Only it’s really my Thursday. Harumph.
Somehow I managed to escape a post-election hangover, despite all the tequila I befriended last night. I was so jittery by the time I left work at midnight that I needed the stuff just to help me sleep. Election night can be especially unkind to newspaper folks, but this one went more or less smoothly on our end, and went according to script (and yes, I mean that in both ways it could apply: the political script and the news-planning script). Still, I was on edge all night. I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it a million times before I die, but it always amazes me how a desk job can be so exhausting.
Anyway, apropos of nothing, it would be swell if I could put Bruce McCullough in my pocket and take him everywhere I went.
Greatest hits compilations are for Housewives and little girls!
didja see? the doctor and me? didja see?
That’s the name of our rock band.
This kid clearly has autism.