The dictionary doesn't bother with twenty-three. I guess it figures you can just change the numbers between which it lies and use the definition of 17 (for instance.)

23 skidoo! is the only phrase that comes to mind, and while the dictionary defines "skiddoo" as verb meaning "to go away," it has nothing about the 23 that sometimes goes with it. (And I seem to recall running across a twenty-something-else skiddoo.)

Twenty three is a prime number.

I'm pretty good at what numbers another number breaks down into. I'm a math geek, and when I am swimming laps I keep track by calculating what fraction of my goal distance I have accomplished. When you have fifty to 150 feet to swim per lap, doing the geeky fraction stuff helps me keep track of where I am. (Other than being in the pool.)

One winter the big pool at University of New Orleans was set up in its fifty meter configuration. Now that gave me a bunch of in-my-head calculations to convert meters to yards! (A yard is 12/13 of a meter.)

So, 23 is a prime number, and its multiples that I pass while swimming a mile are 46, 69, and 92.

So much for the trivial. I finished reading Baghdad Burning the other day, and today I started in on Baghdad Burning II. These books are pretty intense. Water almost non-existent in houses, electricity maybe two hours a day, gasoline to run a generator sky high, and then the bombings and other attacks. Sitting in the windowless hall of their house, hoping the roof wouldn't fall in on them, during attacks by the Americans.
Her books should be must-reads for people 15 and older. There's no sex in them, but the violence and idiocy of the leaders (both Iraqi and American) call for a certain maturity.

She hasn't posted to her blog since November 5, but there are times when it's hard to get electricity, not to mention internet.

The coffee shop was devoid of customers when I got there about 1 PM, and in the time I was there I think only two or three more came by. Most people are out frantically spending money trying find gifts for everybody.

YD picked up a couple of gifts on my behalf when she was shopping the other day. This has been a really bad year for me on "what to give." I have something neat on order for YDH, but unless there's a special mail delivery before Monday it will be late.

Had a call this morning from the no-kill shelter where I got my girl cats. Someone had put me as a reference, and the animals don't go out the door until the shelter has checked with these people. (The animals also don't leave with their reproductive organs.) It was YD getting a dog that didn't need to be potty-trained. This is her second dog from the shelter. The first one is happily romping around a big yard with at least one other dog, and being protective of the owners' grandchildren and their adult daughter with Down Syndrome. YD also gave the name of our pet sitter and former director of the shelter as a reference.

She said the dog and the resident cat seem to get along just fine.

I think WalMart opens at 6 AM now. I need to get an early start tomorrow if I don't want an endless line at the checkout.

So I guess it's now time to 23 skiddoo.