After all my gearing up for the Sopranos and Deadwood, I managed to fall asleep for both shows (not too surprising after a few hours with the Usual Suspects at the Post). I did, however, catch the “west coast” Sopranos at midnight. Because I was still half asleep when the show came on, it seemed a bit ironic that the show featured a complicated dream sequence.

While supposedly getting away from it all in a suite at the Plaza Hotel in New York, Tony is plagued by dreams in which he sees lots of dead folks, ranging from his father, to several people he dispatched himself (e.g. Big Pussy and Ralphie Cifaretto), all the way to his former suicide-successful girlfriend, Gloria Trillo.

I’ve never been a fan of dream sequences, artsy though they may be. For me, they just confuse the hell out of things. Stripping away all the dream baloney, what seems clear is that Tony Blundetto’s former jail buddy (who was involved in persuading Tony B. to do the hit on one of Johnny Sack’s guys) got smoked, and Tony B sought and got revenge. Tony realizes that the shit will now hit the fan with Johnny Sack, and he seems to be contemplating the need to deal with his cousin Tony.

I was too busy trying to sort out Tony Soprano’s dreams from reality to focus on the nuggets that surely were there. I’ll have to give it another look.

I will have to catch up with Deadwood with HBO “On Demand.”

Last night I re-watched the most recent episode of Deadwood. Each episode is definitely worth at least two viewings. Here’s what cracked me up again.

“Now, that’s the way you scrub a f**king blood stain.”

The line was spoken by Al, the evil owner of the Gem Saloon, to the woman with the neurological disorder who cleans the place, after he demonstrated the proper technique to scrub a blood stain on the floor, which remained from the previous evening’s evisceration of a patron.

Peggy Noonan, who went to high school and college in New Jersey, covers the above seemingly inconcongruous topics and more in this piece, which points out why some of us who live in this part of Jersey are just a bit more frightened about terrorism than folks who live elsewhere.

Via Roberto at DynamoBuzz, an excellent Jersey Blog

TJ, husband and his mom came by for a visit and bar-b-cue. She brought this along to nibble on. She provides instructions for putting together this tasty unit here. I figure that she has her eye on Martha Stewart’s gig, knowing that Martha may soon be MIA for a while.

It was delicious, and it went particularly well with champagne. We’re veddy civilized here at the House by the Parkway.

I installed the Google Toolbar (which means that the installation is really, really easy), and so far the score is:

Google toolbar: 41
Pop-ups: 0

It’s great. You can actually see the pop-ups being zapped. Sort of like watching bugs fly into a zapper.

Oh, and it is indeed very handy when in the middle of writing something, you want to do a quick search. It is right there, and you can set it to open a new window for the search.

I’m doing a little happy dance now (not a pretty picture).

Some good news. Bogie’s got a new gig!! The bad news (for us) is that her new job will likely cut into her blogging time.

Not to worry, Bogie. We’ll keep the lights on for ya.

It looks like “Right We Are,” has bitten the dust.

Bummer.

A short while ago, I shared with you my fear of alligators. I felt no particular discomfort in making such a revelation, because being afraid of alligators hardly cuts me from the herd. This is so, because, face it, it makes sense to be afraid of animals that can grow to be eight feet long, with teeth akin to those of a T. Rex. There is no shame in being fraidy-scared of anything that can sneak up on you and turn you into brunch.

Dogs, even big ones, don’t frighten me. Snakes? No big deal. Rats, mice, raccoons, no problem. I am, however, frightened to death of crabs. I have been afraid of these ugly, disgusting creatures for as long as I can remember. Their insect-like appearance, and their sidewinding scamper, always with their loathsome claws held defiantly upward in order to bite anything in site, scares the Bejesus out of me.

I freely admit that the depth of my fear of these miserable crustaceans is not rational. After all, the worst thing that can happen as a result of an unfortunate encounter with a crab is a moderately painful bite from one of their claws. The damage is nothing in comparison to what an alligator can do. Still, the thought of grabbing one of these bug-like bastards gives me the chills.

Had I grown up in a place like Nebraska, I doubt that I would have had to confront my fear and loathing of these crawly, snapping pieces of shit very often, if at all. But growing up in New Jersey and taking annual vacations to the Jersey Shore (where crabbing is damned near a religion) provided me with plenty of opportunities to be up close to the vile creatures. Indeed these vacations often turned into an ongoing crab fest.

It seemed that every day someone (often uncles, including Cousin Jack’s dad – a crab lover extraordinaire) was either out in a rented rowboat crabbing or constantly dragging up crab traps that were tied to the dock (in those years when the family could afford to rented house a lagoon) 24 hours a day for two straight weeks.

Getting crabs out of a crab trap often results in one or more of them falling onto the dock, which for my uncle, was a genuine emergency. Having the little beasts sidestrut their way back into the water was unthinkable to him. On those occasions, my uncle, who normally moved with the speed of a tortoise, would spring into action at warp speed and with the agility of a jungle cat. “Catch him, Jimmy! He’s headed for the water!”

I’d make a show of trying to catch the fast moving, snapping beast, but I had no intention of actually touching one of those things. “Damn!” I’d say, as the crab plopped into the water. “He got away.”

If a day’s crabbing produced a couple dozen crabs, the big pot would be placed on the stove and the various spices (most of which were red) would be added to the boiling water. At that point, the very much alive and clawing crabs would be brought into the house in a crummy bushel basket and removed by my mother and uncle to be tossed live into the boiling water, a fitting end for these hateful things, I must say. My mother and uncle never missed a chance to ask me if I wanted to help. “No thanks,” I’d say, all the while thinking, ”Sure, how about I put both hands into that basket and toss the snapping bastards about as if they were some kind of salad?”

The kitchen table would be covered with newspapers and the cooked crabs, now bright red in color, would be heaped in a pile, or placed in a couple bowls. My mother and uncle would then take what seemed to be hours to eat them, and they obviously relished every morsel. To me, it was just gross. I always found something else to eat, for the thought of actually eating one of those things was revolting.

Of course, I was quite young then. I’m much, much older now, and probably a good deal wiser. I’ve changed in many ways.

However, I’m still scared of crabs, and I’d sooner eat a turd.

The author of Unbillable Hours, another Jersey lawyer blogger, attended a local meeting of the citizenry, the subject being, ““Deer In The Headlights: Pest Populations and Suburban Sprawl.” I needed a good laugh today and, his hilarious account of the meeting, as my Granny used to say, “handed me a laugh.”

I promise that it will hand you a laugh as well.

First, I would like to thank all the great folks who shared their expertise and experience with me with their comments to the previous post.

So, far, I did the CDshredder and installed Spy Blaster. Spy Blaster doesn’t find and remove bad stuff, but rather (so it says) it keeps it away in the first instance. Therefore, later tonight I will run Ad Aware to zap whatever may be sitting around. So far (fingers crossed), the only pop-up I get the one that accompanies the New York Times page. Maybe Ad Aware will zap that one. Maureen Dowd AND pop-ups. What the hell is wrong with me?

Maybe Mozilla next, but I prefer to take baby steps in these matters.

Thanks again. You guys are the best.