Brittany Spears, Captain Kirk and me.

It’s been a strange day.

My brother, Jim, wrote me an email this morning to tell me he talked with Captain Kirk, aka William Shatner for 10 minutes yesterday on the phone. My brother is into some interesting things like video production and writing screen plays.

But, man, talking to The Captain of the Enterprise is better than conferencing with the Pope, right? Not so, says Jim. “No big deal. He was bickering over price even though I lowballed him.” How much does he make on Boston Legal?

My dauther-in-law, Kelly, is a massage therapist in LA. You know, we are not allowed to refer to that profession as “masseur” or masseus” anymore. Pity. Anyway, Kelly has given, catch this, phreaking Brittany Spears a number of massages over the past couple of months. How high on the food chain is THAT? Here’s the tip on Brittany, folks. Well, that’s it. She doesn’t tip, as least for massages. I’ve heard this is a common happening in Hollywood, as though their presence is enough of a tip. Wake up, starlets! Most of us don’t luck out like you did.

Today is my wife’s birthday. She was born on February 14th, of a year I’m not allowed to mention. Let’s just say that the Playboy Playmates would not be allowed to appear in the mag if they were born that year. Know why my wife is so great? For one reason she can be trusted, totally, with a credit card. Much more than I would trust myself. If I had not married her I am sure I would be living under the el tracks in downtown Chicago with a cardboard box as an apartment. No lie.

We were hit with another 6″ of snow last night. The schools were closed. I guess the teachers needed yet another day off from their tedious grind. Let me tell you. I used to teach. It is one TOUGH job. I think I lasted half a year and then hung up my planning books. My son goes beserk with happiness whenever school is called off for snow. Come to think of it, I used to do that too. Happiness=no school.







Turbo Tagger

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