1. Receiving an e-mail message that opens with the salutation "Ladies,"
2. Having a colleague respond, to my off-hand comment that I could use a cup of coffee to wake me up, "Oh, pooey. That's a poopie!" in a sing-song, chipper voice.
3. Being directed to order lunch from a web site that describes its offerings as "yums," as in, "We have the gourmet yums to satisfy each unique appetite in your office." (See for yourself)

In which my irritation deepens, on account of some Scotsmen

In a day characterized by minor irritations, the most recent and hence most irritating to me, is this Belle and Sebastian CD I tried to listen to. I skimmed the rather precious liner essay entitled "The Way of The Egg," for which I have no context, but drew the line when in the song "I'm a Cuckoo," irritating in its own right for the use of the word "cuckoo," the singer proclaims that he'd rather "listen to Thin Lizzy-oh." OK, no Thin Lizzy, please. And no reference to Thin Lizzy, because the name is annoying, as well.
So, probably I'm missing the greatness of this song, and someone will write to tell me that it's post-modern and ironic, sung in the character of a certain Glaswegian stereotype that I am unable to recognize owing to my status as uninformed American jerk.

That would be a good title for an autobiography, actually: American Jerk.

Star of the day. . .R. Crumb