I tried explaining to my 19 month old daughter that she can’t have a stomach bug weekdays between the hours of 7 am and 9 pm, because the electricity required to continuously run the washer and dryer during mid and peak hours is cost prohibitive. She nodded. Then threw up on my sweater.

So we’re down to the wire, and Santa has yet to be vocal on the good vs bad judgement process, his security, collection and storage policies regarding this data, and our legal recourse on disagreement with his judgement. The days of opaque leadership are over, Mr. Santa. WE WANT TRANSPARENCY.

In 1862, caricaturist Thomas Nast was hired to create the cover of Harper’s Weekly. For the first time in illustrated history, Christmas was depicted as a jolly plump bearded fellow, with clay pipe and a sack overflowing with toys. Nearly 70 years would pass before illustrator Haddon Sundblom started work on the iconic Coca Cola advertisements.

Along with whistling, cursing and growling, John Singer Sargent would talk to himself while painting. “This is impossible. You can’t do it. Why do you try these things? You know it’s hopeless. It can’t be done.” Followed by “Yes, it can, yes, it can, it can be done – my God, I’ve done it.”

You know, the email replies I write in my head are so much more satisfying then the ones I eventually send. Tact, it seems, is what keeps us all on topic.

My take away from the use of guest stars on Sesame Street is that (like the guest stars) parents can be as morally elastic as we like when the kids aren’t watching, so long as we speak in gentle tones and put on pants when they are around.

Forthwith the “kitchen” will no longer be referred to as such, but instead as the “cookroom”, which is more consistent with the nomenclature of the other rooms of the house, such as “bathroom”, “bedroom”, and “living room”. You’re welcome.

“Storysome” ought to be a real word. An adjective meaning to cause an anecdote. For example, you might reflect “Those are some storysome stab wounds,” and then continue on with an adventurous yarn about the day the frogs organized and took over the yard.

The following things kept me awake at 4:30 am this morning: source control for the image database; image request 1; image request 2; Buffy’s betrayer in Season 8; the water softener back flush; the time; a touching love story between the last man on Earth and the zombie that steals his heart. Natch!

The garden gnomes tried to get into the house last night. Their hats blew away in the wind, and they got scared. Not enough oatmeal, likely. Their fingers left thin streaks in the grime on the basement windows where they tried to open them. The house flies think the streaks are freeways, up and down, up and down, up and down. Where do they think they are going? It’s 1943. Nothing’s open on Sunday. I need a hand vac.