Maybe it's because the weather outside is frightful, but I've had Bob in my head for the last couple of days.

"Buckets of rain, buckets of tears
Got all these buckets coming out of my ears....

Life is sad, life is a bust,
all you can do, is do what you must
you do what you must do, and you do it well,
I'd do it for you
Honeybaby can't you tell."

McCartney's Wife Heather Mills Pregnant
May 28, 11:33 AM (ET)

LONDON (AP) - Heather Mills, wife of former Beatle Paul McCartney, is pregnant with the couple's first child, their spokesman said Wednesday.

In a brief statement, the couple said "we are delighted with this happy news."

Mills, a 34-year-old former model who lost a leg in a motorcycle accident and raises money for children disabled in war, married McCartney at an Irish castle in June 2002.

The spokesman, speaking on condition of anonymity, said the baby is due later this year. He did not say what month.

The child will be the first for Mills, who was married briefly in 1989. McCartney, 60, has three adult children, Stella, Mary and James, and a stepdaughter, Heather, from his marriage to his first wife, Linda McCartney, who died in 1998 from breast cancer.

Three months ago, Mills said in a television interview she feared she would never have a child because of a series of health problems, including cancer and two ectopic pregnancies.

"The chances of me getting pregnant are about that much," she said, holding up her thumb and finger an inch apart.

Which is, after all, as much as I am willing to do: a little. A very little.

First, big shout out to those of you who signed the guest book. It made me happy. You see, despite what the critics say, it does take so very, very little to make me happy. And if you haven't signed yet, why not?

Next, a big ole happy birthday to Bob Dylan, who turned 62 on Saturday. Bob, what's up with you? You never call, you never write, and after all the years we've been together, if only in my dreams... Bob, you'll be back here in July, don't let a little thing like we've never actually met stop you from coming to dinner this time.

And then, to the lovely folks from Emily's List, I told you if you'd stop calling me to ask for money, I'd give you a link on my personal web site. You said you'd take it. Here it is. Over there. In the blogrolling section, even though you are a leftie-pinko-feminist-liberal organization (just my sort, dontchaknow) and not, to be pedantic about it, strictly speaking, a blog.

And finally, to my cousin Barry, a huge thank you for enabling me, through your connection to the film industry, to have a Bacon rating of 3 degrees of separation.

Oh, come on, people, I know you're out there. I know you're reading this blog: I can read the WebTrends reports as well as anybody. Some of you even make comments. So why won't you sign my cheesy guest map? Please? It'll make me happy. You want me to be happy, don't you?

Right. Didn't think so. How could I be this bitter, sarcastic and generally snarky if I were happy? Well, there's only one way to find out. Sign the freakin' map.

Thanks, and have a nice day. (Insert wretched little smiley face icon here)

I had this dream last night where I was preparing dinner at someone's house: a dinner party. And I was roasting meat, or trying to. But the woman's husband had reset their oven to baud rate instead of degrees farenheit. So whereas I thought I was roasting at a certain temp, I was, instead only working at about 140 degrees.

Maybe I'm having these kinds of dreams because Marc and I have been listening to an audio book of Steven Hawking's "The Universe in a Nutshell."

Or not.

I take the train to work every day (and, by extension, home) and there seems to be no low to which my fellow passengers will not sink. I'm almost immune to the shrieking into their cellphone people, and the packs of wild teenagers who go to the art school downtown. Truth be known, I'm fond of those kids: they make me smile.

But yesterday morning was just appalling. And me without my camera. There sat a young adult male in a business suit and his skanky girlfriend, and she was picking at his zits for him while he sat there and took it. On the train. In full view of all other passengers.

Once more, I must ask: Have you no dignity? Have you no concept of social proprieties? Have you no boundaries?

STOP THAT RIGHT NOW, before I vomit on your wingtips.