Another weekend is upon us and yet . . . I don’t have any plans. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t normally make the plans. When I wake up on Saturday morning my wife and kids submit an itinerary and I see where I have to be, when, what I should wear and if I have to drive.

Based on a few basic assumptions, I can whittle down what I’m not doing this weekend.

1. Going out with friends—There are two reasons why I know I’m not doing this. First, I have a baby at home, so it’s not an option unless we pay for a sitter. Second, well, I don’t have any friends. Those bastards all moved away or live in other cities. I suppose I could fly out to Maryland to see John’s new TV or drive out to Oregon. All my friends in town suck. They hate me, I hate them. We’re friends only out of habit. When we see one another we often snarl and hiss. The friends I do like are also unable to go out often.
2. Cure a disease. The government confiscated my lab equipment. Thought I was making crystal meth. All I was trying to do was genetically alter a coffee bean to make the caffeine eight times more powerful.
3. Develop a super power. I’ve been trying for years but to no avail. I’m beginning to think I’ll never be successful. Maybe some day. Anyone have a radioactive spider on hand?
4. Read Literature (yes with a capital L). Who has time for it? These days I fall asleep while reading the care labels on my t-shirts.
5. Listen to the new Negro Problem CD. As far as I can tell, no one in St. Louis has it in stock. Farging iceholes.
6. Paint. Anything. Besides, John took all the green paint in the US and decided not to use most of it. Now he’s hording it in his garage along with the secret formula for Kentucky Fried Chicken.
7. Ride Horizons at Walt Disney World. The bastards tore it down.
8. Wear leopard print underwear and sing “Burning Down the House.”
9. Because my leopard print underwear is in the laundry.
10. I think I’ll wear zebra print.
11. This is no longer a list.

What I will be doing this weekend is watching Disc Three of The Sopranos Third Season. Yes. I love that show. Each season leaves me with something to quote. “What no effin’ Ziti?” Or, this time it’s Ralphie’s horrible pronunciation of the word “whore.” He keeps saying, “She’s a hooer.” I’m just waiting for the day when they have the “Paulie and Silvio Show.” That would be good.

What I find interesting about the show is that it’s just as much about Tony’s real family as it is about his mob family. There’s an interesting struggle and internal conflict. In his line of work he can have someone whacked for disobeying him. And yet . . . you can’t whack your kid for not cleaning his room. There’s a strange parallel between his brutality and his struggle to show love for his kids.

Might eat something. I hear it’s required to live. And maybe drink coffee. Of course I do that anyway.

In essence, I lead a very boring life. I do nothing but think about stuff all the time. For example, have you ever considered why a Kumquat is called a Kumquat? Why would I eat that? What about an eggplant? It doesn’t even look like an egg and it has the consistency of fried rubber.

Oh well. I just proved that there is something seriously wrong with me and that there isn’t merit in writing every day.

I’ll just sit here and wait for my call from NASA. Surely soon they’ll realize they need me.

Ring, damn it. Ring.