Because I have "work" to "do," I can only press my face mournfully against my window and watch the children gambol in the limpid spring daylight. Hateful, verminous children. They'll die like everyone else someday. Why don't they realize that?
- My heart goes out to the Duke lacrosse team. No, wait... sorry, false alarm. My heart does not go out to the Duke lacrosse team. I saw a NYT photo featuring a house in Durham festooned with signs supporting the players. Among the slogans: "Rich Kids Unite." Yes, for too long, this fragmented and under-served community has lacked a voice.
- Last night at St. Nick's Pub, PM recounted how he recently kicked the ass of a withered old man inside a Supershuttle. The old man, upset over not being dropped off first, started flailing his fists and had to be, uh, forcibly restrained. This kind of thing seems to happen every time I take the Supershuttle, and I'm starting to think they should use the seediness and frustration of the Blue Van Experience as selling points. "Supershuttle: One of the few socially sanctioned ways to beat up old men and scream epithets at uncomprehending drivers."
- In Junagadh, India, I was diagnosed with typhoid, malaria, and yellow fever within the same week by the same confused doctor. I probably had none of these, but I sure took lots of pills. What neither my doctor nor I realized at the time is that Nyquil will cure any known disease. After last week's delightful sojourn in the stately pleasure-dome of Nyquil intoxication, I plan to reach for the bottle whenever I have a headache.
