And baby makes four....

Ah, kid, you have no idea what you're in for.

The good news is my brother and his wife are pregnant again! Due in February. I'm tres excited to be an auntie again.

But having been the older sister -- it's one of those things you just don't get over. Syd's gonna need some extra attention come February, I bet. The good thing is she'll be older than I was and may not be moved to pour the entire bottle of baby oil over the new kid....

Congrats, guys!

We all scream

Dear Cold Stone Creamery,

I do dearly love your confections. I don't get to your stores as often as I'd like; by that standard I'd have to move a cot in and start paying rent. And soon, I'd be too big to get out the doorway. But I digress.

While I do appreciate that on my recent visit I ordered an "I Like It" size and was given an "I Love It" size instead owing to the absence "Like It" cups (apparently there was a run on liking rather than loving at CSC, and it would have been too gauche to simply put the "Like" into a "Love" sized cup), I would like to briefly comment on your semantics.

Starbucks started this, I grant you. I blame them first. But no one said you had to change "Small" (or "Regular") to "I Like It" and "Large" to "I Love It." It's twee, and confusing, and doesn't indicate to me whether "Liking It" means I'm getting a small, regular or medium. Why not have a third size, the "I'm Doing This To Win A Bet" size, and make it bottomless? So, quit it.

Secondly, along those lines, and this goes for everyone who ever creates a chain from now unto eternity: Do not require your employees to use specific statements when interacting with the public. I am certain that in the boardroom, deciding to have your scoopers (I wish we could still call them soda jerks) say, "May I help the next awesome customer" seemed like genius. But clearly none of those marketing talents ever had to say such a thing 856 times a day, 1284 on weekends.

As a customer, there is nothing more depressing (on many levels) than to go for ice cream (the happiest of food!) and find myself greeted as the 855th customer that day, with the flattest, most desultory, abstracted and bored rendition of "May I help the next awesome customer," which really came out as "MayIhelpthenextawesometcustomer."

It was not awesome. It took some of the happy out of the ice cream, frankly.

But then I got a larger size, so I was loving it.

Sincerely,
Armchair General

Traipsing through Cornwall, Part 1 (and) Another Thing

So, at long last, some of the Cornwall pictures and descriptions are up. I'm sure my vast reading public can breathe a sigh of relief knowing this, but for anyone who's wanted to know how it all went, it's there, rash and all. At least, the first three days of it. Still have a few more to append on, but it could be a couple of days. Head over here to enjoy (or to find an easy way to take a nap at your desk).

* * * *

In otherwise completely unrelated other thoughts:

In the newly-released "Scoop," Woody Allen gives himself a line that goes something like this: "Jewish? No, those people sense any kind of slur and they start writing letters." (He's got a better one where he talks about growing up in the Hebraic persuasion, but then converting to narcissism.)

There's a lot of letter writing going on, at least on the Web.

I've got so many conflicting emotions about what's going on between Israel and Lebanon that there's no way to put them into a blog without sounding like a complete moron. So I'll stick with something I think I can at least put my mind around: The massive attack going on following Mel Gibson's recent arrest. It seems that a large number of blog sites, both attached to the MSM and amateur, have leapt on TMZ.com's PDF of "notes" that were allegedly made during Gibson's recent drunk driving arrest, but suppressed by the police (or thrown out, depending on who you talk to) in order to save the actor from embarrassment. (Or, if you believe the people who think that in addition to the Jews Having All The Money, the Jews Run Hollywood, ergo Mel will be run out on his ass for what he said.)

Allegedly.

Look, I've been to the TMZ.com site. I've read the article, I've downloaded the notes. Here's why I don't yet buy them:

a) they're barely legible (like a fax of a fax)
b) they start on page "5 of 8"
c) there's no connection on any page to any kind of official paperwork source
d) I could have written these up on my own.

I find when I bring this subject up with others, I'm immediately told:

a) Gibson made "Passion of the Christ," and that proves he's an anti-Semite
b) Gibson's father is a Holocaust denier
c) Gibson has take a full dose of the crazy and is out of his mind
d) We're just tired of Gibson, so let's toss him out.

The thing is this: Even if a, b, c and d are true, that does not mean he said what he's alleged to have said. TMZ does not resemble anything like a MSM or legit news site, and the fact that the only other sources who have reportd on this have referred to TMZ is like the Washington Post calling Nixon out on Watergate because of documents found in the National Enquirer.

