My Apologies, Michael

While viewing My Girl last evening for the first time in years, I was struck with three thoughts. Yes, three. Without spraining or straining anything. Firstly, wow, does my elder son bear a remarkable resemblance to Macauley Culkin, or what? At least at the age of eleven they appear to be twins born of different mothers. Though I must say that Michael has turned out to be a much more well adjusted as well as handsome adult than Mr. Culkin. That would be my entirely non-objective maternal observation. Secondly, that My Girl is really a terrific movie. And third, when Netflix uses the label tearjerker, they are absolutely not kidding. I strongly recommend having a box of kleenex within reach.

After wrestling with photo placement and trying to maneuver the text around to where I wanted it and failing, I just hit the publish button out of sheer frustration. I am not pleased with the layout in the finished product. If you are also displeased, I feel your pain. I promise this sort of thing will be fixed when the book comes out. Because I will have something called an editor and professional graphics design people. And as I have just now observed in the preview window, this footnote isn't going where I want it, either. Meh.