It's President's Day, one of the few holidays when I can enjoy the day off without feeling guilt for not dwelling on the great deeds some dead person accomplished a long time ago. Like, I always feel like I need to go picket on Labor Day, or something. President's Day is a joyfully pointless holiday. So I'm sitting on my couch in my pajamas with my soggy cereal and cold coffee beside me, celebrating. It's a great thing.

The people who just moved into the apartment in back of us just got into the car and left. I am fascinated with them, and can't resist the temptation to watch their every move when I hear the car alarm beep on their BMW convertible outside. I don't know their names, but the woman is European (I think Spanish) and seemingly wealthy and is the only one on the lease. She has two chihuahuas that she carries around in a mesh bag. I call her Oola. Her mooch of a boyfriend is this small-boned, well dressed Asian guy who drives about three monster trucks, and he's always blocking our driveway with one of them, changing his oil or something. I call him Paco. They have huge knock-down-drag-outs about every other weekend. And they don't work. They very rarely leave the house. I think they're drug dealers.