Ugh.

I'm commanding DMfM operations from my bed today. It's just a cold, but it's hit me hard last night, and my nose is doing an impression of a lawn sprinkler this morning.

A day of rest, and an overdose of Vitamin C, will have me back up and fighting tomorrow. The only possible side effect of too much Vitamin C, is that I'll develop a Judith Chalmers-style tan.

So, whilst I'm dealing with that, here are a couple of amusing online distractions:

Spank The Penguin
Despite its name, this isn't an eskimo porn film. You're abominable. Well, an abominable snowman, or something similar. Use your skill and judgement, to see just how far you can knock the cheery little penguin chap with your club. Animal lovers can relax, as the penguin seems to be enjoying it.

Click here to play. Thanks to DMfM Senior European Correspondent, Tim for the tip-off.

Whack-an-Oates
This isn't about Antartic explorer Captain Oates, but rather 80's popster John Oates of Hall and Oates fame.

You'll get extra points for belting guest stars such as Adam Ant, and penalised for clobbering Darryl Hall (I'm not entirely sure why that should be). Speakers/headphones are essential for the full musical experience.

Click here to play.

Sundays are a unique kind of day. A day where the pace is slower, and you take time to get stuff sorted. In my case, this often amounts to laundry. I could write a book on the perils of doing laundry in the US - most of which stem from the lack of heating elements in American washing machines.

Then there's the conundrum of the socks. I almost always wear black socks. I have many pairs. However, every time I do laundry, I end up with at least five non-matching black socks. They're different material, different lengths, different thickness, different patterns (all black-on-black though). My current theory is that some of the socks are changing their appearance, shape-shifting if you will, so they don't match their partner, and find themselves carefree and single when they exit the washing machine. Bastards. It's a conspiracy, I'm sure of it.

Sundays are also renowned for good TV. I have recently become hooked on soon-to-be-over TV show, Sex And The City.

It's just typical of me, to get into a show as it's about to come to an end. I had HBO for a few months last year, but never watched SATC, assuming (stupidly) that it was the televisual equivalent of a "chick flick". Of course, were I still living in Britain, I would have been able to watch the series for free, (I think on Channel4) but in the US, you have to subscribe to HBO to see it. I don't, but I have a number of friends who do. What better excuse do you need to get together and eat chip & salsa?

Whilst it is entirely from the female perspective, it's also entirely watchable by penis-owners, provided they're humour-enabled. The style of the show is somewhat reminiscent of the (I believe British-funded) TV adaptation of Armistead Maupin's, "Tales of the City". Another delightfully fresh bit of American television. And let's face it, when you're bombarded with trailers for reality TV show after reality TV show, something like SATC is a breath of fresh air.

You can read the plot of the show via the link. The city in question is New York, and like a lot of things in such a show, it is given a glossy coat and a positive spin. That's OK though, because this isn't a gritty documentary about real lives in Manhattan, it's a comedy.

The show's detractors seem to have forgotten this. Reading viewer comments, on IMDB, it seems that a lot of people have forgotten, or more likely are too stupid to realise, that it's a work of fiction, a comedy, a half-hour distraction from our own lives.

Yes, the characters are a little shallow, materialistic, and obsessed with sex, but hey honey, this is America! Who isn't!?

The writing is good. The comedy is gentle. There's no laugh track (or should that be laff-trac ?) - always a sign of good quality comedy, when they don't feel the need to point out where you should be laughing. It is perfect Sunday night escapism.

Each episode is narrated by the main character, Carrie Bradshaw - a newspaper columnist - who's narration is put across as "what she's writing about this week". Thus we have numerous scenes at the ends of episodes, where she's typing away into her Apple Powerbook, and the camera closes up on the laptop's screen, showing the words as she types them. It's all very Dougie Hauser.

The "Carrie writes something cute" bits have fired me up to write more. My problem is that for the past two weeks (and the forthcoming two weeks) I've been working between 10 and 13 hours a day, at the day job. So it's now the "more-than-just-the-day job" I've also been working Sundays. So as fired up as Carrie might have made me feel, when I get home at 9 or 10pm every night, I have barely enough energy to do anything other than crash.

