One day at work this week, I wrote myself a list of mundane things to do this weekend, so I wouldn't just sit around drinking. I actually looked at it on getting up (noon), and thought about what to do with myself. I did go to the gym, dye my hair and shower, make cookies, and clean out the mini-fridge in the barn in preparation for band practice. I was then reminded that the barn itself is colder than a refrigerator can be, and that it's wasteful to run a device when it's not necessary. I hate winter; I wish it were always between forty-five and seventy degrees. That would count as seasons, right? I felt resentful of the advice, so I filled the sparkling-clean fridge with beers and ginger ale and left it unplugged. Okay, okay, fine. I concede, electricity judges. I wish Rock of Love Bus were on now. That always makes me feel better.