We finally got tired of the stumps in the backyard. Becca's attempt to rot them away met with only partial surface success, so the only answer was violence. There's an interesting moist wood smell that comes from chopping a stump. After all the practice I got swinging at a stump at basically ground level, I am now well-prepared to take on any worldwide invasion of six-inch tall zombies. I have the perfect swing.
Last week, on my walk at lunchtime, I peered at the LA Times in its little kiosk and scanned the headlines. One of the stories caught my eye for some reason, though I cannot recall what it was now. I took my lengthy walk and then passed by another set of little newspaper stands. Hoping for an update on that story, I looked at the headlines again, but it was exactly the same.
ETA: Oh yeah, jury duty tomorrow.