Last weekend I read that Gwyneth Paltrow had told a Portugese newspaper:

“I love the English lifestyle, it’s not as capitalistic as America. People don’t talk about work and money, they talk about interesting things at dinner. I like living here because I don’t fit into the bad side of American psychology. The British are much more intelligent and civilized than the Americans.”

Big whoop … like I care what some spoiled brat who dropped out of college thinks about our country. ( Nevermind the fact that she’s a gazillionaire heiress. Yeah, capitalism has really hurt you.) So, I didn’t care until I read this tonight:

“I felt so upset to be completely misconstrued and I never, ever would have said that. I definitely did not say that I think the British are more intelligent and civilized than Americans. I am a New York girl, that’s how I always think of myself and see myself.”

Now, that is just flat out insulting my intelligence. (I probably shouldn’t blame Julie Jordan for the lousy job she did interviewing Gwyneth. If only there was some all powerful tool that journalists could use to prepare for an interview.) Of course, Gwyneth is just a “New York girl,” just like when she told Rick Groen of the Globe and Mail:

“Yes, well, I went to Spain in an exchange program at 15, and I’ve always been drawn to Europe. America is such a young country, with an adolescent swagger about it. But I feel that I have a more European sensibility, a greater respect for the multicultural nature of the globe. And it’s a strange time to be an American now.”

New Yorker’s are well known for their contempt of all the memorials after 9/11, just like when Gwyneth said:

“I find the English amazing how they got over 7/7. There were no multiple memorials with people sobbing as they would have been in America. There, they are constantly scaring people but at the same time, people think nothing of going to see a therapist.”

Oh, and Gwyneth would never suggest that “the British are more intelligent and civilized than Americans.” Well, unless you count that time last February when she said:

“Brits are far more intelligent and civilized than Americans. I love the fact that you can hail a taxi and just pick up your pram and put in the back of the cab without having to collapse it.”

What do you call someone who thinks that the highlight of civilization is being driven around without having to fold a baby stroller first? I’ve always heard them referred to as pretentious bitches. Of course, her interview in People today makes her a liar too.

I’m thankful for:

• A healthy Plankton family.
• That my son’s birth was not complicated.
• A steady paycheck and work that continues to challenge me.

I borrowed a co-workers badge this morning to get my car into the parking garage. I think I looked down and just assumed that I didn’t have my badge on me. I’ve been working the entire day on the assumption that I left my badge at home. A few minutes ago I suddenly came to the realization that I had my badge on me the entire day. I just never checked.

While watching Casino Royale last night, both Girl Plankton and I noticed one actor who we just couldn’t place.  He was Tobias Menzies, and the reason that we recognized him was because he played Brutus on Rome.  It happened again tonight, but this time it was a little more obvious.  We were watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on HBO and recognized Barty Crouch Jr.  He’s played by David Tennant, the current Dr. Who.

This is a story about a couch. A good couch, and one with a long history. Originally owned by Ray and Jeanette. They gave it to Dan when they moved away from Utah in 1999. For a while it lived with Dan and I in Salt Lake City. The couch moved in with Girl Plankton and I shortly after we were married. We lived with it in Bountiful for two years. In 2003, once again it took up residence with Dan back in Salt Lake. For three years they co-existed in peace and harmony.

Nobody knows the exact reasons why, but all that changed on Friday November 17th 2006 when Dan picked up a box cutter and a hammer. Descriptions vary, but the witnesses agree that he tore at the fabric of the couch with the box cutter and used the hammer to tear apart the wooden pieces of the frame. In the end, he coldly deposited the remains of the couch in the garbage chute of his apartment complex. All that remained were three cushions:

Regarding the Gillette Fusion. This morning I came to the conclusion that my earlier impression was dead wrong. My neck was just as inflammed as it ever has been. According to Ben there is this product called PFB Vanish that works miracles. Now I just need to find a local retailer that sells it.

I finished Destroy All Humans! tonight. This is my typical workflow when I get a videogame:

1. Purchase/rent game.
2. Play game until I get to some point that’s moderately difficult.
3. Place game in entertainment center.
4. Sequel to game comes out.
5. Remove game from entertainment center.
6. Play game to completion.
7. Purchase/rent sequel.

To be completely honest I was kind of dissapointed with the final chapters of the game so I’m kind of hesitant to move on to step number 7. Also, according to the map I was only about 50% complete which leads me to believe that I missed something. For the record, the game would have been a thousand times better if Richard Steven Horvitz voiced Crypto instead of Pox.

My face and I have kind of settled on the following weekly regiment because of the sensitivity of my skin (mostly on my neck). On Monday I shave with a blade. Tuesday through Friday I shave with an electric. Saturday and Sunday are typically spent providing my face with much-needed relief. Shaving is almost always a painful and humiliating experience for me. By Wednesday morning my entire neck is inflammed and covered in ingrown hairs. I’m convinced that having to wear a tie to work isn’t helping the situation.

For years I was a regular Gillette whore, upgrading whenever they came out with a new razor. First it was the Sensor, then the Sensor Excel, finally I settled on the Mach 3 Turbo. Last year they introduced a model with 5 blades, the Fusion, and even though I was tempted to pick one up off the shelf, I never did because the blades themselves were twice as expensive as my dependable Mach 3 Turbo. Last weekend the Gillette company was kind enough to provide me a sample of it’s Fusion brand razor to try out.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have seen the promised land, and it is the Gillette Fusion.

Further research is obviously necessary. To begin with, I don’t know if I’m just experiencing the typical euphoria that I experience whenever I replace the blade on my razor (60% more euphoria because of the two additional blades). However; I strongly suspect that the “Flexible Comfort Guard,” which appears to cover nearly 2/3rds more surface area than the microfins on my Mach 3 Turbo, has something to do with the improved experience. We’ll also have to see if I experience my typical levels of irritation on my neck tomorrow morning.

Of course, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. All this giddiness over a new razor will likely be tempered when I apply my typical formula of taking the relative happiness that this new razor is providing, dividing it by the cost of blade refills, and determining if it’s actually worth it.

This morning it was a race between me and a big storm to see who would get to work first.  I lost.  Kind of glad that I did too, it was an awesome looking storm.  One giant dark cloud racing a few hundred feet over the valley.  It hit the mountain and just let loose with rain and hail.  Very awe-inspiring.

The cold is forcing the insects and assorted vermin inside.  I killed three spiders at work today.  First one ran across my desk early in the morning.  Next one was taking up residence in my Darth Vader mask.  Final one tried to sneak across my windowsill.  That last one was a big guy and required several blows to finally bring it’s eight legged experience to an end.

Driving down the street this morning, I was shocked with what I saw.

There was Chewbacca. He was standing on a street corner shilling for some new business that just opened next to WalMart. I know that times are tough, but you would think that someone would offer the decorated combat veteran of two wars a better job than this.

I’m sorry, but nothing gets me unglued faster than those employers who aren’t willing to look beyond his criminal record as a smuggler, his steadfast refusal to learn to speak any language other than his native tongue, or the fact that he doesn’t wear any pants.

It’s bad enough that Princess Leia overlooked him when she was awarding medals after the destruction of the first Death Star. Does the rest of society have to continue to overlook a seven and a half foot tall Wookie? Especially one who has given so much, but asked for so little.