Fire ban, schmire ban

A ban on fireworks in Mesa County did not prevent people in my neighborhood from setting off sundry incendiary items for at least an hour after the city's annual fireworks display last night.

Annoying, but that's how things roll on the Fourth of July.

As I mentioned over here and here Margaret was in day camp all day, so Bill and I instituted a new type of holiday: Panty Day.

While Margaret was out making us food, we sat around in our undies and watched almost the entire third season of Deadwood on DVD.

It's been too hot outside — and inside (hello, central air conditioning, please come live at our house) — to do anything but try not to be hot, so that's what we did.

Watching hours and hours of one show seems to be a trend for Bill and I. Tuesday evening before we headed out to open-mic night at a local brew pub, we watched about five hours of Miami Ink. Solely because it's too hot to blink, let alone move myself.

Plus watching people talk about and get tattoos is vastly interesting to me.

I've been contemplating getting some more work done for a while.

I really like what I have right now, but I think it's time to get the rest of my back done.

Thank you, cable TV, for instilling such good ideas into my impressionable pea brain.