I spent well over an hour practicing my Rosh Hashana Torah portion, until brushette trod upon the power strip's OFF switch.
I experienced a 4.7 magnitude earthquake (Richter scale, of course) which apparently occured in Orange County yesterday while I was finishing up on the computer. No damage here.
In this too-warm house last night, forestcats and I cleaned out our Netflix stash for the first time since my father's death; in fact, one of the disks has been sitting here since then.
We watched the final episode of season three of The Sopranos, which I found to be an odd episode; I'm not sure of what the meaning was of the last few occurences. I'm looking forward to season four to see what happens.
We also finished the first disk of season one of Joan of Arcadia, which is growing on me. Call me weird, but I still prefer Wonderfalls.
Then, the disk that's been sitting here was The Quiet American with Michael Caine. This one was set in 1952 Vietnam. It's another film that seems to be stating that it's a pity that the US got involved in things there that they didn't understand; that things weren't simple or black and white, and that the Americans just couldn't see the shades of gray. I can't say that I liked the film, but I don't think it was made to be liked or not liked but to simply put forward it's subject for uncomfortable review.
My associate and his wife have asked us to join them for dinner. Originally, they planned to have a BBQ with us, but the heat precludes that.