Personal, not professional.

For various reasons, I've become reacquainted with Felix the Cat lately.

Felix was my favorite cartoon when I was a kid. As I recall, Felix came on either just before or just after my afternoon nap. Either way, I was in a receptive state for his Bag Of Tricks, the antics of Master Cylinder, and Poindexter. It wasn't until later, in college, that I discovered Felix's roots in 1920's silent films and fell totally in love with the weird, surreal cartoons from that time. "Felix In Hollywood", where our hero dances with Charlie Chaplin, is a classic.

Anyway. Felix has an online presence, including a Felix store. I'm thinking I may have to get me a couple o' Felix T-shirts or some Felix Christmas ornaments. The Bag of Tricks is so far not available for retail sale.

In other cat news, the Hello Kitty phone, while a nice shade of pink and a cute imitation of those old Princess phones GE used to rent (and which I coveted for several months when I was nine), is a total loss in the operation department. Not only are the buttons on the outside of the receiver, which means I dial 911 by mistake while I'm on the phone and chopping vegetables, but the sound quality sucks rocks. There's also one huge button right in the middle of the phone, which on any other phone would be the pick-up/hang-up button, but which on this phone does nothing much. The pick-up/hang-up button is a small button to the right of that one. It's impossible to find in the dark.

I'm thinking the Hello Kitty phone may have to be consigned to the Goodwill pile.

The Happy Fitness Person was quite kind to me today, making me do only about fifty minutes of hideous exercises instead of my usual fifty-eight, because I had to make a diving catch on Saturday to keep a patient from falling on the floor. The upside to the stiff back and sore neck I have today is this: had I not spent the last umpty-ump months lifting weights, I would've been actually, no-joke injured. And so would the patient. As it is, I'm stiff and wanting a massage and some Flexeril, but I'm unhurt. As is the patient.

Speaking of which, I can now see my lats if I flex them.

Yes, I occasionally flex in front of the mirror. Along with pulling at the corners of my eyes to see how I'd look if I were Fu Manchu, dancing in front of said mirror while singing into my toothbrush (I do a legendary "My Sharona"), and lip-synching along with the NPR station breaks as I put on eyeliner.

Plus, I've lost five pounds in two weeks by following the No-Crap Diet. That's a tough one for a nurse, as it precludes such vending machine delicacies as White Castle Burgers (which are the same whether you buy them in the restaurant, from a vending machine, or unearth them in a pyramid), Butterfingers, and fries. Chef Boy asked if "no crap" included "no beer" and I said no, because I don't drink crappy beer. Besides which, beer is--and here I can see Shrimplate nodding--one of the four basic food groups, up there with poutine, homegrown tomatoes, and good dark chocolate.

I will not be appearing at the AANN conference in a burgundy bikini, though.