We're walking....we're walking....

My friend emailed me to ask me if I wanted to go walking in one of the canyons here this morning. No matter that my last walk with her included tripping three times and falling face first on the sidewalk . I'm an optimist. I'll keep trying. Her next email included instructions for me. "Wear sweat pants or comfortable pants. Don't wear jeans. Bring water and kleenex in case you have to pee in the bushes. It IS rattlesnake season." OK, now I'm a little worried. I KNOW to wear sweats, not jeans--I have exercised before, believe it or not. And bring kleenex for WHAT?????!! How long are we going to be walking for? And rattlesnakes? This is sounding less and less like a fun hike with a girlfriend and more and more like some bizarre urban game of Survivor. But I followed instructions. Except for the kleenex.

It all kind of reminded of me of a time about 20 or so years ago when a friend of mine was in town and we wanted to go out for fondue (calm down--it was the 80's!!) on a Saturday night. I called my brother and invited him and his wife to join us. "Don't wear jeans", I told him, "dress a little nicer." A few minutes later I called him back. "They don't take reservations and there will probably be a long wait so you might want to eat a little something before you go." "Let me get this straight," he said. "We're going out to dinner, I can't wear jeans, I have to cook my own food, and I have to eat before I go." "Pretty much", I said. But --back to the hike.
So we headed out toward the canyon, me with my long, rattlesnake repelling sweats and a t-shirt, and she with her scarf tied over her layers of shirts. We both carried water bottles. I didn't ask if she had kleenex hidden somewhere. I sort of didn't want to know.

The hike up the canyon was one of those experiences where you think you are going to die during it and once you get to the top you are glad you survived. The whole hike took about 45 minutes and included beautiful views of L.A. On a clear day, my friend told me, you can see the ocean and Catalina Island. As usual, though, it wasn't clear. We saw mansions perched on hills, the Hollywood sign, and many other walkers, most with dogs. I survived the hike and felt great after a shower at home. I can't wait to do it again. I embarrassed my friend a little by saying a friendly "good morning" to many fellow hikers. "It's L.A.," she said, "they'll think you want something from them." I can't think of anything anyone would think I needed from them in the canyon. Except possibly some kleenex.

Crazy Here Crazy There

There's craziness everywhere. I leave Chicago and one year later the principal at our former elementary school gets demoted, a gorgeous blond mom switches teams and now her ex-husband is trying to get the gym teacher she is dating (not that there's anything wrong with that) fired, and a janitor at our former synagogue is arrested for videotaping children in the restroom (clearly there is something VERY wrong with that). Oh, yes, and it snowed yesterday. Several inches. In April. It would seem to me that the problem is obvious. I left and the whole town fell apart. I know it sounds crazy but how can you argue with such evidence. None of these things happened when I was there. I rest my case.

And then I came to L.A. A place where people bring dogs into stores. Yes, they do. I know, I know, they do that is Europe. But last time I checked we used dollars, not Euros. People here also wear Uggs in 75 degree weather. Well, of course they do. It goes with their scarves. And here is another weird thing specific to the entertainment industry. When you call someone--or should I say someone's assistant--and they can't take the call they say, "Can he return?" Or, even more pretentious, "Can we return?" Not, "Can he return the call?" No. That would take too much time, I guess. "Can he return?" What a great time-saver. And everybody does it. I am planning to start doing it myself. Of course I have no assistant so I have to figure out how to handle that problem. I may pretend to be my own assistant. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Craziness is not limited to one time zone. We can all participate. That's the beauty and the promise of America.

The End of an Era

Tonight I tried to reach the bag of rice from the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. It was just far enough back that I couldn't reach it. I stood on my tippy-toes. No good. I jumped and grabbed at the same time. No good. I grabbed some kitchen tongs and tried to grab it with that, but each attempt pushed the bag just far enough away so that I couldn't. I thought about dragging a chair over and then came up with another idea. "Boy #1," I called. "Come here for a minute." I explained the problem and started to hand him the tongs. He ignored them. He simply stood on his toes and reached for the bag. He got it. No problem. He is almost 2 inches taller than I am. Once small enough to fit in my arms, I now have to reach up to ruffle his hair. It's the end of an era.

Chance Meeting

Fate. Destiny. Karma. Kismet. You can be in the wrong place at the wrong time or in the right place at the right time. It's sometimes just a matter of chance.

