Logo, part 1
Logo, part 2
  Saturday   September 27, 1997




The Usual Suspects

I'm feeling lazy tonight, so I'm just going to slap some random thoughts on you instead of one of my usual finely crafted entries:

We've taken the first step of what's sure to be a long, laborious journey: we're house-hunting again. We looked at I don't know how many houses before we bought this one a couple of years ago. Hundreds, probably. We looked at so many that I stopped looking. Beth would go look at them alone and drag me back to see the ones she liked. Now we're doing it again. We looked at the first house today and, of course, didn't like it. I'm good for maybe 20 more before I dig my heels in again. But come to think of it, that tactic landed me in Van Nuys. Maybe I'll be more involved this time...

I was lying on the couch a little while ago, reading a magazine, when I realized I felt oddly uncomfortable. Something wasn't quite right. It was like being in pain, but without anything specifically hurting. I put the magazine down and paid attention to the feeling. Then I realized what was wrong: Saturday Night Live was on the TV. 90 minutes of comedy that isn't funny can do that to you. Will someone please make Lorne Michaels retire?

Speaking of SNL, hey, isn't that a great new bit they've got with those wacky disco guy characters? It's exactly like Steve Martin's Wild And Crazy Guy, but without being funny.

One last SNL observation, a note to Lorne and the gang: If something's funny once, that doesn't mean it's funny for all time. The cheerleaders, for example. I never watch SNL anymore, but every time I surf by it those cheerleaders are on. Stop it. Now.

Okay, one last SNL: Adam Sandler. Why?

Saw LA Confidential this evening -- sort of. I really liked what I saw but I slept through most of it. The worst part was when Beth firmly planted her elbow in my ribs. I was snoring, apparently. I just can't seem to stay awake through a movie anymore.

A Marilyn Monroe movie was on the tube -- I don't know the title, it's the one where she sings "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend" -- and there was a Busby Berkeley-esque shot of several women dangling from a chandelier. I turned to Beth and said, "Look, a chickdelier!" Got elbowed again.

One of Zoe's favorite words is "ca-ca." We thought it was kind of cute at first, but we don't speak Spanish. It drives her nannies to distraction. For them, this little kid is running around yelling "shit!" all the time.






Copyright 1997
Chuck Atkins