Things I've been doing instead of blogging

* Laughing about Jimmy Stewart. I've been on this old movie kick lately--it started as a Hitchcock kick, because I realized I shouldn't really refer to myself as a Hitchcock fan when I've only seen 5 or 6 of his movies, and a lot of those were ones I saw when I was a wee child.

"Watching Vertigo once every three months and Rear Window once every eight does not make you a Hitchcock fan," I told myself sternly. So I started diligently going through the TCM listings once a week, scheduling anything by Hitchcock for the DVR, and adding one or two others I'd not seen (Gaslight, which was awesome, and so forth).

So on Saturday afternoon, I settled in and watched all three hours of Anatomy of a Murder. Which--don't get me wrong--is a really excellent movie. Highly recommend it. Well worth the three hour investment.

But just brace yourself: you're going to have to hear Jimmy Stewart say "panties."

And you're going to see it coming. Lee Remick will say it, and you're going to pray that he comes up with a euphemism for his response, and then he's going to say it and you're going to go "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!!!!!!!!!" and fall sideways out of your vintage Lay-Z-Boy recliner because there are some things that Jimmy Stewart should just NEVER say.

And then just when you've recovered, and are getting back into the groove of it and really enjoying the movie, he's going to say it again. And then he's going to say it some more. And it's going to freak you out every single time.

But once you get over being freaked out (a process that, in my experience, takes about 36 hours), it's going to become the funniest thing ever. And you're not going to be able to get through a single workday without thinking to yourself "Waaaaaaall, the panties, yer honor!" in a Jimmy Stewart voice, and cracking up.

And then you're going to wish that you'd watched the movie with someone, so you could go "Waaaaaaaaall, the panties" at random intervals for the rest of your life and make each other laugh.

* Wondering how I managed to never watch Dancing With The Stars until now. I mean, I know why I succumbed this season. The potent combination of Holly Madison (my favorite ex-Girls Next Door girl), L'il Kim (my favorite . . . .person who slept with Biggie), and Steve Wozniak (my favorite computer related Steve) was too much to resist.

But how did I manage to resist before? It has three of my favorite things: 1) Dancing; 2) Stars; and 3) Massive Amounts of Schadenfreude. And also, the judges are all CLEARLY INSANE in extremely entertaining ways.

(and yes, if you're thinking of asking, I was quite happy with this week's results. Steve Wozniak may be an alarmingly bad dancer, but Belinda Carlisle managed to make the cha-cha look joyless*. If you can't even look happy when you're getting paid to do the cha-cha, you should be shot. Wozniak, on the other hand, looks like he's having the time of his life [sadly, I can't say the same for his partner, whose every forced smile begs to understand what she did wrong to get stuck with this guy])

* Anticipating the departure of my unctuous coworker. Seriously, listening to this woman's voice is like being molested with taffy, and I have to listen to her for seven hours a day. Also, she frequently speaks in baby talk to our older male colleague. It's a miracle I haven't stabbed her.

But I've gone around for the last week and a half singing a modified version of "Ding-dong, the Witch is Dead!" and walking with a new spring in my step. Two more days, people. Two more days.

* Basking in the joy that is Death Cat/DiagnostiCat/Debbie. This week's episode of House was not the best episode of House, ever. It was not the best episode of House this season. It was not even the best episode of House this month (that honor goes to the previous week's episode, which had an awesome guest star and was chock full of Wilson).

But OH MY GOD, I loved the cat. I sat there during the episode going "that cat is awesome" and I haven't stopped thinking about the cat and grinning since.

It's really hurting my work. I'll be thrumming along at a normal pace, and then I think about the cat and I just stare off into space for an hour or more, grinning ridiculously.

I think the cat should become a permanent member of the cast. She can take Thirteen's place whenever she finally finishes dying of her genetic disease, and/or gets a brain tumor that can't miraculously be fixed by House and Foreman in the space of an hour without even shaving her head.

* This is my gripe with Bachelorette Melissa too--technically she's quite good, but it's like watching a piece of machinery execute a task.