Following the lead of the Mighty 'Bashi, I'm thinking of having this blog go Friends-only.

It's not that I need to hide anything or am ashamed of what I've written -- it's a matter of avoiding colliding worlds. There are certain details which certain people don't need to know.

It's the 'strangers on a train' theory. People are comfortable sharing details with strangers that they wouldn't want their dearest to know. And while that isn't at risk just yet, I don't need to wait for that day to come, either.

Over the last little while, there have been a few close calls. I'm not going to wait for everything to collapse. This blog has become an important outlet to me, and I'd hate to have to give it up and start all over with some new sockpuppet.

While I have locked certain posts, it's never clear which posts are going to have what impact, and I'd rather just avoid the whole mess that I know would otherwise just be a matter of time.

I know there are a few people (key word, "few") who read this that aren't on my friends-list. It's easy enough to start an LJ-account for reading-purposes only, and I'd be happy to add you. Hell, I'd be happy to add anyone, once I have a cursory satisfaction that they have no connection to my real life. I'm not picky.

As for everybody else, well, sorry, but tough shit.

I'm going to make the switch in a few days -- not just yet.

If you have any objections, say it now, or forever hold your peace.

A bit of neighbourhood excitement tonight, it seems.

Ten o'clock, the first movie ended, and I got up from the floor (I tend to watch tv laying on the floor, rather than from a chair or couch like a civilized person). Much to my surprise, there was a bit of commotion on my cul de sac, as evidenced by all the flashing lights.

One (1) fire truck, Two (2) EMS trucks, One (1) ambulance, and Two (2) squad cars.

What the hell..?

I have no clue. The fire truck soon disappeared, after having done a thirty-eight point turn to get out of our dead-end street. Someone, either the father or a balding Oma, was taken out of the house across the street on a stretcher. Head-first, down the stairs. Which EMS didn't clear. Bump-bump-bump-bump-bump. Insult to injury, as it were.

Anyway, soon enough, everyone cleared out, except for the cops.

Both squad cars are still there. Indeed, one of the cops I saw knocking on the door of the house two doors down -- at one a.m., it would have been.

Go figure.

I have no idea what's going on, nor is it any of my business. But having been on the receiving end of a late-nite EMS visit, I wish these guys all the best. For the life of me, though, I can't figure out what the cops would be doing there three hours after the event. Huh.

It seems zat TVO is showink two Nazi movies tonight -- Operation Krossbow, mit George Peppard und Sophia Loren von die jaren '65, over British kommandos goink into Germany to find der zecret Nazi rocket base. Die seconden film ist Die Man Who Never Vas, over die plantink of of false papers on ein British korpse, to mislead ze Germans as to the English zecret planz.

Fantastiche! Zwei Nazi epicken fur der showink on TVO! Jawohl! Bitte bitte!

If I am doink my fake Nazi accenten already, I haf great fears over me doink it all weekendt. No matter. Ich bin alone.

So I went to the games store early this aft (didn't mean to, but I passed the good supermarket, and found myself going to the crappy one, which happens to be a block away from TOYS), and going to the games store on a Saturday afternoon -- not the best idea. You're confronted with all the social lepers who go to the gaming store on Saturday, and come to the inevitable conclusion that you're such a social leper yourself.

Doesn't do much for the self-esteem.

Anyway, I saw that they had an expansion for Carcassonne that I didn't recognize. Well, half-recognized. Half-recognized in the sense of 'do I have this already, or did I just see it online?' Mayor and Abbey or something. Orange. So, I picked it up.

Not less than thirty second later, some other guy came in, and immediately asked me where I found it. I pointed to the now-empty spot on the shelf. He was devastated that I got the last one.

"Can I just look at it? I promise I'll give it back..."

Uhh...

Ramblin' Rose was watching all this, and confirmed to the poor sap that yes, indeed, I had the last one in my grubby little hands.

At this point, I hadn't committed to the purchase. Money's tight right now, the last thing I need is another Carcassonne expansion, so I could be a good Samaritan and just hand it over to the guy. But, I wasn't.

Later, it turned out that a father with his two little girls came in for the express purpose of buying that expansion. Didn't give it up, either. I'm a heartbreaker, it seems.

So yeah. Bought that, some brushes, a model, and some of that new Roman Playmobil. Ramblin' Rose had something to say about my eclectic stack of stuff, as she has something to say about all things. Whatever. Just take my money, and shove this in a bag. If you could leave out your usual joke about me being such a regular customer that she has to charge me an extra ten percent, that'd be even better.

So the last couple weeks, I've had this thing in my neck. Some kind of ball, beneath the skin. Only this week, with its reliance on disposable razors because I bought the wrong kind of blades for my proper razor, did I see what was going on. Some kind of aberrant hair.