Today was not a shopping day. It was a return day. I parked at the Farmers Market and started walking through to return something at Nordstrom. I wove my way through the aisles of this open-air market at random. I had just passed a man and a woman in a big floppy hat when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn and look at me. I turned back to look at her. "Are you from Chicago?' she asked. "Yes," I answered, wondering who she was. "Are you Donna's niece?" she asked. Stunned, I answered "Yes." How did this stranger know my aunt who lived overseas? And, even stranger, how did she know who I was? Turns out she had been desperately trying to get ahold of my mother to get ahold of my aunt, who was in Chicago. The mystery woman was a dear friend of my aunt's and was visiting L.A. She was supposed to get together with my aunt in Chicago, but was unable to travel as scheduled due to an ear infection. She had been trying in vain to get my mother's phone number to tell my aunt of her change in travel plans, when all of a sudden I appeared in front of her. Very strange. She had somehow recognized me--she told me I hadn't changed a bit. I thought I had a good memory but she beats me hands down. I must have met her in the past but for the life of me I couldn't remember when. She and her husband were so nice--"Come join us for lunch," they urged.

After I did my return and bought 2 pairs of shoes (it is Nordstrom--that's what they're known for!!! And I have to have a reason to come back and do my next return!) I popped into the restaurant they were at and chatted with them and their daughter and her mother-in-law for a few minutes. Truly truly nice people. Now we all have all our numbers and no one has an excuse for being unable to get in touch.

Chance meetings are a strange thing. What if I had stayed at my car a few more minutes before going into the Farmers Market? What if I had turned down a different aisle? Or if I had been looking down or she had been looking to the left instead of straight ahead as we passed each other? If you think about this stuff too much it will for sure drive you crazy. I guess some things are meant to be, some things just happen, and some things are unexplainable. Figuring out which is which is sometimes the challenge.

Life is Short

I just heard about the death of a dad from our former elementary school. It was a freak accident--he was on a sunset whale-watching tour with his family while vacationing in Hawaii. The boat's 65-foot mast broke off and hit him in the head, causing his death. He was the only fatality that day. I had met him maybe a few times, but I know his wife from volunteering at school. She is a lovely woman. One of his 3 kids has been in classes with Boy #2. I guess a vacation will always be bittersweet for them. It's all so sad. We read about stuff like this in the papers every day. We bring dinner if we can, we write condolence notes. Then we go back to our busy lives. And our lives go on. For the survivors it eventually goes on but it is never the same. We get so caught up in the little things in life. So we say no to dessert, we worry about losing that extra 7 pounds, we get annoyed with our husbands who don't do things the way we want them to and leave socks on the floor. We spend too much time cleaning and folding laundry and not enough time doing simply nothing with our kids. And we worry and obsess about things that are out of our control. Life is just too short, and sometimes it is too too short and it just isn't fair. I bet his wife would gladly pick his socks up every day without complaining if she just had her husband back. When you hear stories like this, especially if you know the people involved, maybe it should be a reminder to embrace the moment and try to find joy where you can. Let that laundry pile up a little. Go to a movie with a friend instead of paying your bills tonight. Eat dessert first. Life is too short.

Will This Day Never End?

Last night I went to a movie with a friend. I drove to her house and parked there and then we walked a short way to the theater. I carefully changed OUT of my flip-flops and INTO my gym shoes for the walk. Not that it helped. On the way to the theater, I tripped on my own feet or on the sidewalk or on something or other not one but two times. I didn't fall though. Not on the side streets. No, I saved that for the busy busy intersection right by the theater. I tripped yet again--the third time in half an hour and totally wiped out. Landed on my hands and knees. I felt the thud all through my body and my head. My glasses went flying. My friend picked them, and me, up. Passers-by stared, I started laughing. If I hadn't I would have started crying. "I'm fine," I said as my friend worried. We made it to the movies--up six flights of stairs--the escalator was being repaired. I changed back to flip-flops for the walk back. Didn't trip once.

Once I got safely home, I took a hot bath and got into bed. Mr. Minivan was letting the boys stay up too late so I let him deal with them. Boy #2 came into our room to brush his teeth. "Come kiss me good-night," I said. So he raced to the bed and hurled himself toward me. His head met my mouth. Did my teeth survive? I got up and ran to the bathroom to view the damage. Blood in my mouth--where's it coming from? A cut and swollen lip. Please let this day end with no more injuries. I applied ice and thankfully went to sleep. My teeth survived and, barely, so did I.

