So Santa Claus, a giant bug and Harry Carey walk into a bar . . .

I have an unhealthy obsession with bobblehead dolls (errr. bobblehead action figures).

Right now on my desk at work, there are five bobbleheads staring back at me, including Santa, Nic the Gnat and Harry Carey. (I also have a bobblewaist hula girl in a grass skirt, needless to say, my editor doesn't sit near my desk often.)

I can't really explain why I like bobbleheads so much. Unless there's an earthquake in southeast Georgia anytime soon, they're really just dolls (I did it again, action figures, action figures, action figures) that don't serve much of a purpose.

But I love the things. I got a Ryne Sandberg bobblehead for Christmas from my parents and Yes Dear got me a Mark Prior bobblehead for my birthday (Prior is on the computer desk at home, though I get the feeling Yes Dear doesn't like it to much . . . especially since the only way I could keep it at home is if we put it on top of the computer desk so you can't see it when you're actually working.)

My Sammy Sosa action figure was almost destroyed by a two-year-old at my previous job. I left the figure at work (as usual) and when I showed up to work on a Saturday, our publisher's two-year-old "angel" had Sosa in a headlock and was trying to twist his head right off. Fortunately I arrived as I don't know that our publisher noticed or cared that his son was destroying my stuff . . . and people wonder why I left that job.

What I'm watching: American Idol
What I'm reading: Double Play (it'll be finished by the weekend)
On Deck: Quick hitters (some mine, some stolen)