"I'm in hell."
-- Denis Leary, The Ref

My allergies have been in full swing. I'm allergic to everything, so I get whacked at different times by different allergens all year. Right now it's mold season, apparently. I've been taking Allegra-D every day, which always makes me think of the famous photo of the guy standing in front of the tank at Tienanmen Square: brave, but essentially irrelevant.

(The first person to point out that the tank guy wasn't irrelevant gets hurt. My immune system doesn't give a damn about sociocultural symbolism.)

I also have inhalers for sinuses and bronchi and antihistamine drops for eyes, all of which have been getting regular, grateful use. Better living through chemistry. But I'm still sniffling, itching, and wheezing my way between applications of anti-allergy stuff.

"Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."
-- Harrison Ford, Star Wars

I have battled a Bic lighter and lost. It was one of those cheap translucent ones they sell at 7-11. The wheel jammed and absolutely would not budge. This is the third time one of these suckers has pulled this stunt on me. I poked at the flint, I rolled the wheel forward, I banged it on a counter. I also tried a number of times to turn the wheel by sheer force of will, which not only didn't work but wrecked my thumb as well.

"Dammit, Indy, where doesn't it hurt?"
-- Karen Allen, Raiders of the Lost Ark

Finally I pried at the thing with a butter knife. I slid the wheel out a bit to loosen the flint, and then the wheel and the flint pinged out like bullets in a booby trap. When I recovered, I hunted around for the wheel and the flint. I didn't know whether they'd be dangerous to Cricket if she found them, and I wanted to know where they'd gone. It took a while, but I found them. That spring-loaded flint really flew. These people are serious about their trademarks.

"If I show up at your door, chances are you did something to bring me there."
-- John Cusack, Grosse Pointe Blank

Don't look at me like that. Nowhere on the label does it say anything about not prying it open with butter knives. And my thumb hurts.

I am copy-editing a teacher's manual for teaching grammar to second-graders. There is nothing more monotonous than three hundred pages of this book. The teaching method seems a little disturbing, too. Vaguely Hitler-Jugend. Ja mein Lehrer! Kids today (that timeless phrase) are clueless about grammar, so whatever we have to do to protect the next generation from apostrophe abuse is worth it. But I have to read it.

"He's the reason Cliffs Notes were invented."
-- Ethan Hawke, Reality Bites

And once again, I really need some sleep.