The Secret

You know that book that is so hot right now--The Secret? I haven't read it but I have heard about it. I think I may have found the secret though. It could be the power of positive thinking. Or it could be the power of a good friend. A friend you have fun with, can talk to, and just like hanging with. I feel so lucky right now--I have friends. Plural. They are true givers--all of them--with such generous spirits. Boy #1's bar mitzvah is this weekend and I have been in a frenzy getting ready. A couple of weeks ago I called a friend with fabulous taste. Her house looks like it flew off the pages of a decorating magazine. No piles anywhere. Tablescapes and candles everywhere. I asked her if she would help me get the first floor of my house spruced up for the big weekend and everything else. She was happy to. She came over and walked through the house with a notebook. Taking lots of notes. "I think you need some plants there, some mirrors there, a candle there, something there. That was just in the dining room. We are--and when I say "we" I mean "she" is almost done and my house looks great. It looks so good I'm not sure I live here anymore. There is a candle perched on a bed of pebbles in the foyer, fabulous pillows on the couch, pillows on the new bench in the backyard, and plants all over the place. We spent 4 days shopping and arranging. So far. Last night she said she was going to be sad when it was done. I told her not to worry--I still have an office and a whole upstairs to get to. But the best part of all--aside from the backyard bench which I am dying to read a book on--is that it has been so much fun hanging with her and doing all this together. And I think you know what I mean when I say "together." I have been joking around with her--calling her "my decorator"--but really--I am thrilled to call her "my friend."

Card Tricks

I have recently realized that there is a disturbing new trend going on. Recently I have started really looking closely at my credit card receipts as I sign them and I have been noticing a difference between the copy the merchant keeps and the copy I keep. At least three times in the last week I have noticed that my full card number AND expiration date is printed out on the copy the store keeps!! My copy thoughtfully has all the numbers except for the last four x-ed out. What is going on here? So I have either been giving back "my" copy or crossing out all the numbers except for the last four on "their" copy. It's exhausting having to check up on Big Brother. If we can't trust our friends at MasterCard, who can we trust?

A Teeny Tiny World

Yesterday Mr. Minivan and I went to a program at our temple with Boy #1. It was the 2nd in a series of three sessions for the 7th graders. The first was attended by the students only. The parents come to the last two sessions. The program is run by therapists from a Jewish rehab center in L.A. whose mission is "to treat and prevent addictive and behaviorial disorders through the comination of Jewish spirituality, the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous and psychotherapy." They talked about communication with your kids and many other topics. It was a great session and I am really looking forward to the final one.

The therapist who led the parents' session was a woman who reminded me so much of someone but I couldn't figure it out. I felt like I had seen her before but didn't know where. I figured she just reminded me of everyone I had grown up with. When we left I walked out with her. "Kathy", I said, "are you from L.A.?" "No," she answered, "I'm from Chicago." "Me too!" I said, "I feel like I know you from somewhere." "I know," she said, "I was looking at you and thinking the same thing."
"Where are you from?" we both asked at the same time. "Don't say Highland Park," I said--as she said "Highland Park." Turns out she not only is from my hometown, but we were in the same graduating class in high school. Of course I pulled out my yearbook as soon as I got home. Yep, it was her.

What are the chances of that? My world is getting smaller by the minute.

One Year Later...

Exactly one year ago today we were in a limo on the way to the airport. With one way tickets. On the way to California. Mr. Minivan and Boy #1 were looking out the front window. Boy #2 and I were looking out the rear window, tears rolling down our faces. We were moving. Now it's a year later and we've all pretty much adjusted. Mr. Minivan still works a lot but is home a lot more, too. He is coaching Boy #2's basketball team. The team has a lot of potential, I'll say that. Boy #1 has made some really nice friends and is currently playing basketball and tennis. Boy #2 also has made some good friends and is playing basketball and baseball. I know where to go to get shoes repaired and to get a picture framed. I know which grocery store always has good grapes and which one has the yogurt I like. I rarely have to use my GPS anymore and almost never get lost. I have even started bumping into people I know. I have made several friends and one very good friend, thankfully. They say what a difference a day makes or a year makes, but the truth is--what a difference a friend makes.

