Mike, bless him, has prevented me from not seeing the sun this day by calling me and asking me to join him for dinner. Daughter Katie is so angry with me that our Mexico trip is now in jeopardy, such are the hazards of a misused word, and frankly, I’m not sure, in my present choleric and dismissive mood, that I care that much. To be frank even further, I’d be 2 thousand dollars up if she bails on me, as she has frequently done of late.
And the Deadwood series is done. Like Firefly. Delivered before its time, dead untimely, to be much mourned.