I guess the single socks will have to find their...err... sole-mate, on their own.

Five more, over-exposed irritations, currently showing on the boob-tube:

6. "Must See TV" - besides the sheer slimyness of this rhyme, the fact that they include Will & Grace under this banner must surely invalidate the claim that this is unmissable television? Will and Grace was marginally funny for a short while, but now the same jokes (week after week after week) are all worn through. The show's entire humourous premise is that the two guys are gay, and Karen has a whiny voice (mind you so does Grace). Well, isn't that just hysterical. Wake me when it's over.

7. "Ripped From the Headlines" - Every bloody week, we're repeatedly told that Law & Order's storyline is "ripped from the headlines". As a BBC News reader, I'm expecting the next episode to feature a plot, were the US President and his cronies, invent a need to go to war, to distract everyone from the dire state of the economy, and to give a boost to their buddies in the arms and oil industries.

8. The ER Trailer Voiceovers - it seems like every week, we're being told that, "This is the episode that changes everything", or, "Nothing will be the same". What's that about? I mean, they work in an Emergency Room. Just how easily shocked can anyone in their profession be?

Abby: What the hell is that? Dr Carter: Oh my God! I think it's a nosebleed! This changes everything!

9. Pick-up Truck Commercials - Contrary to what the advertisers will have us believe, America is not a nation of muscular, but educated lumberjacks, who's everyday commuting involves carrying large logs over rocky and mountainous terrain. 80% of people who buy pick-ups are white-collar junior executives, who's best shot at feeling manly, is to drive one of these trucks, in the hope that people will think they do something rugged and worthwhile with their lives.

10. The Kar Guy - advertising public car auctions. I thought I was going mad for a while, then I realised that it wasn't just in my imagination, they really were running two adverts in every commercial break, for this fake talk-radio character. I'm skeptical about buying a car at an auction anyway, without spokesman being some guy who looks like a pro darts player.

Bonus Item

11. The Apprentice I'd be remiss if I didn't mention this. The trailers for this "Reality TV for Republicans" show have been aired to death for the past month or two. On the upside, it's not quite a vile and scary-looking as Fear Factor, well, unless you count Donald's comb-over.

OK, list time. Today, it's a list of the people, characters, or commercials, I'm really done with. The over-exposed, limited-appeal faces and phrases, that I really have had enough of seeing, every time I turn on the television.

I've already covered some of my continuity announcement and TV advert pet-hates, where voice-over guys butcher the English language, as if they were working in Dewhursts, so we'll skip those previous examples.

I'll write a nice piece about fluffy bunnies another day, but for now, let's get cracking with the first five:

The List

1. Ben Stiller - sorry, but playing every role as 'angry/on the verge of an annurism' isn't that great an acting range. The new movie looks like a remake of his old movie. I am so tired of his limited performances, and I really can't see why he continues to be popular. Pushy, loud-mouthed obnoxiousness, just isn't part of my culture, which might explain why I also can't stand Jim Carey, Adam Sandler, and Jim Bruer.

2. Sandra Bullock - waaaay too many teeth for a human. Waaay too many of her movies being shown on network television right now. Is it just me, or does her minimalist acting ability make her the female Keanu Reeves? She's so unconvincing, and lacking of any real feeling, on screen, she's like the actor-equivalent of Celine Dion.

3. The Arby's Oven Mitt character - I can't believe someone got paid an actual salary, and didn't get fired, after coming up with a talking oven mitt. Worse yet, a talking oven mitt, with a smart mouth. To make matters even worse, the mitt's voice and character has all the appeal of Scrappy-Doo.

4. Frank Azar - Ambulance-chaser, lawyer and roasted peanut look-a-like. Frank's adverts have gone from bad to worse lately. The latest batch, have people - claiming to be former clients - thrusting their fists towards the camera, with computer-animated dollar amounts, grafted into their hands, to show us just how much money Frank got them. Nothing says, "Proud to be an American" like suing someone, when bad things happen. Of course what they don't mention is how much (probably a good 40 or 50%) of the settlement, that Mr Peanut-head gets.