I Heart My Computer

After over two days of being tortured by my new MacBook Pro which would not connect to my wireless connection I am finally connected!!! I feel like my lost arm is growing back. Today I spent most of my "free" time at the Apple Store or on a three-way call with Apple and my internet provider. The problem is with my modem which does not recognize something or other in my MacBook. I listened to both of them on this conference call and it was like I was listening to ancient Greek. At least the Greek-speakers knew what they were talking about. So I am back online on my own computer, I am recreating my address book, and getting photos I sent out emailed back to me from my friends and family. I even bought a back-up hard drive today. And tomorrow I am going to learn how to use it. Even though Mr. Minivan is out of town it has ended up being a Happy Valentine's Day.

To Die For?

Some women get flowers and chocolates on Valentine's Day. Some lucky ones even get jewelry. I got a stomachache and a plastic rose. Mr. Minivan is on a plane to New York so my two young Valentines and I joined my NBF here and her two kids for dinner. We went to a Japanese/sushi chain buffet that offers lots of beautifully-presented but very average food for one price. Kind of like cruise ship food without the seasickness. Kids are charged according to their height. Boy #1 ate rice and fruit. Unfortunately he is tall enough to be charged as an adult. Each female patron got a plastic rose as she exited. How festive. On a normal Valentine's Day I'd be looking for sexy lingerie to put on. Now I just want sweatpants and my remote. It was such a fun night though--we laughed the whole time. That's what it's all about --not the food. I'd much rather eat at Subway with someone who is fun and interesting than eat at the fanciest restaurant with people who bore me. Happy Valentine's Day to all my friends and family--near and far. I'll meet you at Subway soon!

An Apple a Day...

My computer woes continue. My MacBook Pro arrived today and I can't get it to connect to the internet although the iMac we have has no problem. I spent most of the afternoon on the phone with my friends from Apple and our internet service provider. We--they--think it might be a problem with the AirPort in the computer. I guess Quality Control blinks once in a while. I have an appointment with a Genius at the Apple Store tonight. Details to follow.....

Jeans' Genius

Sometimes we bloggers have no idea what our next posting will be. A slight case of blogger's block, perhaps. Thankfully, once in a while you get an unexpected gift. That's what happened today.

Boy #1 was invited to a party about an hour away, so the whole family piled into the minivan to make the drive. We dropped Boy #1 off and Mr. Minivan, Boy #2, and I headed to the local mall to get some lunch and visit my favorite store, Nordstrom. Once we had eaten we went to shop a little. After a while Boy #2 got a little antsy so I took him to get a drink while Mr. Minivan went to the Men's Department by himself. He met us shortly with a shopping bag in hand. He proudly showed us the new pair of jeans he had bought himself. "Are they for you or for Mom?" asked Boy #2. Out of the mouths of babes. Here's a clue, honey--when your child asks you that question--whatever the item--return it. Immediately. They were jeans...with just a bit too much embellishment on the pockets. After I stopped laughing I told Mr. Minivan that the jeans had to go. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with embellished jeans for men. He's a great guy and very in touch with his feminine side--but I had to draw the line somewhere. So we went back to the Men's Department, he tried on the jeans, Boy #2 and I laughed even harder, and the jeans got returned. I guess it could have been worse. I'll let you know when I figure out how.

Super Bowl Blues

We are big football fans in this house. And when I say "we", I mean Mr. Minivan, Boy #1, and Boy #2. I don't quite know when Boy #2 became a football fan but all I know is this year he knows all about the game, all the rules, all the players, and is happy to sit by himself and watch a football game. How disappointing. I thought I at least had him on my side. You know my side--the I like football for the social aspects of it side. This year, as soon as we knew the Bears were in the Super Bowl, we started planning for our Super Bowl party. And when I say "we", I mean me. I went out to Party City the day after the last playoff game and bought orange and blue paper goods. I even bought one of those plastic football shaped chip and dip holders. I know. It's scary. We sent out an Evite, bought beer and Diet Cherry Coke, and I got out my chili recipe. The party was a lot of fun. At first, that is. Lots of screaming and shouting at the TV, because, as you know, that helps them to play better. Things got a little quieter at the end. But we're from Chicago. We're used to this. We'll get 'em next year.

