We’ve been under a RED FLAG WARNING for low humidity and high wind this week. It means, basically, that your knuckles bleed exceedingly easily, and also that if you stand outside for five minutes, you burst into flames.
My mother used to call me Elrod Clyde. I don’t know where she came up with that, and a spin through the search engines is less than revelatory. Nevertheless, I have adopted it as a new online handle, supplanting Argiope and variants.
When checking out with a few groceries, I have, from time to time, bagged them myself. I think I offended a cashier doing that last night. When I ran it by Lea, she said the cashier may have thought I was implying she was incapable of it, or that she’d do a poor job. (No, I was trying not to stand there doing nothing while she was checking the rest of my stuff.) In any case, I don’t think I’m going to do it again.
When it comes to hot V bitches, I’m going to have to give the nod to Jane Badler over Morena Baccarin. Diana is hotter than Anna. Sorry, Anna fanboys.
Did you know the USFL is back? Well, sort of. This time around they’re designating themselves a minor league for the NFL, as opposed to a competitor. I’ll give it a shot.
(If Tebow winds up in the CFL, I’ll give that a shot too.)
The Madison Police Department has an unmarked, late model, silver Camaro. I’ve seen it with a “customer” now in consecutive weeks. Locals, y’all be careful out there.
Week one without red meat went well enough. I’m definitely going to be missing it by the end of Lent, though.