I just logged onto Yahoo and was greeted with a charming photograph of Saddam Hussein wearing a noose. Enigmatically, the photo had the headline, �Saddam had feisty exchange at gallows.� Feisty? Really? Feisty is something I associate with terriers and one-night stands. Not mass murderers about to die by hanging.

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The trip to the Preschool Palace O� Fun (TM pending) was somewhat better than expected, in that it was not a mob scene and also that I had forgotten just how campy it was. AJ rode the bumper cars about a hundred times and the roller coaster nearly as often. We also played a lot of skee-ball and arcade bowling with wooden pins on strings. We passed on air hockey this time, but I did spend some time playing Star Wars pinball. I like my games Old School. Word.

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Plans are afoot in the Spy household for our New Year�s Eve celebration. Mr. Spy had the idea that we should find a country where it will be at midnight at some hour before AJ has to go to bed and then make (or possibly purchase) a meal from that country and try to find out some of its New Year�s traditions. After some debate, during the course of which we discovered that a weirdly broad swath of area observes Greenwich Mean Time, we settled on England, which is six hours ahead of us, thus setting midnight at a fairly comfortable 6 p.m. Having spent a significant portion of my youth residing in Britain, I felt the need to suggest some particular British delicacies � pickled eggs, steak and kidney pie, blood sausage, haggis. Is it any wonder I turned vegetarian for a good 15 years? (I�ve fallen off the wagon in the last year or so). I believe we have settled on a Cheddar beer soup, which has the virtue of including both our favorite food and drink in one fell swoop and also in helping us use up the mammoth hunk of wax-sealed cheddar sent to us by my aunt as part of our annual Christmas basket from Zingerman�s. We plan to open the door to the New Year (or possibly to the raccoons). We�re will avoid, however, first footing, as the neighbors will be sure to be terrified if we show up on their doorsteps and some of them have guns. And big dogs. Feisty to a hound.

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Despite my attempts to warn her off (for her own benefit), fairlywell insists she is coming to our New Year�s Day gathering. To avoid the question of how we know each other, which is sure to perplex, if not alarm, my mother-in-law (�Now what is a blog, dear?�) fairly has suggested that we use an alibi and say we met in yoga class. This sounded good to me when she proposed it, but I forgot two things. 1. One of my yoga instructors is likely to be in attendance and would be likely to be puzzled or at least to ask questions. And 2. I am the world�s worst liar. I am inconsistent and I always forget who�s in on what part of the ruse. Perhaps I�ll have to give this some more thought. Or I could just keep my mother-in-law plied with apricot brandy.

[Second entry today. Click back to find out what Chuck E Cheese and high school have in common.]

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