I've just finished standing around in what amounts to a low-powered oven for 8 hours, being given a break two hours after arriving in the oven, and so I'm slightly tired. However, my room is the hottest place in the house, and anything that reminds me of a Big Mac right now isn't good. So you, loyal reader, gets some blog.
Looking through the online version of this week's City Paper because I lost the hardcopy, I'm somewhat tempted to, as I am always tempted, lambast them for having a "rant" section, where some dolt writes in weekly to complain about something that isn't that irritating, one good example being office conversation. Yes, small talk isn't sincere, but everyone ever has put up with it just fine, so I don't feel as though I should pay attention to your complaints simply because a weekly paper that doesn't charge for an issue has deemed them printworthy. This week's rant is against people that complain about the heat, so while I sympathize with the stop with the complaining, I'm once again left feeling as though the author could take his own advice and not be complaining via media.
Which is what I'm doing. So it's a big happy circle.
Tomorrow marks the Pirates first trip to RFK, so while I'm encouraged by their splitting of a series today with the help of having taught Abraham Nunez to ignore fundamental baseball principles, I fear that I'll have to duel RJ in some kind of battle where we fling cars at each other. C'est la vie.
Um. I don't know. I like today's Doonesbury which seems oddly relevant considering RJ's most recent input onto the situation concerning people that I can't find a reason why they're famous.
Or at least a valid one.
"Tom Goes To The Mayor" makes me sadder than some kind of sad amalgam of a Betush Away Message written any time that ISN'T right after he wins a bunch of money and Joey Tolomei.