Sue Scott: These are the good years for Jim and me. We finally broke down and got a cleaning lady to come once a week. Though actually she is a man. His name is Todd and he's so nice -- he's a songwriter. I worked hard to get the house spic and span before he arrived. I fixed lunch and we talked about things. I like his music. It's very -- spacey -- I mean, you have to listen to a lot of it before you sort of develop a feel for it. I'm giving Jim one of his CDs for Christmas. We put our Christmas lists online this year, at our website, so people can see what we want, and actually there are links to the sites where they can buy those gifts, so it's easy, and this way we won't have to sell the gifts later on eBay. My sister is getting us the monogrammed towel set we asked for, and Jim's brother is buying us the canvas shoe cubes. We're still waiting for someone to buy us the cappuccino machine. Maybe a bunch of people will want to go in on it. I'm going to put a note on the website so people know they can do that -- just make a cash contribution with PayPal toward the cappuccino machine. We were both in a nice Christmas mood and then the other day I came home and found Jim in the bedroom, trying on his old suits. Jim, what on earth -- you haven't worn that suit in years!

Tim Russell: Let's move to New York, Barb. I'm thinking about investment banking. Make a pile of money. Buy a giant loft downtown with big abstract paintings on the walls and a huge winding staircase made of Lucite and a wine cellar and a refrigerator big enough to hang a deer in and we'd invite Angelina Jolie over for Pinoit Noir and anchovies--

SS: Angelina Jolie lives in Africa, Jim. And she's probably pregnant.

TR: Don't ruin this for me, Barb. I'm on a roll here.

SS: Jim, investment bankers work until seven at night. They live on coffee. They go from the office to the theater and eat dinner around ten and go to bed at two a.m. and are at their desks by eight.

TR: What's your point, Barb?

SS: Jim, you eat dinner at 5:30 and you're in bed by nine. It's just not going to work.

TR: Well what about you, Barb? You used to talk about designing clothes. You could start a company and hire some tall malnourished young women with high cheekbones and haunted expressions and we'd be in business--

SS: Jim, I haven't talked about that in years--

TR: Life is short, Barb. Time is running out. The window is small. I feel like if we don't do it now -- learn to drink espresso all day and buy a small dog and take up gyrotonics and get season tickets to the ballet -- that we may never do it.

SS: There's a lot of things we'll never do, Jim. We'll probably never live year-round on Fiji. We'll probably never go whitewater rafting. We'll probably never know what life is like as a member of the other sex.

TR: Is that something you want to do?

SS: NO! -- Jim. I wonder if you've been getting enough ketchup.

TR: Why?

SS: Because ketchup contains natural mellowing agents that help you be okay with your choices and not feel you have to try everything. We're from the big flat place in the middle of the country, Jim. That's good enough.

TR: Well maybe you're right--

SS: Take off that old black suit and put on your yellow cardigan and some sweatpants. Okay?

Rich Dworsky (SINGS):
These are the good times
Under starry skies
The holidays before us,
To feast and harmonize

Life is flowing
Like ketchup on your fries.

Garrison Keillor: Ketchup, for the good times.

RD: Ketchup, ketchup.