Jack took Jackson down to L.A. for a Lakers game tonight (Nets, 7:30, check your local listings) and I am alone in the house at night for the first time in maybe two-and-a-half years. I'm alone here during the day all the time, but night-time is totally different! I have my ferocious pack of hair-trigger bulldogs to keep me safe from any babies that might be crying on TV, I made myself a ridiculous, all-brown dinner of gloppy flax pasta with feta and some expired to the point of tasting fermented sweet-potato fries*, I have an ambitious stack of movies** to watch, it's raining, the fire's going, and uh, what was that alarm code again?
*Not last week I bought the heaviest vegetarian cookbook money can buy, and yet this evening I felt compelled to combine the dumbest ingredients we had on hand for my special night. I sure do know how to treat myself. But oh, will there be cookies later? THERE WILL BE COOKIES LATER. If I haven't opened any wine, that is.
** A Lot Like Love, Deer Hunter, Blade Runner, Sunset Boulevard, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Slap Shot, Topsy Turvy, 40 Year Old Virgin, Chinatown, Garden State, Galaxy Quest, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Intolerable Cruelty
UPDATE: Fuck it all, I watched a yoga DVD. It was basically watching a skinny man do an abnormally slow ballet. With no music. Just a calm, centered narrator who hypnotized me into making cookies halfway through the standing postures. And they came out tasting like hemp and vitamins. So I'm going to bed.