As the weather gets colder, I’ve run into a bit of a problem. Last year, and for several years before that, I had my wonderful Columbia Sportswear jacket to keep me warm in winter. The problem is that I lost the (awesomely warm-keeping) liner portion early this year. (I forgot it at a restaurant. By the time I called, it was gone. Argh.) The shell portion of the jacket by itself makes a good rain guard and a mediocre windbreaker, but even combined with the best sweater I have doesn’t make a very warm coat.

So, finally, this evening I went to Burlington Coat Factory to see if I could scrounge a decent winter coat that I could afford. All of the wool-type coats I tried didn’t fit in one fashion or another. It was a case of too much shoulder, too much sleeve, not enough room inside, or some combination thereof. In the next aisle over, however, I found a selection of trenchcoats. The very first one I tried on fits perfectly, looks pretty good on me, sports a detachable liner, is comfy as all get-out… and only cost $50. Score!

In related news, I was a very very good boy when we (Lil’ & Geoffrey & Angst) were at Best Buy (picking up a cheap little digital camera for Angst’s birthday). I looked at, but did not buy, a boxed set of anime that I’ve been considering picking up. I resisted temptation even though the sticker price was only about 3/4 the list price I’ve seen online! Go, me!

I’ll get the hang of this fiscal responsibility nonsense yet, dammit.

I’m posting this as something of a reminder to a later Me who peruses the journal archives at random, possibly searching for entries on the topic of food.

Hey, Me: When you think about what a neat idea meatloaf is in principle, try to keep in mind the old axiom that “In theory, there’s no difference between theory and practice, but in practice there is.” The theory behind meatloaf sounds appealing, but in practice it’s almost always underwhelming.

Keep this in mind when shopping in the future, won’t you? Your taste buds and digestive tract thank you in advance.

Well, I was indeed able to talk the boys into a round of Mille Bornes. The three of them clocked over 4500 points (toward a goal of 5000) by game’s end. Me? 3500. Then we played Carcassonne. The three of them racked up respectable scores. Me? I had seven points on the board until game’s end, at which point my partials got me up to about 40 points.

See, you definitely want to play games with me; I’m quite good at making sure other people win, and I still enjoy the game for the experience itself so while I may show some disappointment I don’t bring the whole party down because of it.

Still, it’d be nice to win on occasion…

Don’t ask me what got into my head, but I’ve spent most of the afternoon so far in a minor frenzy of cleaning my room. I’ve rearranged, sorted, junked and tidied. I also found something I totally forgot I still had. (Granted, with my faculties, that just means it’s been a few months since I re-re-re-discovered it, but anyway.)

I found the old Mille Bornes game box that has been in my possession since Mom and I parted ways. Seriously. The box even has the old scoresheet that my sister and I recorded a few games on, way back when we were youngsters. Along with cribbage and Easy Money (a Monopoly knock-off that Sis loved and I feared, mainly because she won almost every game), Mille Bornes is one of those games that defined “play time” in our house.

Parker Bros. released the “French Card Game,” Mille Bornes, back in the 1950s. The premise is fairly straightforward: Each player starts with a hand of cards, including milestones, hazards, safeties and repairs. The goal is to reach 1000 miles, while preventing other players from doing the same. It’s playable by 2, 3, 4 or 6 people, in partnerships if they so choose.

I think I’ll see if the Sunday evening crowd is interested… hmmm…

I’ve figured out one cost-cutting method that Tri-Met is, apparently, putting into action. They’re eliminating one bus at random from the morning commute schedule. Clever!

I got out to the bus stop this morning a full five minutes before the bus I wanted was due to pass a stop five blocks back up the line. My network-synchronized timepiece read twenty two minutes past the hour. I figured I had it made, with enough time to stop for breakfast downtown and get to work pretty darned close to “on time.”

Twenty eight minutes later, during a time of morning in which a bus is scheduled to come along about every twelve minutes, a bus finally arrived: a bus that was too full to accept more passengers! Three minutes after that came a nearly empty bus, precisely on time… for the third bus I should have seen that morning. Wait-a-minute. A bus seems to have gone missing!

This would just be an infuriating start to an otherwise infuriating day but for the fact that this has happened to me not just once, not even twice, but three times in the last month and a half. TriMet? You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do…

The better part of five days later, and I’m still out of sorts. Why does one hour’s difference in the schedule of things throw me off so badly? It’s not like I have all that regular of a sleep schedule to begin with.

I intend to spend a lot of my weekend resting up so I’m good for next week, ‘cause this week? Shot to hell. At close range. With a large-caliber weapon. Then kicked around for a bit, just for good measure.

Bleah.