What I'm covering tomorrow:

A Pop Warner cheerleading competition and a chili cookoff.

1) I thought I got away from cheerleading when I got away from sports, as cheerleaders in Tracy always seemed to assume they belonged on the sports page.
2) I love that my work makes a difference in the world.
3) Anyone who wants to swing by and kill me before tomorrow, please do.

Stop bothering me

People are bothering me about posting on this thing more, which, well, is bothering me. So I'm posting on it more. Even though I have nothing to say. See what you've made me do? I've now written a boring and pointless post. That'll teach you.

I'm sorry, you'll have to call back after 6 p.m. today

What happens if there's a fire when all the area firefighters and fire engines are in a parade?

Wait, you're not a cat...

I was covering a small group of women who gathered to talk about politics and the upcoming midterm elections, and all of a sudden a small child came up to me ("that lady") and reached her arms up in pick-me-up fashion. I told her I didn't think that was such a good idea, but all the ladies around the table assured me it was a fantastic idea. I'd run out of arguments.

Here the child sits in my lap, and I look at the photographer with a what-the-hell-is-going-on-here smile. He perceives it as a boy-do-I-love-when-small-children-sit-on-me smile, and continues snapping pictures. He gives me the picture the next day.

Now. If you'll be so kind to notice, the kid, in her infinite wisdom, actually had no interest in "that lady" at all. There are candies on the table in front of me. She is eyeing them very closely.

A few minutes later she asks me, "Can I have a candy?" Before I can answer that maybe she should ask her mother, she nods to herself an emphatic 'yes' and reaches forward to take the candy.

Breaking News: Erica is correct

In the past, my Southern friends (OK, so Brian, and sometimes Eric) have criticized me for referring to what they call "toboggins" as "beanies." For all the non-Southern people out there, I should mention they pronounce it TOE-boggin.

With respect, I would like to note that the United States Supreme Court happens to agree with *me*.

In an oral argument yesterday about the constitutionality of a victim's family wearing photo buttons during a murder trial, none other than Justice Antonin Scalia addressed the issue of "beany hats."

You don't allow people to come into most courtrooms in tank shirts, and we
don't allow people to, you know, to wear beany hats. Everything that is
inappropriate for a courtroom is not necessarily inappropriate because it would
prejudice the trial; isn't that right?

Now, I'm no law expert or anything, but I'm *pretty* sure this means I'm right and you're wrong.

Phone on fire

Today I plugged in my phone, which had been sitting in a box for about eight months while I was in Europe, China, Va., etc., and I'm 99 percent sure that if I hadn't unplugged it when I did, it would have blown up. Daniel says it's just dust that gathered on the phone, and that I should just get one of those dust-blowing things and clean it off. But the idea of plugging it back in still scares me. Ideas? Do you, as loyal readers, agree with Daniel's lack of concern and think I should clean it off and plug it in? Disagree and think I should toss the phone? Agree but want to see me blow myself up? What's the verdict?

Delaying the torture

I'm sitting on Brian's couch in North Carolina right now, putting off the inevitable: locking the cats in their carriers, loading them into the car and driving the 11 hours back up to New Jersey. This procrastination is not a very good idea, because the longer I wait the later I'll get back, and the more likely I am to run into huge amounts of traffic in D.C. But here I am, posting on my blog for the first time in weeks instead of driving.

But I don't wanna.

I already drove down here from Jersey, but at least on the way down I got to stop and spend the night inVa. so it wasn't a straight shot. I also didn't have two miserable cats in the car with me, which generally strangles the fun out of just about everything -- and certainly strangles the fun out of something that didn't have much fun in it to begin with.

And I'm just getting my cats to love me again. They've essentially forgotten who I am (the only time Giz comes when I call now is when I have a comb in my hand, and that's just because he's a combing hoar. So if I trap them in little crates for 11 hours, they're going to be sad and annoyed and just generally dislike me even more.

Also, Gizmo is very cute, lying there happily on the chair, with no idea that he's about to face miserable-ness. Blast.