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ

If you want to be notified when a new posting is put up, please either email me at Martwork1@yahoo.com or resubscribe through Bloglet on the right. As you may have heard--I lost my entire address book of email addresses. Thanks.

Blue Used To Be My Favorite Color

A few weeks ago I turned on my computer and nothing happened. Except for a blue screen. I don't know a lot about computers but I do know that a blue screen is not good. In fact, I believe it is actually bad. So I packed up my laptop and headed for the Apple Store. My friendly neighborhood Genius told me it was the hard drive-which I had pretty much figured out already. As tears filled my eyes--because, of course, nothing was backed up--he handed me a sheet of recommended local sources to try to recover my data. I took my injured laptop to one of them. The good news was that the hard drive was under warranty. The bad news was that Apple couldn't locate a replacement hard drive. (Isn't that sort of like McDonald's running out of french fries?) The better news was that Apple was going to replace my entire computer with a newer, better model. The next bad news was that they kept my computer for a couple of weeks and then told me they were able to recover nothing from my hard drive. So I then sent the hard drive to an even better data recovery company with a "clean room"--whatever that is--in the hopes that my 2 years of photos, emails, bookmarks, tax info and whatever else I can't remember could be recovered. I got the call today. My data is not recoverable. I feel like I have lost an arm. So if you are reading this and haven't backed up your data--back away from your computer slooooowly--and go buy an external hard drive. And learn how to use it. If I can help just one of you out there in cyberspace then my loss will not have been in vain. That's the kind I am--always concerned with others. Just trying to help.

Dear Oprah

Dear Oprah,

We've been together a long time. I've watched your show for ages. I've even been to several of them. I hoped and hoped one of the ones I attended would be about what not to wear or even the famous giveaway show but that never happened. You did give me a very nice globe at your show about what the world thinks of the U.S. There was no giveaway at the show about the abusive alcoholic husband. After that one I decided to stop going for awhile because the topics kept getting heavier and heavier. I figured maybe it was me. But I don't hold a grudge. It was very cool just to be in your studio hanging with you. BTW, thanks for the globe--it is in Boy #2's bedroom and he really likes it. I don't need another laptop or a teeny-tiny video camera anyway.

We've been together thru good and bad hair days, various diets, the whole Tom Cruise-jumping-on-the-couch-thing, book club. We even went to that Grammy event together. I could definitely see you, me and Gayle together on the next road trip. We have so many good memories, you and I. That's why I'm a little confused about something. I have been a loyal subscriber to your magazine, O, for years. I recently bought subscriptions as gifts for a couple of friends at the price of $18 per year. That's why I was so surprised to get a bill for my own renewal at $28 per year. I called the magazine customer service line last night and spoke with Jenny. I told her I thought the regular price was $24 per year. "OK, we can make it $24," she said. "But I just paid $18 each for gift subscriptions," I said. "OK," she said, "we can make it $18." I never realized I could set my own price. Have magazine subscriptions become like airplane tickets--where every passenger pays a different price? And shouldn't loyal returning customers get the best price without having to call and ask for it?

I'm not mad or anything--don't get me wrong--I'm just wondering. It's no big deal--and I'm not going to let this affect our relationship. We'll still see each other every weekday. Oh, did you know we don't live too far from each other in CA? If you are down my way and want to come hang just give me a call. Jen-Jen and Gayle can come too--it'll be a girl thing. I'll pick up some sushi and get the pomtinis ready. See you soon!!

IKEA Idea

Last week was kind of hectic here. Mr. Minivan's father passed away and we had a ton of company. Friends, relatives, and other assorted visitors. Nice to see everyone--not so nice why we were seeing everyone. Anyway, Mr. Minivan's brother--we'll just call him Doug--stayed with us for about a week. It was lovely to have him and in between composing a eulogy, demanding expensive out-of-season berries and freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, and trying to beat Boy #2 in ping-pong, he came up with a few decorating ideas for me. "You need a TV cabinet to put all this equipment in. I don't like the table the kids' computer is on. And you need a new computer chair." He also had a solution--"Let's go to IKEA and get some things and I'll put them together." Naively, believing he was the handier of the brothers, I went along with his idea. I guess I had forgotten about the magic of IKEA. A few years ago I bought a CD tower there and got to work. 200 parts, 4 hours, and a sore shoulder later, I had it put together. I seem to remember at the time thinking, "I'll never do that again." But, of course, I forgot that soon after. Anyway, we set off to IKEA, over the hill and through Burbank, and emerged with an "antique stained" wood TV cabinet, a small computer desk, and a very comfortable computer chair that somehow fit into an almost-flat box.