5. The Yoplait Yoghurt Bimbos -You know the dizzy airheads I'm talking about. They lounge around, creaming themselves over how good their yoghurt is. "Private Island Good", "I'd Like To Thank The Economy Good", etc. I mean, if the orgasmic height of your day is a pot of yoghurt, you really need to start getting out more. Hell, if the highlight of your meal is the yoghurt, you're not doing the whole lunch thing right.

See part 2, tomorrow.

So, I'm minding my own business, picking up some food basics, like milk and eggs, in the new Super Target (yes, you can't just call it Target, after they spent all that money on brighter lighting), and I'm stood at the checkout.

The woman in front of me engages the cashier in conversation, and she punctuates her sentences with nervous laughter. Then it suddenly hits me, where I'd heard that laugh before... Janice on Friends. It was exactly like it. I'd always assumed the whole "Janice's laugh" was just a fictional thing.

I think it was Basil Fawlty who once described that kind of laugh as sounding like, "someone machine-gunning a seal".

Upon hearing of the last-minute cancellation of my trip home ot the UK for Christmas, John (in Brizzle) managed to get (with less than a week to go) a Christmas present ordered and delivered before Christmas Day.

This included a map of the Internet - handy for us web designers as it shows just where all our hard work is ending up.

It also included a rather geeky coffee cup. The joke is a Unix one:

For those non-Unix people out there, system devices are referenced (on the Unix command line) as /dev/name - where name is the device concerned. So this is usefully informing me that the device in my hand is a mug.

So far, I've only been able to pipe a latté into it.

Incidentally, my roommate, also quick on the last-minute present provision front, bought me a stainless steel jug for steaming milk.

All I need now is a tattoo and an Arts degree, and can start pretending to be a Barista.

OK, so my posts of late have been few and far between. Why? A hectic social life? Well, OK partly. Mostly, however, it's been work.

Case in point. Right now, it's 1.18am. Do you know where your Max is?

He's hunched over a Macintosh, producing animated web ad server banners for such exotic subjects as "e-Statements" and "Instant Loan Approval".

Yes, it's the glamourous world of the website designer.

Still, it's beats the hell out of:

• Being unemployed
• My old job, writing tedious software for ungrateful travel agents

And believe me, even after six months of this job, I still remember how awful it was being out of work, and how relieved I was to finally get offered not only a job, but a job I enjoy, in a whole new field of IT.

I'm also painfully aware of several friends who have recently found themselves out of work. I've been through that, and it's not fun.

After all that, and as if I wasn't already grateful enough for finally having paid employment again, our downtown Denver office is right next to the block where several of Denver's homeless hostels and shelters are. So my drive to work, out at lunch time, and home every day, shows me just how bad things could be.

By the way, "Workin'" is the title of a Miles Davis album. It's playing on my stereo, right now. Click on the link to go to a page where you can here samples of it.

OK, so it's the middle of the day here in Denver, and it's -2ºF. That's about -19ºC, xx Kelvin, or Gas Mark -3 for thirty minutes.

My instant message client has folks in California bemoaning the fact that it's only 47ºF there. Well, cry me a river, it's bellow frickin' zero here! To use a British expression, it's so cold, I just saw a brass monkey carrying a welding rod.

Talking of weather, could someone please tell those idiots at Fox31 that we don't need them telling us what the weather was like that day, we've been through it. Telling us what's already happened is just filling time before the next important story about the sodding Broncos. Furthermore, when they do finally give us their best guess at what the weather might be like tomorrow, it's called a forecast, not a futurecast, as the trained weather himbos of Fox seem to think.

The best thing to do, in such chilly weather, is to stay in. The problem with staying in, is your mind starts wandering.

I'm toying with getting laser eye surgery, but only so I can shoot laser bolts out of my eyes.

If it works, I'm hoping to use my powers for good.

Happy New Year to all DMfM readers.

So here we go again. Another new year.

As I walked drunkenly home from a quiet New Year's Eve party at the house I used to own in Wash Park, I contemplated the start of a new year, and the passing of an old one.