OK, I'll wait until the weekend, when I don't need to shave, so I can rip that sucker out.

Woke up today, and that's what I did. Tweezers in hand, got a grip on that bad boy, and yanked it out.

Oh my.

It was four hairs growing out of one pore. Folicle. Whatever. And because they were growing together, it had the consistency of fingernail. It was like pulling a fingernail out of my neck.

Gross.

But it's gone now. That's the main thing. Well, that, and a small crater by my Adam's Apple, but whatever. That's the price I pay not to have fingernail growing out of my visage.

Honestly, I had my doubts about it all.

Then I watched the trailer.

http://www.apple.com/trailers/paramount/startrek/

Pure. Geek. Gasm.

Went over the ditch tonight, as Mom had to hand in her U.S. visa waiver to the crossing-guards on the Canadian side of the border before the 7th.

Anyway, hit the outlet mall (cross-border shopping is best done on a Friday night, we've discovered, now that we're at par and everybody's doing it as opposed to just us). Picked up a spring/fall coat at Banana for twenty-six bucks, down from one-thirty. A coat I needed, too. Go me.

Mom bought a whole whack of stuff. She was mad again, and so I had to take her shopping to calm her down. Today, it was about my cousin's wedding in October, which apparently will be No Kids Allowed -- meaning that The Culprit cannot attend. A one-year-old can't go to a church wedding, apparently. I guess the Dutch version of the Bible doesn't have that "suffer the children to come unto Me" bit, but whatever. Mom set off something of a stinkbomb overseas with regard to this affair, so we'll see how it plays out. Long story.

After the outlet mall, I got in a trip to Target. They're deep into spring/summer patio season. I picked up a lovely pair of paddestoelen and a gnome to go with them. The saddest gnome I could find. Oh my, is he sad, clinging to his goose and bag of bread crumbs. I love him, my brother in existential gloom.

He'll go out in the back yard when it gets a bit warmer. Right now, it's much too cold. And even giant ceramic toadstools would look a bit odd in this Hothian deep-freeze. So, the gnome is watching my front door from the bottom of the stairs, telling everyone who knocks on my door "hell is other people, which is why I have this goose."

I was hurrying to make it home so I could catch Austin City Limits, but it turns out it's Coldplay, so I needn't have bothered.

Boss is away, out skiing.

It's noon, and I haven't done a thing. Surfing the net all morning, basically.

He's back on Wednesday. Maybe Thursday. Plenty of time to catch up.

Still, I suppose I should do something...

So I almost started something after work, and I have no idea why.

I had to get milk, maybe some nibblies for in front of the tv tonight. Four items in the end -- milk, chips, chips, cookies.

A well-balanced diet, yessir.

Anyway, I went to the Express Lane.

Yes, you're right, dear reader, that is where this story is going.

Buddy was buying stuff with his wife. They were all "clever" by splitting up their load into two, to both get under the eight-item limit. So, the wife went first, and she had ten items. Buddy had thirteen.

Even putting aside the charade -- 10 items in an 8, hmm. But 13 items in an 8 lane is pushing it. Too far.

Anyway, they went through, and then I did. As we were all packing (they needed more time than I did, obviously), I said:

"Next time, you might want to try counting to eight."

Not as polite as I could have been, perhaps, but I have no patience for these douchebags who think the rules don't apply to them.

The wife was a bit taken aback. Buddy, on the other hand, came up with the witty retort:

"Yeah. But I can't count."

Har har. Good one.

So, of course, being finished packing at the same time, we both walked out to the parking lot at the same time.

Uh oh.

Outside, buddy told me that I should shut my fucking mouth. At this point, the wife looked embarrassed.

So I said: "The Express Lane is there for a reason, and you're just abusing it."

If I stopped there, I would have been golden.

"...And that's why you're an antisocial fuck."

Buddy countered with: "Good thing you have glasses, so I can knock them off your fucking face."

"Good comeback."

Anyway.

Not one of my better moments, and not my best ripostes, either. Oh well. Sometimes, you have to take them where you can.

After that, there was nothing, so I assume that I started a fight between buddy and his wife.

That'll teach him to run 23 items in an 8 item lane. Long night of harranguing by the missus.

Well done, buddy. You really came out ahead.

So tonight was Manufactured Landscapes on TVO. It's been advertized for a while -- and man, is it good.

I missed it when it played Brock, because I was on my second Annual Trip to Paris TM. At that time, they had Ed Burtynsky hisself, and the director, Jennifer Somethingorother.

If any movie I had to miss, that was it, apparently.

No matter. I've seen it now. On the small screen, unfortunately, but even so -- wow.

I'll never look at an iron the same way again.

Aah, whom'I kidding? I never look at irons as it is...