My seating insert, which supports my upper body when I’m in my chair, hasn’t felt quite right the last couple days and today I figured out the cause. Somehow, a large tear developed in the foam in the upper portion and it isn’t quite conforming to my body as it should. It’s still usable, but I’m going to need to get this fixed soon. Complicating matters is the fact that the seating clinic which last worked on me closed its doors a few years ago, so I’ll have to try to get in as a new patient at one of the few other places that do customized seating. And it’s not like I have a spare, so here’s hoping the thing doesn’t disintegrate further before I can get seen.

I suppose things could be worse. At least it’s not me that’s falling apart.

I’m noticing that it is becoming more acceptable in the business world for men to go sans necktie. The custom of wearing a piece of cloth around one’s neck to signify formality probably has centuries-old roots, but it’s rather silly on the face of it, don’t you think? I frequently wear ties (something of a challenge when one has a tracheotomy) and I wouldn’t shed any tears if this particular fashion practice faded into oblivion. But I’m not a huge fan of jackets and blazers. They usually feel bulky and they don’t seem to fit me very well. Perhaps I need to find a gimp-friendly tailor.

I don’t read much fantasy, but some of you know I’m a big fan of George R.R. Martin’s “A Song of Fire & Ice” series. There are four books in the series thus far and each one is a doorstop, bursting with multiple subplots and a huge cast of characters. I’ve long thought these books were unfilmable, but HBO doesn’t share my view. It just acquired the rights to turn the series into a television drama, with each season corresponding to a novel in the series. The material does seem to meet the prerequisites for an HBO series. It’s dark, violent, and replete with sex scenes. I’m guessing that the on-screen results will either be brilliant or a train wreck. But I can’t wait to see which it is.

Based on the novel of the same name, the film Little Children reminds us that the American suburb, despite the window dressing of affluent contentment, harbors as much suspicion, fear, deceit, and desperation as any urban core. The story centers on Sarah and Brad, two residents of this quiet burg who are both deeply unhappy with the paths their lives have taken. Sarah is an overeducated stay-at-home mom who secretly resents both her young daughter and her distant husband (who has recently discovered a penchant for internet porn). Brad is a stay-at-home dad married to a gorgeous wife who regards him with barely-concealed condescension. As you might expect, the two meet and begin an affair that is both an act of lust as well as one of covert defiance against their circumstances.

The entire cast is good, but Kate Winslet is especially fine in her portrayal of a character who is not particularly likable, yet offers hints that she could be much more appealing if her life had proceeded differently. The film also contains one or two disturbing scenes that effectively undercut our estimations of the characters. And see if you can identify the voice of the omniscient narrator. It was familiar enough to distract me every time I heard it.

I have the distinct pleasure of appearing before my building’s Board of Directors in a couple weeks. The building has a rather strict policy on visiting pets, as in “No visiting pets, ever.” And I’ve been a little lax in telling my family that they can’t bring their dogs when visiting. So after the third letter from my condo association, I’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do. A few friends have suggested that I play the cripple card. “This dog was my former helper dog and I just wanted to see her one more time before she dies.” Or “The only pleasure I get in life is seeing my family and their adorable pets.” But I don’t think I’ll go that route. I’m an attorney; I should be able to find a slightly less cynical way to talk my way out of this.