I am entirely too excited about America’s refusal to send Sanjaya packing last night. I only managed to get one vote in for him this week, but every little bit counts. The thing is, not only is the kid still on the show, but he’s not even getting dumped into the bottom. Never in my life did I imagine that celebrating crap could be so much fun.

In unrelated news, I have decided to change my title at work from “web administrator” to “internets decider.” It’s catchy, and I think I might get away with it. I tried having “master of time space and dimension” printed on my business cards, but they weren’t havin’ it…

I do not usually share much of the goingson in my dayjob in this space. Today I could not resist though because of the life-imitates-they-might-be-giants aspect of this e-mail exchange.

A: “Does anyone know where the desk chair is for the empty office? There was a chair for that office and now it seems to have disappeared. Please let me know if you know where it is. Thank you.”

B: “Twice I found it in the locked file room and twice I’ve moved it back. Guess it has a mind of its own??”

C: “Thank you, that is exactly where I found it tonight. Would who(m)ever keeps moving it in there, please let me know and why you are moving it? If we need to get a chair for that office, we can order something, but please stop moving the office chairs. Thank you.”

Yummo.

Sisyphean Sepoy Sanjaya Sings Sapphic Screed, Sorely Slaughters Sacred Standards. Seppuku.

Rita Cosby’s contract will not be renewed at MSNBC, it’s being reported.

It’s a known fact that Cosby’s first passion wasn’t television journalism. She wanted to be a professional hypnotist. Unfortunately for Cosby, she never was able to lead a single successful session.

She and her subjects could never get beyond the “YOU ARE GETTING SLEEPY” part.

It was this red little jar staring me in the face in the Meskin food aisle of my local supermercardo. Sofrito. And I was thinking about rice anyway, and it says it’s for rice, and beans, and soups and stews. And so I cooked up the rice in my magick rice cooker, not just rice, but a mix pack, and I stirred in the Sofrito, and man, that stuff is like the food the government doesn’t want the gringos to know about. And my Internet research on the stuff indicates that the storebought stuff doesn’t do justice to what Mama makes.

I think a really good name for a rock ‘n’ roll band would be “Peanut Butter Cookie.”

Can I be sued for sexual harrassment for walking through the corridors of my office whistling Prince’s “Jack U Off” ?

I can’t help it. It’s in my head.