I'd talk about Buffy, but Barb pretty well covered it all in her journal entries for the last few days.
Today my office gave the August birthdays a free lunch -- cheeseburger, fries, and a drink. I should have turned down the fries, but I am a ho for fries, whether they be freedom or french. Either way, no one ever puts enough salt on 'em. This morning I went to open the door to let in the cat who escaped in the night, and the other one slicked out before the first one could come in. They are supposed to be indoor cats, and we try to keep them that way, but they really don't like it, despite many years of trying to convince them that it's really best for them in this neighborhood. Once inside, Silhouette (the former) threw up. I had to get dressed and chase Cairo (the latter) back and forth under my truck until he allowed me to capture him.
Finished the one review I had to do this week; Tim O'Brien, excellent bluegrass artist, stretching his wings and trying something new and pretty. One of those albums that reminds us that country and bluegrass are the same genre, dammit. (NOT country and pop...)