So, I recently left a three-hour meeting that lasted for three hours and ten minutes because people are so wildly f*cking incompetent. If you can't exhaust your supply of inane drivel in three hours, then you may need to rethink your action steps and then circle back, mmmmmkay?
Then, on the drive home, the check engine light came on in my brand-new-to-me car, which, by the by, is about as uncomplicated as a lawn mower, precisely because I don't have the inclination to think about shit like cars. But, here we are, me and my mechanic, developing a relationship.
Now I'm sitting at the bar across from my mechanic's having a pomegranate martini . I have 18 minutes of juice left on my computer and no power cord. I have just read the first entry in the City Paper's recent "Best of Baltimore" series, which reveals the number one reason to live in B'more - You're already prepared for the collapse of society. It's like tantra, practically. You're so disgusting you're almost clean! Things are so terrible they're almost great! You don't need to get used to a world that's f*cked - you're already intimately acquainted with one! Congratulations! Yay!