Before me lay a bag of Miss Vickie's Chips. They are lime and black pepper flavored and presumably delicious. The front of the bag reads "From Our Farm to You." I'm overwhelmed. The thought that it should say "From Our Farm to Your Mouth" is unrelenting. Still, I shall crunch the chips until they exist no more and in their place, satiety.


I viewed A Scanner Darkly this weekend. There was one show in Fairfield at 9:50 to choose from. Erin and I decided to choose the 9:50 show in Fairfield. I think there were around five people total in the theater and three of them showed up late. Have you ever been one of the only two people in a theater when the Jimmy Fund begins it's prerecorded effort to solicit your funds from your pockets? Well, let me tell you something. When the guy with the can shows up, it doesn't take much coaxing to get Mr. Washington to cross the chasm between your pocket and a slotted aluminum cylinder.


Gmail's spell check wonders if "Fairfield" was indeed intended to be "Garfield." That, my friend, is good comedy. Likewise, Gmail knows not its own name. Sad. Perhaps, Google should have named it "Garfield."