Took a bunch of garden photos this morning for Mike. That's crop blog talk, but will say something is eating the tomato plants. Otherwise, all great. Driveway watermelon is the new baby lettuce. No mail. Work didn't spring anything unexpected. I still have bits of blue nail polish around my nails. Completely trashy. Hopefully it will be another 12-15 years before I feel the urge to play with makeup again. I have seven more episodes and then the finale of Seinfeld left in a marathon that has now spanned months. (I don't count the two clip shows at the end.) Was on hold for too long with Richard Simmons' office to see if his recent work is coming to DVD. I'm thinking I might benefit from an exercise video where the people on the other side of the TV of Erised aren't supermodels. I'll call again tomorrow on the cell since it will be free — Richard doesn't have an 800 number.
Continuing good news on my grandfather. Mike slept wrong on his neck but was pretty much better last I asked. So's my neck, so I guess that moment of shared pain has passed. Phros is annoyed that Mom bought her a doll. Phros doesn't play with dolls. In fact, Phros hates dolls. Especially baby dolls. Phros only loves her bunny. And me. And maybe grandmamamère, Maybe. Mostly me.
Didn't see the orange and white doorstep cat today. However, was very intrigued by these cats trained by the French for space travel. (Apologies if the link doesn't open in Netscape. .ASP-ridden sites are the devil's salt.) The photo was taken in 1973 and so far I've been unable to find out anything about the felinenaut francais program. Did the cats go up? What happened? Was it... I'm afraid to ask... Laika-esque? The cats look French, don't they? As noted to Mike: in the movie the standing tabby will be played by Ed Harris.
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