Gibson may well have said those things. He's offered a blanket statement for saying "despicable" things, but that's not the same as admitting to all of the alleged statements. I'm waiting for a fuller analysis, particularly from the Smoking Gun. It's what I would want, were I in his position.

An addendum: I might be a bit softer on Gibson than some others, because he called me once. Not like out of the blue, precisely -- it was for a 2003 article in which Peter Weir, the great Australian director who directed him in "Gallipoli" and "The Year of Living Dangerously," was being honored. Anyway, Gibson called me direct, didn't reach me at work and left a message: "Hi, this is Mel." Etc. Later on we hooked up on my home line, and he and was genial and not crazy and answered even unrelated questions, even though he was in the midst of making "Passion" at the time.

Afterwards, I joked with others: See, he can't be an anti-Semite, 'cause he called a Jew. See?

I'd like to think better of him. So sue me.

Now go look at some pretty pictures of ponies.

Over the hedge

So, a few weeks ago I saw the film "Over the Hedge." First sighting of an opossum cartoonishly rendered on screen in quite some time. Perhaps ever.



And then the other day on Cute Overload, I came across this little bundle o' joy (who apparently crawled up through the pipes into someone's (blissfully unused) toilet.



And tonight, we get the three-fer: While taking Ciara out for her nightly wee, what should come strolling down the sidewalk (carefully keeping to the sides of the buildings where possible, before strolling into our building's grassy knoll area)?

Yep, a real-live opossum. About the size of the dog. I think the guy outsie on the cell phone thought it was a large rat, but I assure you: Possum.

How the hell does an opossum get out into Jackson Heights? Should we be watching the trees, where they nest?

Apparently I'm not the only one who has spotted 'possum in Queens. I am not, however, going to pelt it with soup cans.

And here's some fun 'Possum facts.

The Maine Event

So, if you like beaches and lobster and quaint New England cottages (and aren't too much of a Red Sox hater), go visit Ogunquit, ME, a town I still can't quite pronounce and often misspell, but which I think is just wonderful.



The base of town ends with Perkins Cove, but there's a small walkway called the Marginal Way that rings around the cliff and curves towards the beach, which has two elements -- a broad tidal basin that leads to the ocean, and a little fast-moving creek which eventually feeds into the water. I went with the guy and his family and we stayed in a family home in the middle of town, and while there, H and I walked the Marginal Way (just about a mile) and passed some amazing sights.



If you could see these houses and the view just outside their front doors, you'd move in a minute. Hell, I'd live in the guest house. Imagine how dramatic in the winter!



A view down to the beach, from the Marginal Way.



And a lovely winding tree perched right on the cliff's edge. The curves were so smooth and sensual. Once we walked around the remainder of the Way (which led back into town and then curved towards the beach, cutting through a small collection of B&Bs/hotels/homes with immaculate manicured gardens and children tossing balls at one another -- an image that seemed to come from somewhere between David Lynch and Norman Rockwell) and down to the far end of the Ogunquit beach, over a bridge.



This sign greets you; we scrambled down to the sand by the creek and immediately got bit by some kind of iridescent sand fly, but otherwise went pretty unmolested.



The water in the creek, which ran in rivulets and small streams here and there, cutting through the sand in unusual patterns, was cool but not cold, and very pleasant.



Pre-beach, we ran into plenty of these trash bins, all labeled with individual inspirational signs, for reasons unknown. Ogunquit isn't exactly a crystals-and-faeries kind of seaside town, but it does have its own way of doing things. One thing I particularly like: No chain stores or restaurant. Not a Starbucks in sight.



H's mom wanted to get a lobster roll in Kennebunkport, so we headed out of town into Bush territory; wonder if the lobstahs are redder in that part of the world. It was tasty....



And afterwards we headed up to Freeport, home to loads of outlet stores like L.L. Bean so H's dad could return some shirts. This was one street which held particular significance.



I wondered if when you got fired from the Bean if they just came out here and said they were giving you the boot. I kill me.

A lovely, lobster-filled weekend! Go now. Or don't -- there actually are plenty of tourists already. Just don't ask me about the ride home ... and when you go, pick an off-hour. It's supposed to take 5 hours from New York City: Going up, it took us over 7. Seriously.

* England recap coming soon! Really! This was just easier...