"In the end, the whole town comes together for one great, big, zombie-killing good time. And isn't that what Christmas is truly about?"

That quote's been rocking my world for two full weeks now.

The Internet and work are engaged in an epic battle for my life. Work: pays the bills. The Internet: listofbests.com. A website collecting all the lists of the best of everything, like oh I don't know, for example books. And she was never.. seen...again!

A place where you can plan out the rest of your reading extravaganza, your quest to become well-read. The most interesting thing about this site though, is what it tells me about my reading habits to date. For instance, I'm mildly suprised that I've read almost as many of The 100 Best Sci Fi Novels (8), as I have The 100 Best Gay and Lesbian Novels (9), but have apparently concentrated on Most Often Banned Books 1990-2000 (25). And while we're here, I'm not unconvinced that a great many of our social problems can be blamed on the movement to ban What's Happening to My Body? A Book for Girls, What's Happening to My Body? A Book for Boys and Where's Waldo?.

Naughty, saucy Waldo.

By the way, Radio Monster is still fabulous. In case you were wondering. This week I added Laurie Anderson, Luscious Jackson, Tom Waits, and Deee-Lite's "Party Happening People" to the playlist. That last one makes me bounce around at work (we all wear headphones in the office and email things like, "Hey, wanna go get coffee?" We've been claimed by bandwidth.) like there's a rabid weasel under my desk. And if all you've ever heard of Deee-Lite is "Groove is in the Heart", you need to listen. And bounce.

Heh. Serves me right for being seduced by the Internet. Turns out I'm now working Sunday. Mmmm. Sassy.

Yesterday, Neo found a new fun game, called "Chair! Chair! Holy shit! Chair!" Here's how you play: Neo jumps up on the chair, where he is not allowed. He bounces up and down, digs at the blanket, and then leaps off the side when Mom shoos him off. He then leaps right back up. The bonus round comes in spending 5 minutes leaping on and off the chair without rest while Mom throws things at him. There are no timeouts.

Still, it beats "Damn! That's a Tasty Baseboard!"

I made onion soup from scratch last night, which is waaaaaay easier than it sounds. Take a can of chicken stock and a can of water, add one onion, one portabello mushroom (both items whacked and chopped), one mutant clove of garlic the size of a silver dollar. Simmer in pot for half an hour on medium heat. In the interests of both culinary science and using shit up, I added a peeled and finely chopped yam and a heroic amount of creole seasoning.

When El Yo travels, I eat crazy things, mainly because I am compensating for the Dance of Kitchen Compromise common to all long-term relationships. Ours is sort of what happens when someone waltzing meets someone engaged in a furious, partnerless tango. Which is just a colorful way of saying, Near-Vegan? Meet Carnivorous Vegetable-Hater! Ole!

So for dinner when he's away, I eat a rotating selection of tomatoes (The Chosen Food), broccoli, oatmeal with raisins and fat-free cool whip (boo-yah!), tomato sauce over rice, mushrooms, cauliflower, and tomato soup, all dosed with enough creole seasoning to peel your lips back over your ears. My sinuses have been squeegeed clean.

The yam though, while well-intentioned, does not add a pleasingly sweet note of contrast. Instead, it offers mushy loogie-esque lumps to be fished out and flung at the wastebin. Trial and error, people. Trial and error.