We got home and he began to work. I was online in the next room, surfing to the comforting sound of an electric screwdriver when the first sounds of trouble disturbed me. "Oh no!" he said. "What??!!" I asked as I ran into the other room. "False alarm," he answered. A few minutes later, "Oh, no!" and then,"Sh%$^t!!" That didn't sound so false to me. "What, what??!!" I asked again. Turns out that the instructions, sketches really, with not a word of English or even Swedish in sight, were a little confusing, and that the cabinet doors or maybe the shelves, were put on backwards, and were difficult to remove. And when I say "were put on backwards", I think you know by whom. The cabinet was functional, but not as attractive as it was supposed to be. All of a sudden I remembered why I had made that mental note a few years ago to only buy items I could carry alone--not furniture--that is, at IKEA. But I also remembered my new mantra "Don't sweat the small stuff" and I told him not to worry about it. But he worried and stewed. "Maybe I can take the doors off and drill holes on the other side," he said. "Don't worry about it. You've done enough," I said. More than, in fact. "Why don't we take it back and get another one and I'll put it together." I stared at him. I mean, I've heard that "measure twice, cut once" thing, but this seemed a little extreme to me. "Well," I said, "if you and Mr. Minivan want to load this thing into my van and take it back you can but I'm not going back there."

So that's exactly what they did. And our friends at IKEA gave them a really hard time about returning it but after a long conversation with several employees and the manager, agreed to keep the cabinet and put it together properly. Which, as I thought about it, was a win-win. For me, that is. I went back the other day and picked it up. I told the guy helping me that I needed the name and number of the guy who put it together because he was probably going to be my next husband. He laughed as if it were a joke....can you believe that?

The cabinet looks great in our family room. IKEA's not so bad after all. I was just browsing through the catalog and there is this cute little coffee table....

A perfect morning? Not eggs-actly

Today Mr. Minivan and I went to a bar/Mexican restaurant to watch the Bears game. Or at least, he went to watch the Bears game. Here in LA, the game started at 10 AM. We walked into this big place with tons of TVs all over, each with little team pennants on them showing which game was on which TV. I noticed many people with football jerseys and caps on. I thought it was only kids who wore team jerseys but I guess I was wrong. Women, too, had jerseys on and some had even flashdanced them up--scissoring them into sexy little tops. I felt as if I were at a costume party without a costume on. And one of the many strange things I noticed this morning was that there were tons of Philadelphia Eagles fans there--all in proper costume. Has everyone from Philadelphia moved to LA? It sort of felt like it.

Mr. Minivan ordered breakfast--huevos rancheros, while I decided to wait. People who came in after us and ordered got served, but no huevos appeared at our table. You would think that for the kitchen in a Mexican restaurant to put out an order of huevos rancheros it would not be a big deal but apparently it was. After about 40 minutes he decided to check on his order. The cute bartender said she would check on it. She came back 5 or so minutes later and said they were working on it. 15 minutes later we checked again. This time a manager said he would check on it and never came back. Yet another cute bartender or waitress checked. Still working on it--but this time she showed us a piece of paper and said "I put the order in!", which, of course, made us feel much better. Finally finally his breakfast arrived. And here's the clincher--as she put the plate of eggs, rice, and beans in front of him she asked, "Do you need silverware with that?" Um....yes, that's how one usually eats eggs. You want some giggles or eyelash batting----maybe a beer or a very simple mixed drink--she's your girl. You want some silverware or some ice in your water--maybe not. So now my theory is that you need some sort of IQ test to work there but that they take all the low scores because the manager is so stupid he thinks the lower scores are better--like in golf.

The Eagles fans occasionally burst into song, singing the Eagles fight song. How cute. I ended up eating nachos for breakfast--not that there's anything wrong with that. Next week we get DirectTV, and I won't have to leave my house to not watch the game. And the service at my house will be much better. I, at least, will come back to tell you you're not getting any food. Oh yeah, and I hear that the Bears crushed Detroit. Another beautiful Sunday in LA.