2003 was a turbulent year, with many changes, for the world, for the US, and for all of us. With luck the US is coming (albeit slowly) out of recession, and the economy is improving.

Walking down that frosty street, at two in the morning, my heart was filled with hope, and my veins with fat tire beer and whisky.

There are trials and tribulations no doubt still ahead for all of us, but right then I felt like sticking my chin out, and saying, "Come on life... give it your best shot. I dare you, no I double-dog dare you.." It was good to feel defiant for the first time in a long time.

Good luck to you all in 2004.

Update
The exertions of the night didn't hit me the straight away, but instead waited a day, and hit me today. I went to bed at 1 or 2am or so, and woke up at just before 4pm! This from a man who normally has 4-5 hours sleep! Luckily I had a day off work, but what a waste of a day :(

As I mentioned the other week, I was unable to travel home to Britain for Christmas.

True to the same great American spirit of welcoming strangers (I'm talking about the spirit of the nation, not the current administration, here), also seen at Thanksgiving, my friends in Denver rallied around and made sure I didn't have a moment to think about my predicament.

I shalln't go into the everyday details of my Christmas. You all know what goes on, breakfast, presents, friends, dinner, drink, etc.

On Christmas Eve afternoon, Miles excitedly jumped into the truck, an eager look in his eye, as he faced the prospect of going somewhere exciting with me. Sure enough, within minutes, he found himself at an off-leash dog park.

A few of his regular doggie friends were there, and he lost no time in convincing the nearest owner of a frisbee, that he was a far better retriever of such toys, than their own dog would ever be.

After a quick play, he eagerly leapt back into the truck, convinced that we were no doubt going on to an even more exciting venue. Maybe we'd be going to a dog-food tasting or a Milk Bone and butt-sniffing party.

Sadly for him, his joy was short-lived. He managed still to look eager, as he leapt out of the truck, but in his heart, he knew the smells and sounds all too well. It may have been a different place to our usual one, but it was nonetheless, a laundromutt.

Laundromutts are a great idea. On the face of it, paying someone to allow you to wash your own dog, sounds like a dumb idea, but in reality, it makes a lot of sense. Certainly, if you've ever tried to bathe a 100lb dog in your own bath, you'll know what I mean.

The facilities at laundromutt include baths that are at waist-height, a series of short leashes - to keep your pooch still, and leave you both hands free - and a trigger-released shower.

At this new place, the assistant questioned me about Miles, and what kind of scent would suit him best. What she really meant was, what kind of scent would suit me best. If it were left up to Miles, he'd be picking beef-in-gravy scented bath oil, with cat-shit conditioner.

Miles, despite being born in America, always exhibits a very "British stiff upper lip" when facing such adversity as having a bath. He stands there, stoically as he's lathered up with shampoo, and then later on, conditioner, looking off into the middle distance, like Montgomery surveying the troops in El Alamein. There's no way he's going to let on his true feelings about being covered in sweet-smelling suds show through.

Once the bathing is done, comes the bit he really isn't keen on. the hairdryer. Laundromutts all seem to be equipped with hairdryers manufactured by Lockheed Martin.

To visualise what I'm talking about, imagine a small jet engine, bolted to a bench, with a vacuum cleaner hose attached to the exhaust.

Miles' stiff upper-lip quivered as he heard the dryer powering up. He hopes above all hope, that it's just a nearby jet fighter, on its way to bomb the people who invented baths for dogs, but in his heart, he knows what's coming.

At the end of it all though, he both looked and smelt fabulous. This was just as well, as that very evening, we had a joint invite to dinner.

It was all part of the concerted effort by friends and acquaintances to keep me busy over the Christmas period. A great evening was had, eating, drinking, and talking. Miles made friends with the two beagles there, and a visiting Jack Russell - appropriately, the Jack Russell was called Mini.

I'm still not sure whether it was my dancing or the beagles' howling, later in the evening, that caused Miles to go nutso, running around in circles, jumping on, off, and over the sofa. For a second I worried about him, but our eyes met as he whizzed around the room, and the look said, "Dad, this is fun!". A great evening was had by all.