Today is our very dear Jason's birthday, and we couldn't know a nicer, more decent person than he. Twenty-three years ago today, the world became a little better place.

He came over today to pick up his digital camera, which I have been borrowing as of late. Ours died and went to hang by the big neck strap in the sky. His camera has filled the void during my bereavement. Together, we partook of strawberry turnovers and [perfect, cookie scoop domes of] cool whip. Yum.

I wanted to make him a cake, but Miles wasn't certain that Jason liked cake. I wasn't either, even though I once shared an office with the dear boy...I should have known. Naturally, I knew of his preference toward Peanut M&Ms, Cheetos, and Steak...but this hardly solved the cake quandary. Miles, being the highly rational sort, declared, "If you make a cake and Jason doesn't want it, we'll be stuck with a whole cake to eat!" I gazed at him in my impatient, I'm failing to see the downside way. He went on, "BUT, strawberry turnovers...I've got no problem eating those."

Miles is the voice of reason, after all.

I have always enjoyed my long talks with Jason. He's a good breeze-shooting partner. And, he can totally follow me as I scoot from Kohl's, to Iraq, to Caramel Macchiatos. He even followed the lineup with Atkins, exercising, and then weblogs. His breeze-shooting would've impressed the likes of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, no joke.

A very happy birthday anniversary to you today, Jason! You will always be our wee one, and our source for many wonderful and memorable moments. We hope that 23 treats you well!

Miles and I don't really watch TV. It isn't that we look upon sitcoms, or upon sitcom viewers, unfavorably; we simply lack the desire to engage in the "activity". We get our news from CNN.com. We get our weather from Weather.com. (notice a trend?)

I watch TV when I'm with my parents, though! I'm a "Social TV-Viewer". Whenever I return from a visit, I return knowing so much more about pop culture than when I left. I find this very sad: I chill with my parents to get up with what the kids are doing for fun these days.

I suppose we use our TV to watch movies...but we're just as happy to spend the evening reading—perhaps more so. In the on position, it receives the most attention when I manipulate the DVD player to stream compact disks. And off, it excels in the collection of dust...it has a nice big surface perfect for a healthy dust crop to grow between the weekly polishings. It's sort of a side project we're working on for supplemental income. It hasn't been real profitable yet.

The one shred of decency our TV holds, is its constancy in the 10:00-11:00P slot every night, seven days a week. "Who's Line is it Anyway?" ABC Family airs the reruns...good stuff, really, superbly good stuff. I laugh uncontrollably during every episode....and LOUDLY. I am a person of a soft-spoken sort, and rarely find myself untamed in my amusement. The drollness of my momma and my Anna are notable exceptions, along with this grand improv comedy show of bygone days.

Miles is still boggled by the volume of my cascading laughter during the show—"My silk-voiced wife? A closet "Who's Line..." hyena? My God! What have I gotten myself into!? If only I had known..."

Today, after many grueling hours staring at a piece of html that somebody tortured into uneditability, I received a phone call on my cell. I didn't recognize the number, but longed for the distraction nonetheless. "Hello," came my highly imaginative greeting. A man's anxious voice came on the line.

"Oh, Stacie, thank God you finally answered your phone! I was starting to think you weren't ever going to speak to me again!"

I was curious to know the whole story, as I am female and such things interest me...but the ol' Midwestern wholesomeness kicked the busybody to the side and I declared, "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."

"You're not Stacie?"

"No."

"You sound just like her...are you sure?"

"Fairly certain, yes."

"Well you are a woman, right?"

"Fairly certain, yes."

"I could use a little guidance from your prerogative..."

And, fifteen minutes of relationship counseling was to follow. It served as a nice break from the HTML, I must admit. I do find it curious that I am pretty ok with an anonymous, relationshiply-challenged individual asking me to administer a little advice. He didn't even know my name. Poor misguided wretch.

After one year and nine months to the day I wed Mr. Phillips, I sent in my name change forms to the social security office last night. Procrastination? You betcha.

I am humored that I have the exact same exchange with everyone who has ever taken down my maiden name:

"Last Name?"
[I tell them]
"Oh—kay...can you spell that for me?"
[I spell it] "...A good Norwegian name..."

(Laughs, Nods) "Well you certainly look the part."

No kidding—every single time. Miles has even mentioned the phenomenon. (say that word 3 times fast as I did and I dare you to spell it right the first several times.) It's silly really...because my maiden name is the Americanized version.

I can hear it now: "Vhat do you sink of zee new name, Sven? Vee blend in more now." No doubt the original had lots of silent j's.