I'm weary of all these user names and passwords. Every other website wants you to log in and wants to give you a 12 digit ID number or account number or something and there's the bank and the credit union and the library. And there's always some strange parameters that prevents you from keeping it consistent with previous password/user names.

We closed one of our bank accounts this week and opened a new one for reasons which aren't important to this discussion. But today I cleaned out bank refuse from the cupboards and drawers -- something I haven't done in a long time. I had canceled checks dating back almost 10 years. And I found a stash of about 11 spankin' new plastic checkbook covers and 4 transaction registers -- I'm sure I'll use all that up in this life time. I'm not a major pack rat but I have kept every single check register I've ever had. They are interesting historical artifacts and just as fascinating and less cringe-inducing than journals. Years ago I destroyed journals I had dating before college. I wish I didn't but I understand why I did. The college ones are pretty hideous to have around.

For about the 4th consecutive weekend I spent almost all my spare time writing. My class goes on for another month. Sometimes I love it and can't wait to do it. Other times I wonder if I'm just wasting my time and/or I feel stupid and/or I feel like bashing my head against the bricks. Also lately I've felt a little over-extended, as if I'd taken on another job. I did celebrate the fabulous weather by getting outside and breaking up my garden plot. This made the squirrels crazy. There were about six of them spinning around in the fresh dirt -- I suppose I upset their peanut stash. But what is squirrel logic anyway? I see them bury something, then dig something else up and eat it. And one digs up what the other just buried. Our neighbor puts out bushels of nuts--they're never going to starve.

It's not that I don't have things I want to put up here but at the moment writing is the number one big rock and generally when I'm done with that that last thing I want to do is sit around on the computer. I still have Mom's birthday present sitting here (her bday was Mar 11) and I told her that right now when writing comes first, I've turned into one of those people who can't get birthday gifts mailed on time not to mention numerous other tasks that are ignored or done half assed. Not sure how I'm going to handle the yard work situation.

Am I the only person that loathes classmates.com? (won't even give them the smug satisfaction of a link) It's all about pop unders and clicking. There is no real information unless you sign up for $30 a year or whatever the price is now. I would possibly pay $10-$12. But the servers are slow and the pages are set up for maximum clickage -- life isn't *that* long. Actually I wouldn't pay at any price. I don't pay for web content. I generally won't registier for web content. And I for sure won't pay for pop unders.

I went and saw The Hours today. It was between that and About Schmidt. It was a great movie -- the acting was incredible but it was heavy. I told Bob I left there and I just wanted to come home and see him and tell him how much I appreciate him. I think I'm having the anti-7 year itch. Instead of looking around I'm grateful to be settled down with him. I don't think I could live with anyone else.

My favorite part of the Oregonian is Food Day (Tuesday). Now that we're getting the New York Times delivered at home I have another food section "Dining Out" to enjoy on Wednesday and after only a few weeks I am a huge fan of William Grimes the Restaurants columnist. This week he reviews Agave. He finds the menu "a dizzy document" but "[t]he basket of blue corn tortilla chips that arrives as soon as you sit down provides badly needed reassurance. They are warm, feather-light, superlatively crunchy and sweet with blue-corn flavor. They come with a pleasant, mildly spiced bean dip and an unconvincing salsa ... ." He admires the pork in a spicy sauce. "[The chef] Mr. Pang understands spices. He doesn?t use them to traumatize the tonsils or boost the beer sales. He treats them as valued supporting players ... ." He appreciates the pile on. "[Mr. Pang] knows how to deploy gobs of molten cheese." In the end, he found the wait for his check long but noted, "[p]erhaps it seems longer because the restaurant's Mission chairs, although beautiful to look at, are cruel, although not as diabolical as the backless banquettes, which will either straighten your spine or kill you in the course of an evening." Isn't this great stuff? I love this guy.

Haven't been very inspired lately. If you need to inject some fear into your cyberlife -- try Google Watch. And if you have any kind of phone paranoia here's some info on phone fraud. Several weeks ago Bob and I were eating with Doni and LeRoy and we talked about some sort of fraud scheme where you get a phone message and return a call and it ends up being at some insane rate like $5 a minute and you get screwed. Shortly thereafter my sister was locked out of her house and placed an collect call to see if we could tape ALIAS for her. When the call came through Bob couldn't hear who it was from so he hung up and we were all creeped out about someone trying to defraud us. Later we found out it was Erin and we felt bad.

I did some research for work and was scanning some bulletin boards on the topic and I ran across some guy who said something to the effect that he'd heard people in Oregon use the word "pop" to refer to soft drinks and he was always sure to correct them to use "soda" -- like he's been appointed the vocabulary police. Anyway, turns out there is a whole controversey about this. Can this be true that people have nothing better to worry about than whether sugar water is referred to as "pop" or "soda?" Check the map for yourself.

I used to get Premiere Magazine at the office but then the subscription rate got high so I decided to wait until they sent me those begging cards, "we want you back!" and would let me subscribe for some cheapo rate again only the begging card never came. They sent me two subscription renewals and then gave up. I guess they showed me. Last Fall I decided to give Movieline a try. I sent my check in November, it cleared in December and I got my first issue (February) during the third week of February. Isn't this kind of lame? And I decided after reading one issue that I don't like it At least it's very thin and I can zip through it quick.

I stayed up late last night finishing the world's dumbest book. I don't know where I got it -- Mom or Priscilla. It's a Patricia Cornwell who I haven't read in a very long time -- I think the last one I read was The Body Farm. The book I read last night was Black Notice. Sometimes I'll read a scene in a book and say, "only a man would write this" because it's some sort of fantasy scenario where the woman is beautiful and great in bed can meet all the man's needs, whatever the situation but at the same time, doesn't want anything from him. I'm not explaining this very well but I'm in a hurry so oh, well. This PC book was like a woman's fantasy because the protagonist is this cold, humorless woman who is a brilliant medical examiner and in the middle of the book at this completely random moment she initiates sex with this gorgeous successful and younger man who immediately rips at her clothes and tells her how hot he is for her and after sex he is apparently in love with her and wants to hold her hand and take her out to dinner. I swear I re-read these pages a couple of times, thinking I had missed something. Like this would ever happen. The whole book was doo-doo -- I don't know why I had to finish it except there was this werewolf thing going on and I wanted to know what it was all about. Also, this brilliant doctor's name is Kay Scarpetta and as I said earlier, I've read a couple other books with her and in virtually every one, the bad guy showed up at the end, in her house and attacked her but she was saved at the last minute by convenient appearances by other characters. So last night, I'm reading the last few pages and here comes the bad guy knocking on the door and here is the world's most brilliant medical examiner answering the door. I'm going, "Kay, what are you thinking? Even *I* know it's the bad guy." I don't recommend it unless you are on a beach with an umbrella drink in your hands and nothing else to read.