In which Jim becomes James Bond in his dreams

If it's called Windows Media Player, why doesn't it play media? And speak not to me of iTunes. I'm sure it's the perfectest of programs on a Mac, but on any PC I've ever used it on, it's a resource hog that hangs up like a scrat-scrat-scrat-scrat-scrat-scratchy 45. And hangs up the rest of the computer with it. And speak not to me of buying a Mac, either. I'm not a Windows apologist by any means, but I'm on a budget, and I have a functioning PC, so there's no need to make the switch. (And Macs, despite their fanboys' cultlike fervor, are not in fact immune to problems. Seen it too many times with my own eyes to believe in their perfection.)

No reason for that rant, really. Call it blogger's Tourette's.

I don't know what's become of my brain (he wrote, joining a club that the rest of humanity has been a member of for decades). I can't seem to dream anything that doesn't end with me waking up panting, heart pounding, as if I were Luke Skywalker and I'd just swung my sister across that conveniently located break in the Death Star's crosswalk. (Yes, I'm rewatching the movie. First time in years.Unfortunately, the Tivo'ed copy is the enhanced version, and even though I'm not a fanboy, the sight of the new stuff ruins the vibe of the original.) And here's the kicker: Sometimes, it's some weird, "don't mess up or you'll die" episode, and other times it's a fight at Wal-Mart over a bicycle they said I bought as-is, and I said I bought still under warranty. Oh, how I wish I were making that last part up.

All of that makes for some un-restful nights, and I'm not the most restful of sleepers in the first place. Makes for some grainy-nerved mornings, too. And I can't blame George Lucas for the dreams, either. It started before I began my rewatching.

The wrapup on the comedy pieces--which I'm going to finish, I promise--is going to have to wait until my brain ceases running the equivalent of foreign, un-subtitled, horror flicks.

Moving on, I'm still scanning old pictures, and I'm still being amazed by what people pick out of those old pics. For one, it doesn't matter if there's only an elbow visible, somebody will recognize it, just as we used to do with annuals in high school. (You may have called them yearbooks. In Samson, Alabama, back in the Mesozoic Era, they were annuals.) "That's Uncle Gene's elbow!" "I see Aunt Myrtice's earlobe! I'll always remember it, because it looked like a drawing of Idaho, only slightly out of proportion."

Secondly, you never know what will engender the memories in a picture. The picture might be of a preadolescent band of young'uns, something just tailor-made to stir memories of the time you all went roller-skating at Bobby's birthday party and Regina fell and broke her during the girls' skate. But instead of broken limbs, all anybody can talk about is the old Volkswagen station wagon that the young'uns are leaning against.

Moving on, given the name of this blog, you'll understand why this news story reminds me of Nicolas Cage telling a convenience-store clerk, "Wake up, Son" and "I'll be taking these Huggies, and whatever cash you got."

Authorities in Washington state say a couple were so determined to make off with merchandise without paying that a security guard who tried to stop them got punched.

The loot that was so important to the couple was a package of disposable diapers — $18 worth of diapers.

Spokane County Sheriff's Sgt. Dave Reagan says a security guard tried to stop the pair as they walked out of a Safeway on Saturday with the diapers in their cart.

Reagan says the man yelled "sorry" and then punched the guard in the face.

I think the robber who said he was sorry may have been in Dutch with the wife.

Not that I condone robbery, of course, but I can commiserate when it comes to the high cost of diapers. Jacob has started sleeping in overnight-style diapers, a sentence I guess Strunk & White would tell me to rewrite to, "The Lovely Missus has started putting Jacob in overnight-style diapers." But I never read Strunk & White, and now it turns out that might be a good thing. And I'm always amazed at the amount of weight those overnighters can absorb in fluids. I pick Jacob up in the morning, and it's like his center of gravity has shifted lower than a Weeble's.

Other duties intrude, so I'll cease rambling. Sorry for the incoherence. I blame it on that mean Wal-Mart clerk. Because I'm telling you, I wouldn't have bought the bike without a warranty!