OK -- I'm not going to lie; I'm a little bit intoxicated. However, that won't keep me from my duty of avoiding the dreaded "Post Overdue."

Tonight's topic? Wearing a name out. What exactly does it mean to wear one's name out and why were we so darn worried about it as kids. "That's my name -- Don't wear it out." Are names really subject to wear and tear? What happens to that poor 100 year old? Does Willard Scott wish him a 100 year birthday cheer next to the Smuckers' ad and "Poof" his name is worn out? Are there really old people searching for identies because their names are worn out?

Yes, I'm sure that I will wonder what the heck I was thinking with this one. Oh well.... It's quite possible that this entry disappears for good. To those who have read it: I'm sorry. Stop reading this. Excuse me, I said stop. Oh great you're feeling quite insolent aren't you. Don't talk back to me. Oh great this is really bothering me now. You continue to read and I continue to tell you to stop reading. It's like you have no respect for what I'm trying to do here. Now I'm mad at you! Hmmmm. But we promised that we'd never go to sleep mad so we're going to have to work this out. So... on the count of three you stop reading and I'll stop writing.

One.

Two.

Three.

You didn't stop reading. OK OK. You caught me. I didn't stop writing. I just don't want this conversation to end. But I'm tired and I need to go to bed. Just remember that I love *YOU* more!

Goodnight!

I'm so excited that I can barely contain myself. "Why?" you so astutely ask. Tomorrow I start CSI writing-school!

That's right -- apparently they're pumping out so many new versions of CSI that they've officially opened up a bi-yearly two-week training course. Truth be told it's more of a seminar for wannabe screenplay writers and tech geeks, but I'm pretty sure that when my two weeks are up they'll be tendering an offer and I'll be joining the creative ranks of CSI:Cheyenne.

As I sit here in my Holiday Inn, I can already feel my creative juices flowing. Well... that's mostly because I'm looking at this, uh, questionable bedspread and wondering what other "creative juices" have flowed around here. Seriously though -- this bedspread is just screaming for some luminol and a blacklight, but I digress ...

Tell me this schedule doesn't look exciting:

9:00 - 11:00 Detectives: Who needs them?
11:15 - 1:00 Photo Enhancement: Pixels from nothing.
1:00 - 2:00 Lunch
2:00 - 4:00 Working in the Dark: Why no one can find the damn light switch in the lab
4:00 - 6:00 Gross anatomy: How to replace "naked" with really bright lights

Oh sure -- I know all the actual tech stuff, but that's what makes this course so valuable. I'll have all that working knowledge exorcized from my head and instead I'll be able to pen dialog that "sounds" impressive to the uninformed. I will be able to write, with ease, dialog such as "I analyzed the random access memory from the victim's cell phone and ran it through a DSP. I then did a high-filter pass, EQ'd the sound levels, and downloaded the results over the universal serial bus. We now have a tape of the victim's last conversation." This would, of course, be followed by the boss reinterating the last sentence in some quasi-witty way such as "Looks like she got the last word after all" or "and they say dead men don't talk...."

It's just so exciting! Wish me luck.

If you came here late this afternoon (PDT), you might have noticed a new countdown in the upper left-hand corner. I've changed slightly the way that "Post Overdue" works.

You see -- I had grown a little resentful of the dreaded “Post Overdue.” I didn’t think that it was fair to have that last person comment and then BAM “Post Overdue.” It gave me no time to write and post without being chastised. So, from now on, it does the standard countdown of comments needed and, when the last comment comes in, it starts a timer. At present, I’ve given myself 12 hours to respond. We’ll see how that goes. It could shorten. It could lengthen. It’s already gone from 24 hours to 12 hours.

In any case, that’s the new deal. I’m hoping that I’ll be a little better about respecting the policy now that it’s a little more “me” friendly.

Peace out.

P. Stephen Speicher

“That wasn’t me.”

And if I were with anyone except the world’s most perfect woman, those three little words above might have started an evening of discomfort, pain, and, of course, groveling. Luckily, my wife rocks; so, I’m unscathed and can live to tell the tale.

Yesterday, I explained “our” old method of choosing meals. This quickly led to requests for our list. As I alluded to in the comments, I can’t give you that list. You see – it’s been a few more years than I thought since “we’ve” used that technique. In fact, it’s been so many years that the “we” isn’t the “we” that it is today.

For years after my wife and I started our relationship I was quite careful to make sure that the major players in the “Remember when we”s were, in fact, she and I. My streak was admirable. Throughout our courtship, brief as it might have been, and for the entirety of our marriage, I made nary a mistake. My ability to catalogue our adventures and purge from my mind the pre-her days was unrivaled. It seems, however, that I had grown complacent, and complacency, as it turns out, is the mating call of slip-up.

So what about you? Have you ever boldly claimed that you and your significant other went camping in Zion only to learn that, uh, that was you and your ex? Ever gotten into a “discussion” about whether or not you’ve seen a movie, said “I know you’ve seen it because we saw it together, and been forced to admit that since the movie came out before you started dating, it probably was a slip up? I can’t be alone here.

It's a totally different thing to share with everyone... and that's what I'm about to do.

Do you ever go to pick a dinner plan with your better half and the response is a big helping of "nah..that doesn't sound good?" You, willing to please, ask "What sounds good to you?" The response? The dreaded "I don't know."

The next 15 minutes is spent in a verbal game of tennis.

"What about X?"

"Nah"

"What about Y?"

"ick"

"What do you want?" you try again.

"I don't know"

I'm in the middle of that RIGHT NOW!

I'm really tempted to bring back "The List."

What's the "The List?" you ask.

A few years back we went through a period of time where this game was played WAY too often.

I, being from Mars, took matters into my own hands. I wrote down every possible "standard" that I could think of. Chinese, Thai, Japanese, Salmon, etc. etc. etc. -- they were all there.

We then would take turns crossing off what we thought was the least appealing of the remaining choices. 2 minutes later we had a decision.

Oh sure, this usually meant that we were eating something that nobody really wanted, but we were eating!