The weekend started off with the slow, arduous process of picking my two daughters up at the airport. Their flight was supposed to come in at 12:30pm. I arrived at the airport at 11:30 and went to ticketing to get a security pass to meet my daughters at the gate. The ticketing agent informed me that the plane was delayed and wouldn't be there until 1:30. I was given a gate number but was told that it may change. So I went through security, walked down to the end of the main building, took the shuttle bus to the infamous concourse which was far and away. Once at concourse C, I discovered that they don't have arrival information on any the screens, only departure information. After wandering through the entire concourse looking for this information, I took the shuttle bus back to the main building, found a screen and was amazed and astounded to find that the gate number had changed. Armed with this new information, I hopped a shuttle bus back to concourse C and arrived just in time to meet my daughter's plane.

Well, I would have had it been there. In the span of time it took me to view the arrival information on the board in concourse A and then ride the shuttle back to concourse C, the flight information had been updated to reflect that the flight wouldn't be arriving until 6pm. Of course, this information was not easy to find. I had to ask two different counter monkeys and both seemed utterly confused about why I might be concerned about when a plane arrives. So I hopped back on the shuttle bus to the main concourse, walked back through security, went out to the parking garage and drove home.

Come five o'clock my daughter called to say that the flight had been delayed until morning but that they were putting her and her sister on another flight. Let's just say that finding the right gate was just as difficult but at least this time there were no more delays. We picked up some burritos on the way home, had a late dinner and then everyone went to bed quite exhausted. Or something like that.

Actually, what I did on Friday was stay up far too late watching bad horror movies on AMC. The latter, John Carpenter's The Fog, is entirely unworthy of comment. But the first Wes Craven's reworking of the Dracula myth, Dracula 2000.

The movie itself wasn't all that good. It wasn't extraordinarily bad, just fairly bad. But the premise was interesting. The modern tendency is create vampire stories that rework the legend in terms of biological and scientific explanations of vampirism. This film goes the other way and reworks the entire myth with religious themes. In fact, ``Dracula'' is far older than ``Dracula'', which is just one of his many names. He turns out to be none other than Judas Iscariot which explains his aversion to silver (the infamous 30 pieces) and crosses (where Jesus died). He's also hellbent on bringing eternal life (and eternal hedonism) to earth and remaking it in his image and likeness. And at the end of the film, he repents of his wickedness and dies. I can't ever recall a Dracula movie where he repents and receives forgiveness and, thus, is allowed to finally die.

With a better script, better actors and a decent budget, this could have been a great film. As it is, it's just south of mediocre. I don't recommend watching it unless you're bored out of your mind and have absolutely nothing better to do.

The painter I paid to finish painting The Headache House didn't paint the bathroom. So this project fell to me. Two different couples wanted to look at the house to possibly rent it so I decided that it was time to bite the bullet. Saturday afternoon I put down a coat of primer and one top coat. When the people came over to look at the house, I discovered that the electrical circuit that the fridge and the basement lights are on had died at some point in the past. The second couple to look at the house went to the bank to cash a check and put down a deposit. For good or for ill, the house will soon be occupied again.

I went up Sunday afternoon to put a finish layer of paint. It looks so clean and bright with the high gloss white paint. Being lazy, I didn't clean up very well after finishing the painting. I have to drive back up this coming Friday to get the first month's rent and hand over the keys to the new tenants.

Believe it or not, I've never heard Wall of Voodoo's Mexican Radio before. Stan Ridgeway has a haunting voice. But more importantly, the musicians in the band remind me vaguely of early Joy Division.

I also heard Metallica's cover of Green Hell while flipping through the channels. First, I'm a bit surprised any midwestern radio station would play any version of Green Hell. Second, while The Misfits and Metallica do share a certain attitude, their musical styles are quite different. The pop influenced punk rock song writing of the Misfits just sounds plain retarded when reworked in Metallica's trademark speed metal delivery.

Mostly, though, the radio just irritated me. I spent quite a few hours in the car and I grew tired of hearing the same songs over and over.

On Saturday night my wife had arranged a `game night' with some of her friends. She'd also invited Sonechka and Miss E, both of whom I'm always glad to have over. I suppose the evening was pleasant enough. It started with me cooking hamburgers and sausages on the grill. Then I blankly stared into the fire for a good amount of time before steeling myself up to enter the house for the party. It didn't go as badly as I feared but I still didn't really want to be there.

On the other hand, Xanthippe got completely soused. By morning she was simultaneously still tipsy and completely hung over. She felt like crap almost the entire day on Sunday.

Sunday night, other than being all to busy, was a nice quiet dinner. Sonechka came over but Miss E did not. I wish my brain had been functioning better but after two days of painting and miscellaneous stressors, I wasn't much of a conversationalist. After dinner I drove Sonechka home and went grocery shopping.

After shopping, I came home and did some work for work until I could stand to work no more, meaning that I fell asleep on the couch.