Bedtimes Are Getting Later.

The Yankees just squeaked it out last night with Nick Swisher's solo home run in the top of the ninth. Andy was pitching so admirably through the eighth inning the louts had the audacity to complain about how many warm up pitches Mariano was able to throw. As if it matters please.

Deftly avoiding a nervous breakdown as I recently had a meltdown and quit my job. Was offered a gig in LA, that I just couldn't groove on at the last minute so am here in the Northwest looking for new non-lame employment. Some recruiter has contacted me and is dangling temp gigs at the mega-crisis, and that may just send me to a viewing of Robin Hood in the middle of the day. Old co-workers are gathering at a local bowling alley and are encouraging me to come and make a spectacle of myself. Tell all my old co-workers what I really think of them. Altogether tempting in that it's the kind of thing one generally dreams about, but never does... I will never make a spectacle of myself. Never. And certainly not in order to make a point to people of no consequence.
____________________________________________________

The A.P.C. denim I bought back in February is now officially "filthy" and has to be washed. Or "rinsed in Woolite Dark" as they suggest, but something must be done.