Why didn't God let me look like this?

My first question is if you merely read a blog but don't actually add to a blog, which makes you a blogger, are you a bloggist? Just a question.

The second question on my mind is how is it that one person is born and looks like Bryan, who is pictured here on the left, while others are born and look like me (see photos above). It's just grossly unfair.

It's raining like mad tonight and I am sitting in front of the computer convinced that my basement will flood and wash the house down the street. It's highly doubtful that this will happen and what is really strange is that I think that on some level it would be pretty cool if it actually did. I am envisioning this whole raining for 40 days and 40 nights thing with Bryan and me floating around the midwest in my house. It wouldn't be so bad if we still had electricity and food and the dog learned to never ever go to the bathroom again......but oh well.

As far as biblical catastrophes go, I don't think the flood thing is the worse. I wouldn't mind being trapped in a floating house as long as I landed somehwere nice. My luck being what it is I would probably land somewhere in Michigan - and for those of you know how I feel about Michigan, this is not a good thing. It would be beautiful, though, if the house took float and followed some mystical path to a whole other world. Im not talking about munchkins or hobbits or anything like that - and to this point don't you think it's strange that when other people fantasize about other worlds everyone is so damn short - in my fantasy world the house lands somewhere near Sweden and it is populated by very tall good looking men resembling Jude Law.

So, you see, the house is floating away down the street and I am sitting on the sofa and I look outside and I see all these things passing me by and I don't even care. I would make a few phone calls though. I'd call Rachel and tell her that the end was near and that we would now really find out what happens to Jewish people when they die. I might possibly call my mother who would categorically deny that my house was floating away all the while she'd be treading water in her living room as the flood waters consumed her, my father and all of the religous artifacts that decorate their home (where's your messiah now?).

Now we've floated east, past downtown (where, oddly, no one is doing anything to stem the flood. In fact, people are cheering as the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame slowly disappears from view and the Browns stadium collapses) and the flood waters pick up some speed and we past Erie and Buffalo and start a course for New York. Bryan asks as we round the bend near Albany, do we have enough chocoalte to last the voyage to which I snidely reply, cram it.

Now we're somewhere in the Atlantic and I think maybe we can hit Italy in a few days, so I call my aunts in Rome and ask them if they are flooded too. They laugh and tell me that no, it isn't flooded and even if it were it would be Roman water and there's no water in the world like Roman water. So, cool, we're headed to Italy. Will I need my passport or will the sight of a floating cape cod style house washing up on the shores of Ostia be odd enough for the Italians to just say come on in.

The rain has let up for real outside and I don't think the house will float away tonight. Which, sadly enough, means I have to go to work tomorrow. But really, if your house could float away, where would you want to go?