The following entry will be sprinkled with observations garnered from watching Back to the Future, which I'm doing as I write this.

Lessee, what's been going on of late. I was bad and spent more money on video game stuff, but that will get its own post later in the day. Then, probably as some kind of karmic retribution for my misguided priorities, my washing machine konks out, and I am now unable to wash clothes. This is noted here so I can beat myself up for the fates taking me to task, but also because it explains some of the BS on my Atlanta trip Tuesday, which is what I was attempting to do laundry for.

I just realized that the judge for the battle of the bands that Marty is attempting to enter is none other than a hillariously geeked up Huey Lewis.

So, Tuesday I went down to see my recently-octagenarian grandmother while she was in town, see my nephew while my mom would have something to do other than crush his spirit, and see Leslie, since I didn't go with her to the thing in New Orleeens.

Which brings me to to a side tangent - during her trip to New Orleans, or Nawlins, or Boobtown Lousiana, whatever you want to call it, the ever thoughtful Leslie got me a bottle of this. The official address on the bottle points to a more tame label, calling it simply "The Reaper," and leaving out the "that's your ass now" tagline under the name. Truth be told, it did not, in fact, make me wish I was dead, as the official site would seem to imply. It is, however, insanely hot, and beats the ever loving crap out of the Virgin Sacrifice sauce I mentioned before. Yes, it does come with a little Reaper robe. You're all jealous, it's mine, nyea nyea. Dank yoo Leslie. Someday I shall make a spicy chicken dish that will destroy humanity as we know it.

Christopher Lloyd is a damn genius. And someday I will have an entourage that includes a guy who wears crappy paper 3d glasses all the time.

Anyway, back to the documentation of the uninteresting. Tuesday, when attempting to leave for Atlanta, I found myself blocked in by fire vehicles, as apparently one of the units in the complex had, shall we say, caught fire. This was the first of many things that did not go as originally planned - which, with one exception, all broke badly. After getting underway far later than planned, I drove through the rainy mess, and was able to begin doing laundry at my parents' largely without incident.

You know, the version of "Twist and Shout" in Ferris Beuller's Day Off sounds so close to Broderick's voice, I didn't realize it was Lennon until way later. But man, that is so obviously not Michael J Fox singing "Johnny B Good", it's almost painful.

You know, my zeal for pointing out stuff about Back to the Future has surpassed my zeal for documenting the stupid crap of my week. So, I'm abandoning the plan for this entry.

There should be an award, not an annual one, but a single one for all time, that is the "Damn, damn" award. Bestowed upon Chrisopher Lloyd for, well, the "Damn. Damn damn. Double damn." scene.

[don't need no credit card to ride this train]