it was warm out on Sunday

Sunday, 11:30 am. I’ve got “The McLaughlin Group” on. oh how I’ve missed you so, John McLaughlin; just to hear him pronounce “Bosnia-Herzegovina” will make the next twenty minutes of elderly people screaming completely worth it.

and holy shit! Ezra Klein now appears on this show. I read his blog all the goddamn time, which means I am that which I loathe; an effete, east-coast liberal that considers himself well-read. but this is not a time for self-loathing, no. this is a time to celebrate a poorly produced Sunday morning news talk program that appears on public television that is largely out of touch with the world it observes!
the blind witnesses are: the aforementioned Mr Klein, who looks different than I imagined him (oh so lithe); the lady from Newsweek that may or may not have published a column in the last few decades; Monica goddamn Crowley; and Pat Buchanan, the immortal, he who will never die. all of these talking heads are no longer familiar to me. in my head, they’ve all moved online, and have become faceless.
but yes. Sunday mornings are for: getting some breakfast and reading the paper, getting a refill on the coffee and reading through it again, and then crusing on back to the house and watching “The McLaughlin Group.” if its production value is any indication, it was good enough for middle-aged conservatives in the late eighties. and if it was good enough for them, then by god, it’s good enough for me.

Tuesday is tomorrow, and that’s a bummer. that’s not even halfway to the weekend. so I’m gonna have to gather my strength and power through, even though it won’t be easy. tomorrow — Tuesday — my desk is being temporarily relocated to a wide spot in the hallway while they reshuffle living arrangements and clear out the spare conference room slated to be my next digs. temporarily, I’m told.
so it will be difficult to manage, but I should be able to look busy and simultaneously fill out a winning college hoops tournament bracket. I like Purdue. call me crazy.