know.

Commercial. Oh, my God, there’s still 30 minutes to go in this interminable crawl to the Pit Stop. Man, this sucks. I bet the people on TWOP are hissing even now.

Yep, they are, and they’re hoping Kevin and Drew show up in every episode. As do I, now that I think of it. That would be this season’s only redeeming feature.

Man. Pretty soon heah I have to press “play” and get through the next 30 minutes. Man. I… think I’ll take a short break.

Okay, Sprite in hand and newly refreshed, I’m ready to soldier on. And yes, I’m wearing my Amazing Race “Bomp!” T-shirt. But my heart’s mostly not.

Linzes: outta gas because they pushed too hard up the hill in the buggy.

Weavers: finally ready to test their little water wheel. Drive yourselves 17 miles to the Pit Stop! The Rohrer Family Farm! Aw, Mennonites are cool people.

And: several families hammer away. Ma, gimme the nails. Please! Dad! Get outta there!

Gaghans buggy: leave third.

Daddy Daughter: finish, but head away in the wrong direction.

Linzes: finally finish hauling 400 pounds of guy around.

Aw, the farting Linz brother now stops for a puke break. It’s the heat and humidity.

Weavers: freaking out on the way to the Pit Stop.

Godlewskis: also having a navi-freakout. No! yes! Go left, Karen!

Gaghans: congratulate themselves while on the road.

Everyone looks for the new blue silos.

Weavers: please, in Jebus name, eliminate these people.

Godlewskis: putting on lipstick for the mat. Ah! They’re in first!
Man, that’s a lot of screaming and 20,000 fucking bucks!!! Phil looks good and chats with them.

Gaghans: Aw! they know they’re not first. They’re racing for the parking lot with the Jebus Weavers. Come on, people, this is for SECOND and THIRD.

Wow, the Gaghans pull off a race to the mat for second. That little girl is fast! Well, they are road racers, all of them.

Weavers are… okay with being third.

Aiellos: logically, they are looking for a farm, in farm country.

Daddydaughters: Lost.

Schroeders: done with the mill.

Blacks: struggling.

Paolos: hammering on the water mill and each other.

Schroeders: panicking because THERE ARE NO BOLTS!!! Panic. Hammer. Wheel is stuck, they cannot complete, so they are about to freak some more. The dad is freaking out the most and trying to muscle things into place, which is never good on a “put something together” task.

Commercial break. OOOOhhhh! TAR1 DVD ad!

Oooooooh! Harry Potter (what, the 4th movie? The one with the Goblet of Fire. The special effects look very cool.)

You may have noticed that I am easily charmed and amused, and just as easily annoyed and bored. This is a curse which I have bourne all my life. However, at least if I’m hating something, it won’t be long before something I love comes along to make me forget.

Mmm, a nice ad for the reruns of previous seasons of TAR that run on the Game Show Network. Nice quick cuts, great shots from many seasons that make you feel like this is an exciting show about, oh, traveling the world, and the music is a robust choral “O Fortuna” from “Carmina Burana.” Nice job, Amazing Editors-who-probably-worked on this for GSN.

Anyway, time to press play. David wants to watch something else already.

Okay, down to the final fifteen minutes. Who’s losin?

Schroeders leave in seventh.
Paolos: bicker. Wheel turns when water is applied. Leave in eighth. Mom starts yelling at the boys, she’s had it and she breaks down crying.
Blacks: very, very slowly they put the best damn mill together.
Linzes: STILL with the buggy hauling!

Pit Stop:
Rogerses: team number four. Brock looks hawt.
Schroeders: team number FIVE. They’re overjoyed.
Paolos: ready to kill the mamma and leave her body under a haystack. Oh, my GOD they’re sixth! And they all hug Phil and decide they’re okay.

Bransens (daddy daughters): team number seven.
Aiellos: team number eight. Dad is trailing, he can’t even trot.
Blacks: the water wheel spins. Man, the Linzes are still buggyhauling.

Both teams, knowing they’re last, wish each other luck.

Now it’s down to the navigating and trying to pass.

The Blacks don’t know what “silos” are. Oh, dear. The kids spot them anyway. Race to the mat. Who is first?

It’s the Linzes. They are team number nine.

And it’s the Blacks coming in last. Which is actually too bad, because they were nice and the kids were okay. But really, they were very, very, very slow at every task, and they only had one strong member, the father.

Tears at the mat. What nice kids. Disappointing for them. But the physical tasks, even the easy ones, killed them. And that water mill… well, it would have gone better if they hadn’t treated it like a family “fun project” with all the coaching and encouragement.

The other little-kid family, the Gaghans? Well, don’t count them out. They did fine on all their tasks, because all four of them are fit and fast for their size.

Next week: Paolos yelling at each other. Daddy can’t keep up with Daughters. And everyone gets to haul wounded soldiers off of a Civil War battlefield during a really big re-enactment. That must have been a lot of confidentiality waivers.

And that’s it for this long-ass post. Meh.

Was it this one…?

Posted on September 27, 2005 by ginny

Petfinder PetNotes

Notes: Hi, my name is Dickens and I am a 4-5 year old male DSH black kitty. I am neutered, front paw declawed and weighs 12 lbs., 5.5 oz.

Crap, I can’t remember the name of the cat I liked so much 2 weeks ago. We were planning on going to the other Petsmart store in the area, but I keep thinking about the big black cat I held at the other location. Crap, crap, crap.

I think it may have been this one, though. And I don’t know if it’s still there. Crap.

The last few days, all I’ve been thinking about is cats, which will absolutely thrill the many allergic friends and family we have. But I can’t help being in the throes of kitty fever after all this time. And it seems every where I look, there’s an image of a black cat, like it’s some kind of weird kitty kismet.

Probably not a good sign that when we went to the Toulouse Lautrec show at the Art Institute yesterday, I ended up buying a really nice “Chat Noir” poster from the museum gift shop. Which will look really good in the living room, I might add.

Well, we’ll see.