quick check in

Yes, I'm still alive. And, I fully intend to write more about the mundane in my life. So, here goes.

I'm fine. For the past few days, however, I have felt a little under the weather. Perhaps it's just the power of suggestion as I've been caring for a sick four-year-old who has pink eye (he calls it "grits"), a sinus infection, and the early signs of an ear infection.

Work is piling up with an issue SLAP, a blues check for the issue I SLAPped last week, articles to write for an issue that SLAPs in two weeks (as well as a nasty pile of PIPs), four paginations (soon to be five) to do, and another issue to plan. It's just a little insane.

John is on a business trip, making me a little lonely at home. But, I'm relieved that the trip is just for one night, which is so much easier to handle that when he worked as a consultant, with six-week engagements that had him home only on the weekend. Actually, I'm more than a little jealous of this trip, which takes him to NYC on some business for NBC Sports (meetings at 30 Rock).

So, despite my seething envy, I managed nicely this evening with a few bottles of Shiner bock, Food Network shows on the DVR (including one filmed at Izzy's), a new knitting project, and back issues of Saveur. It's all good, but the bed will be big and cold tonight, and it will be nearly impossible to haul myself out of it manana.

Not to mention that the babies and I had a Davanni's picnic in front of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, starring Johnny Depp. While the boys thought the movie was fun (with an occasional moment of skepticism from Simon, thank goodness he found part weird), I mostly thought it was horrible. The musical numbers were gratuitous; Johnny Depp disturbingly resembled Michael Jackson; Wonka's flashbacks and Daddy/candy issues were absurd and unnecessary; I could go on. Some of the signature Tim Burton stuff—mostly sets (especially the Gothic chocolate factory that resembled a cathedral; squirrels cracking nuts standing in for the geese that laid golden eggs)—were the only saving grace for a seriously botched remake. Granted Gene Wilder came across as off-his-meds in the original, but he wasn't creepy in the same way as Depp.

This weekend, John and I have our eight-week standing date at 112 Eatery, and I'm pretty excited about that. And, I'm going to have coffee and book conversation (Memento Mori by Muriel Spark, among others we've mutually read in the past month or so and those we plan to read in the next month or so) with my college friend Caryl, and I'm equally excited about that. I'd also like to try my hand at making gnocchi, and I have a rotisserie-roasted beast in the refrigerator that wants to have a second life in chicken-corn chowder.

To bed for a bit of The Big Oyster and The Whole World Over.