On Tuesday night, Casey and I went to see another taping of CMT's Crossroads. This time it was John Mayer and Brad Paisley, and surprisingly -- to me, at least -- Casey knew more about the country artist than I did. I mean, I've heard of Brad Paisley, but I couldn't tell you what he sings or who he's married to. Casey knew the latter, and when he closed the show with a more uptempo tune, Casey said, "This must be 'Celebrity.'" Which is was.

Unlike last time, I'm not going to post my comments -- my "review" -- of the show just yet. I'll be talking a lot about what likely won't make it on camera, and some stuff that will, so I don't want to jump the gun. I probably shouldn't have been so detailed with the Dave Matthews/Emmylou Harris post, but I got lucky. So once we get the official airdate (sometime in May) and maybe after I get the advance copy of the rough cut I'll paste my thoughts into this little white box wherein we write our entries on Diaryland.

ESPN.com had a great prank for today, and I went along with it. Turns out that they're not sending anyone anywhere, nor giving anyone a computer, but they will post the funniest entries on the site tomorrow. If they post it, maybe I'll show you. If they don't, maybe I'll include it here tomorrow.

If there was ever a cause I could get behind, it is this one.

I'm not a coffee drinker, but as someone who occasionally is entrusted with making the coffee purchases for others, I see no reason why I -- a non-coffee drinker -- must be discriminated against because I cannot simply order a "small," "medium" or "large" cup. Starbucks -- and all coffee shops, really -- are unfamiliar territory for me. I literally feel uncomfortable in them. In California last month, mere hours after we'd landed, Casey and I went into a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in Santa Monica after lunch. She ordered something; I, of course, didn't. But I didn't know where to stand, and I ended up in the area where the employees take your orders. Their signs aren't prominently displayed, I must say.

"What can I get for you?" the woman asked. Flustered, I looked up, down, around, then back at her and stammered, "Uh ... nothing. Sorry ... I'm just standing in the wrong place."

No one else was in the store, but that doesn't matter. I was made to feel inferior! DISCRIMINATION!

I'm only ordering drinks in "small," "medium" or "large" no matter where I am, that's what I'm going to do.

Wow, Thursday already. And it's nearly gone. We're supposed to have dinner with one of Casey's co-workers. Haven't heard the official word on that. I suppose it's happening.

Something weird is going on with me lately. I'm not sure what it is. After the taping Tuesday night, I was exhausted and didn't get the best night's sleep. Yesterday afternoon, I faded and barely made it through the last 90 minutes of work. At home, I felt off, even a little under the weather. I didn't have a fever or sore throat or stuffy nose or anything like that. I felt the slightest bit cloudy in my head, groggy, with a weird taste and feeling in my mouth and sinuses. It's back again this afternoon. What is up with that? Later tonight -- if today goes as yesterday did -- I'll feel fine, and I'll probably sleep fine, as I did last night with the fan trained on us (the Sauna Effect has taken hold again in our apartment). But what the hell is going on?

Our deadbeat neighbors -- the ones who never do anything around the house to keep it even moderately clean -- have, the last two weeks, thrown out large, bulky, heavy things. Our trash situation at the house involves three cans just off the front porch, which on Monday and Thursday nights must be dragged maybe 20 feet to the curb. It's my job on Thursdays. When Miguel lived downstairs, he took care of it on Mondays. But he left and for three weeks -- until I called the landlord to say no one else was helping -- I put out the trash both nights each week. So he said he'd do it on Mondays (I said I had Thursdays because, I figured, that Monday included four days for trash to pile up vs. three days for Thursday night and there might be more trash from weekends than weekdays).

But last Thursday, there was a huge, bulky, heavy clear plastic bag filled with all kinds of crap that had it weighing maybe 20 or 30 pounds. And it wouldn't fit in any of the trash cans, so I had to haul the sopping wet (it was raining) bag across the lawn to the curb. I strained my back trying to keep the bag from touching me and sopping my pants.

Yesterday, I noticed that there's a large cardboard box and a wooden tabletop resting near the trash cans. So I wrote a note addressed "Dear neighbors" asking that if they had bulky, heavy or unweildy trash that didn't fit into the cans if they'd take them out the curb themselves, adding that I'm the only one in the house who takes out the trash or shovels the sidewalk and a little cooperation would be appreciated. I placed one copy on the inside of the main door and another above the washing machine.

This morning, when I moved my car for Casey to leave, the one on the back of the door had already been torn down. And Casey said the front door was wide open, which tells me it was the Succubus upstairs who took the note, because she's the one with the history of not locking the door, and the wind blew it open. Bitch. And I know it wasn't the woman on the first floor because she hadn't left yet (I saw her leave later), and the Troll in the basement uses her own door at the back of the house (hence my note over the washer).

I'm going on strike as the garbageman. I'll take out the cans tonight, but not the (now soaked) cardboard box or the tabletop. And if I wake up Tuesday morning next week and have to rush the trash to the curb again, the landlord's getting another call. Or I won't even take it out on Tuesday morning, then I'll call him saying someone didn't do it again, and he can do it all on Thursday.

God I hate these people.

OH! Damn, South Park was funny last night. Particularly the telephone exchange between Cartman and Stan -- who didn't realize they were talking to one another -- challenging one another to fight in Bring It On-speak. The best was Cartman: "Oh, it's already been brought. I brought it, put it on the table, and opened it -- bitch!"