In reading a work-related document that is attempting to be a portal into the future, there are repeated references to the “average probably ratings” of various potential events. Which is a far better term than the standard probability ratings.

How did I miss the fact that Beck has such a wonderfully deep, glossy voice? I must have listened to “Lost Cause” about a hundred times over the past few weeks. Every time I listen to iTunes on my laptop and a song I particularly like plays, I keep opening it up expecting to see a mini-music video or at least a picture of the singer. Steve Jobs should get right to work on this.

Even when it’s used for some distastefully sappy commercial, I still get all teary at the song 100 Years. Did they know they were writing something that every advertiser would want to use? Or were they just thinking about whether it would get them laid?

It’s only been through traveling that I have come to understand the critical difference between “bacon” and “bacon crispy”. I am still surprised when I’m asked whether I want my bacon crispy or not, since it does not occur to me to order “bacon tartare”. In general, I prefer my pig thoroughly cooked. This distinction continues to elude US Airways’ caterers, who supply club sandwiches with the bacon prepared as if it was ahi tuna – nice and pink in the middle.

Phrases that are reminiscent of razor-sharp, metal-tipped fingernails moving across a Texas-sized chalkboard:
My bad
In the day
Not so much

Books: Down Came the Rain by Brooke Shields. After all the hoo-hah in the press about Tom Cruise’s ill-informed statements about psychiatry, mental health and medication for depression, and Brooke Shields’ rebuttals, it seemed worth reading the source of at least a portion of the conflict. While attention to post-partum depression (and treatment of depression in general as a serious affliction) is laudable, Ms. Shields should have deferred to a writer to wrap her thoughts into text. She subscribes to the “subject-verb-object” school of narrative, which, although clear and simple to read, does not provide the punch that this topic deserves.

Ten Little New Yorkers by Kinky Friedman. The Kinkster’s gubernatorial campaign must have gotten in the way of finishing this book. Although there are comforting references to his familiar story elements – cigars, Nixons, cats, lesbian dance classes, coffee, Ratso, McGovern, etc. – the gimmicky prologue and ending choke the life out of this novel.