Too hot to blog...
Or do much of anything else.
Counting the hours until AC repair man arrives. Sorry kids - I don't care if we don't eat for two weeks. I'm skimming this straight off the top of Friday's paycheck. (It's all the same to me anyway. I don't want to eat when it's this hot.) I'm OK up in the bedroom with the fan, but that dooms me to the laptop which generates way to much heat.

So...
has anyone received the new New Yorker? Mine usually arrives days before the cover date, leading me to, as usual, suspect the mailman of messing with my mind. But I don't like doing a lot of reading in front of the fan anyway. I think it dry's out my eyeballs or something. And then there is positioning myself so that the pages don't flap around.

Maybe I'll watch a movie. Netflix has opened up a whole world of movies I would never remember to rent while in Blockbuster plus cable TV shows like Extras, etc. Not everything is a winner. A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints had been recommended to me. That movie merits about one star. I wish I could remember who recommended it so I could find him and ask why I wasn't cautioned to watch the DVD with the subtitles on. The characters talked so fast and mumbled so much that all I could recognize was moments of the barrage of cuss words. Honestly, I could not figure out what was going on without the subtitles. Strange. I don't even always use the subtitles for foreign language movies.

The most difficult scenes were the ones where there were about 8 people in a room with bad acoustics - and eveyone was speaking at once. Not unlike our family dinners. Except somewhat less vulgarity.
And here I'm usually up to speed with the plot.