My girlfriend has the uncanny knack of knowing just when to offer to make me a gin and tonic, which she always makes superbly. I find this almost unbearably romantic. Maybe it's the two lime twists. Maybe it's the crisp bite of fizzy tonic and cool Bombay cutting through the last wisps of monsoon humidity. Whatever the source, I love it.
The weekend in sports turned out to be an exercise in suck--thank you, Charlie Weis, for the massive reality check you provided yesterday in the Big House, and I'm not even going to talk about USC--with the sole exception of Northwestern somehow finding a way to beat Eastern (Western? one of the directions) Michigan and, possibly, Arizona's less-than-inspiring slide past Northern Arizona.
I guess I need, at some point, to deal with the small teabagging confab in Washington (two million? sixty thousand? eleventy squillion? who knows?) and the newly established but inevitable alliance between the Nobamans and the John Galt wannabees. That is not going to happen tonight.
Actually, here. This does the job reasonably well.