I decided I’d rest today – on a sofa, in front of a TV; I should have planned a series of DVD’s, either a binge or a bit of this and that of favorite movies. I threw myself to the fate of cable TV, however, and have watched several dark shows, thinking, “Oh, how dark can it be? At least it’s not a brainless comedy.”

Leaning toward the educational side, I switched over to a show on Pompeii, a topic that has fascinated me for years. It is not a bad show, but I’ve seen it before and I find the “fragile and rare finds not seen before . . .” artifacts not really exciting. A lady with the long white hair – down past her shoulders long – tried to blow on an conch, once eaten my Romans and then recycled as a trumpet for the theater. It made me think of Woodstock 45+ years later.

Just now, I have again visited the graffiti left on a brothel wall and listened as another docent translated it, using humming noises when the four letter words were used. Mostly, I simply feel like complaining and criticizing today. I am sitting here talking to the TV on how I want the show to be organized. A documentary on Yellowstone is coming up; there’s fodder for some AJ eruptions.

Of course, I could go to the ID channel and learn all the mistakes criminals make so I’ll have a list of what not to do.

I am holding down the guest love seat in a hospital room; it is really something I would like to have at the house. One end pulls out to make a bed and I’m going to make a video. The vending machine on this floor is of a new design – I’m going to film it also. Yes, I am that easily that amused.

Oh, LZP sent Icebat Batman and there will be a picture of him also. See, there’s something to look forward to.

I remember several years ago, the movie It’s a Wonderful Life was playing all the time- first on TV because there was something about no fees for the stations and later, in stores during the Christmas season.

I have found the perfect movie to play on the TV mounted up on the wall here in at the PBC – Thelma & Louise; I haven”t decided which one I am yet, though I can’t see myself calming robbing a market.

Yes. we had our own little SNAFU here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse and put the little hook in the eyelet on the screen door, closed the big old winter door and pasted a CLOSED sign in the window. After whatever number of days it has been (This is not a Ted Koppel hostage situation), I decided that the being closed thing wasn’t getting me anywhere.

So I – without consulting my compatriots, such as Foo of the FooBar – just up and took the sign down and opened up the doors. The Peanut Butter is on the shelf, bread and knifes are handy and I guess we could stir up a cure.

Can’t guarantee the conversation, however; somebody may climb on a table and turn it into a soapbox; it’s about as much an unknown as can be, just a bunch of tomorrows.

Okay, I’ve not been here very much and when I came this morning I saw a strange post. It was a funky little thing I had written about the house way back when and because I didn’t want to just save a draft, I postdated it by a looooooong time. And then I wasn’t watching and BOOM, there it is.

Oh, well, I guess I need to follow it up with a page from Alice’s Restaurant and have 27 color photos with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one. If you want a pleasant meander in sort of a Garrison Keillor story set to music, listen to Alice’s Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie. (It’s long, but it’s worth it.)

I also noticed that somehow, some of the earlier posts are in bold print. How did I do that? More to the point, how do I undo that. The workman will be here soon from Home Depot and I am fighting the urge to just hammer that boldness down to size instead of finagling around with little computer instructions.

UPDATE: I calmed down; no hammer.