I'm starting to want to be a medical transcriptionist.  
     I mean, I'm really, REALLY starting to want to be a medical transcriptionist!
     Why?
     I figure whenever I call in sick but I'm really not, I'll be able to fake my symptoms really well.
 

     Jester has learned a new trick!
     I have a first floor office with a window.  Just outside this window is a HUGE lilac bush.  Like, dining room HUGE.  It even has it's own built-in cabinets to store all its good leaves for when out-of-town shrubs come to visit it.  
     In this bush - right outside my window - I have a birdfeeder.  A clear plastic tube thing, with bright yellow base and top cap.
     I now have a chubby little chipmunk climbing up the lilac bush's cabinets and getting on this base every day in order to stuff his cheek pouches with the two cups' worth of seed I put out every morning.
     Jester's custom-built window seat is just this side of the window.
     (I tried putting it outside, but... he could never get to it because of the screen.)
     Anyway, Jester has taken to getting up on his window seat and watching Mr. C. steal all my seed like an old, fat mall security guard who happens to have a slight excess of body hair and likes to lick his butt.
     Jester doesn't claw the screen or meow or wave his tail or anything.  He just crouches down, nose to screen just inches from the chipmunk, and... watches. 
     Sniffs.  
     And then... watches.
     He is fascinated by this amazing, self-propelled stuffed toy friend.
     Utterly hypnotized.
     The chipmunk apparently doesn't know he or she is being watched.  At least he or she refuses to mug for Jester like a Disney cartoon.  
     He or she seems too utterly fascinated by the seed to do anything but stuff his or her cheek pouches.
     I am too utterly fascinated by my cat to so much as scratch myself.
     Thus do the hours fly by, here in the homeland of President William Howard Taft....
 

     I don't care about British Prime Minister Tony Blair's new baby.
     I don't care if he's going to cut back on his day job to help his mate take care of his offspring.
     I don't care that the British people seem fascinated by the mating habits of Mr. Blair.
     They want to experience real fascination, they should get themselves 2 cups' worth of seed, a chipmunk, and - if all else fails - a cat.
     There are, after all, over 180 countries now on Earth.  If I'm going to be expected to care every time the leader of one of these countries forgets to practice birth control, I'm going to be a very busy boy.
     This threatens to cut into my cat-watching time significantly.
      Screw it.
 

     The first red bloom on my climbing rose bush opened today, moving me to tears of joy faster than a NYC cabdriver on speed.
     Turns out my rose bush can flip off people who forget to tip it even faster.

     The pink peonies are blooming now, too.  They smell like roses, so if I close my eyes and inhale very deeply I detect their fragrance and think, "Peonies smell like roses!"
     Sometimes I don't even have to close my eyes in order to concentrate hard enough to realize this.

     Planted some rocket snapdragons today.
     Multi-colored blooms-to-be, just inches from my garage door.
     The "people door" door - not the "car door" door.
     Even *I* know better than to plant flowers close to the "car door" door again.
     My wife put up with me opening the passenger side door of her car and dragging my head along the gravel drive to smell the flowers as she backed out one year.  She vowed never to do that again.
     I'm an understanding husband.  I've agreed to accommodate her this time around.
     Now when she backs out with me, I'll just hop out of the car, run around to the "people door" door, sniff myself silly, then hurry back.
     I owe her at least that much.
     Added bonus: I suspect it's going to be much easier on my head.
 

     AT&T has just announced plans to merge with the remnants of TWA.  The new company will be called TWATTA and will cater to people who want to fly their telephones to friends across the country instead of merely sitting them on tables for use as mere conversation pieces.
     The only negative that analysts can foresee:  The possibility that discussions put on hold for too long will now simply run of out gas and crash before being allowed to land in a free ear and disgorge all their tired, old points while the clichés they belong to are accidentally sent on to the liver. 
     As if anything is ever perfect.