Rainy, sloppy weekend. That sounds a lot worse than it was. I've never been one of these people that bemoans "bad" weather (unless it's a summer day when I really, really want to play tennis). I actually like rain and wind and snow. Probably one of the reasons I live in New England (besides, well, being born here). One of my hells, along with drowning, is being forced to live in some place like Florida or Texas. The heat, the humidity, the Christmases that must be depressing. No wonder people go to Florida when they're on the back nine of their lives. The only part of the weekend rain I didn't like was going to the supermarket and actually sitting in the car for 20 minutes, waiting for the rain to stop so I could get out, grab a cart, and go into the store. The rain never stopped though, so I had to make a run for it. The supermarket leaves their carts out in the rain (unlike the competitor's store a few blocks away, where the carts are stored inside). It's like pushing around a rusty old wagon with four damaged wheels. None of the carts in this place have four normal wheels. Sometimes you don't realize that the cart isn't manageable until you actually get inside the store and push it along smooth floors near the produce section. Then you have to go back outside to get a new cart. I hate when that happens.

But I love the rain. I just don't love rust.

OK, more tomorrow. Sundays are always one of my busiest writing nights (two posts for TV Squad, a Mad Men review, a few other things) and I want to hit the sack (after getting the trash bags ready for tomorrow morning). Later this week: some news that I've alluded to recently will be explained. It involves cliques and maybe a few clacks.

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