I have a confession to make. This shouldn’t worry me since I have admitted it to other people and not had any problems. I just feel so self-conscious whenever I come out and say it. I have Internet friends.
There, I said it. I feel better now. I can go on feeling just as confident about myself as I did before I said it.
I can, right?
Sometimes people complain that our lawmakers pay too much attention to frivolous laws. I tend to agree. I saw something last weekend that requires immediate legislative action. Enough of worrying about healthcare and education and public safety.
We need to take care of dining etiquette.
As a writer and a parent, I think people should do everything in their power to encourage children to read. But I have had it up to here with this Harry Potter stuff. I have to say right off the bat that I have never read any of the Potter books. I have no doubt that adults can enjoy the books as much as youngsters, but I just don’t have that much interest in fantasy.
Besides, the insanity surrounding these things is just getting to be too much.
Most readers probably think that the life of a regular guy is filled with glamour. In a rare look into my world, here’s a brief diary of last weekend when Maria and Bridget left me to my own devices for 36 hours. Saturday
7 a.m. – Say goodbye from underneath the covers as they head off to my mother-in-law’s. 7:01 – Roll over to get more sleep.
7:05 – Realize I won’t fall back asleep and get up.
Over the past few months, I have come to an important realization. I decided that I don’t like being sick. Unfortunately, I have put a lot of research into making this decision. I kind of felt this way when I had bronchitis a couple of times in December, but I thought I’d hold off before making a final answer.
A nice little stomach virus helped me reach that answer this week.
We all need something to take our mind of Britney and Anna Nicole. Thank goodness the time has come for The Brians. This marks the fifth year I have given awards for the best new movies which I saw in the theater during the preceeding year. In 2006, I had to bend the rules and add in movies I rented or bought on pay-per-view because we hardly made it to the movies.
This year, we’re back to the old rules with lots of contenders. In no particular order (except the order I remember them), we saw “Casino Royale,” “Click,” “Stranger Than Fiction,” “Talladega Nights,” “The Break-Up,” and “Date Movie.” The field of six is the largest in Brians history, I think.
We also have a new category for animated films. Those can be called the Bridgets because I came along for the ride to see “Curious George,” “Over the Hedge” and “Ice Age: the Meltdown.”
So without further ado, come down the Rivers-free red carpet and find out the winners.
Normally, I wouldn’t think of criticizing television. After all, the warm, blue glow has helped sustain me for my entire life.
But over the past few months, something has started to really annoy me.
The thing itself hasn’t bothered me because I never watch it. The people who can’t stop yammering about it, sending it into the public conscious have bothered me.
It’s official: I’m sick and tired of The Food Network.
Now that the NFL has whittled the playoffs down to the final two teams, America can start to get serious about one if its greatest traditions. Super Bowl commercials.
I honestly can’t think of a more unifying part of our culture than the advertisements that fill the space between plays during the final pro football game of the season.
But the fun doesn’t just happen when the Buffalo wings come out of the oven and the beers are opened.
Super Bowl commercial season has already started, and I’m a little bothered.
Sometimes, I am so proud to live in this country, I get a little misty-eyed. That feeling came over me recently when we started on plans to renovate our bathrooms. Technically, our house is listed as having 1.5 bathrooms. That’s being a bit generous.
I’m not knocking our downstairs facilities because I love the setup. I just think calling a commode sitting on a raised platform in between the washer and dryer a half bath is a little fib.
Yes, our downstairs toilet is a real throne, sitting about a foot off the ground with a shower curtain around it to offer privacy. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Over the past week, I think I have found my true calling. I should find work as a professional juror. I have spent the last week on jury duty for the first-time ever. I had never received a notice to serve before and greeted the envelope from York with disdain when it came last month.
Now, I realize how foolish that reaction was.
I could seriously do this gig all the time. I honestly don’t know why people grumble about jury duty. Sure, the pay stinks, but the fringe benefits are fantastic.