Housekeeping
Just a few minutes here to thank some folks for being nice to me. First to InstaPundit Glenn Reynolds for correcting my mistake of who draws the comic This Modern World. (I used the excuse that I am just learning to read and write. I think he bought it.) Second, a hearty ‘thank you’ to Dr. Frank (“the only transatlantic, punk rock musician warblogger”) over at Blogs of War for honoring me with a link. I wrote him last night after I noticed it and he sent a very gracious reply. As I told the good doctor, I am not in the same league with the other folks on his list—I am obviously not a journalist, and the stuff I comment on has a lot of local content which barely interests even the people around here, so I would have to rank myself low on the warblog spectrum. But, I figure every anti-idiotarian voice helps a bit, so here I sit. I also mentioned to Dr. F that blogging allows me a way to vent without continuing to bother James Lileks with ongoing episodes of “The Manifesto of the Alabama Cootifier.” I think I’ll thank Lileks, too, just on g.p. This mess is all his fault, anyway.

Next, somewhat related to the foregoing, I notice that alphabetically “Possumblog” falls right before “Virginia Postrel” in Dr. Frank’s list, and right after “PhotoDude,” which means that there are going to be a few folks who mistakenly click the wrong link and land here. I would imagine that this is kind of like when you think you’re drinking a glass of water and something’s not right— there are a few moments of confusion and nausea, then you figure out you’ve gotten a glass of milk, so it’s kind of okay. In the case of the Possumblog, though, you then see that the milk went out of date a week ago. Ah, the dilemma. “Pour it out,” or “Well, I might as well drink it—it’s not curdled.” To those who decide to drink anyway, welcome. Just don’t let me catch you drinking out of the jug.

Finally, no bad dreams last night, although my wife woke me up right before the alarm went off this morning with some sort of weird hyperventisnoring sounds. I nudged her and she quit. She couldn’t remember what she was dreaming, but it was apparently unpleasant. As is the continuing distress brought on by my Sunday evening repast noted from yesterday. I feel as though I have redecorated my nether regions in a lovely shade of Day-glo Monkeybutt Red. (This is a new Sherwin-Williams color, by the way.) I leave you with the immortal words of Cheech Marin from the movie Up in Smoke, “Come on ice cream!”

posted by Terry at 9:05:00 AM