My house is a really great place to watch bad movies. Because we have a fireplace and a lot of ire. Last night offered Ghost Ship, a movie whose only exciting moment occurred in the first five minutes when a roomful of people are halved by a rope and then slide apart like so many wide-eyed steaks. The Movie was aware that it had nothing else, and let us enjoy it again as a flashback later on.

P.S. Julianne Margulies is not Sigourney Weaver. Even in her mondo-sportsbra.

It’s another frostbitey day but I don’t mind. Licketysplit is going to come over and we are going to knit little caps with kitten ears on them. Then we are going to watch Squirm in between slippery mouthfuls of lo mein.

Someone come with me to Lisbon. We’ll eat spicy fish and get low octane New Englander tans and draw pictures of comically oversized genitals in the sand on the beach. We’ll go to a museum. Pretty please?