No Crossed Fingers

I swear to Whomever I’ll get back to work here.


First, here’s some useless stuff.

If you’re ever honeymooning in a foreign land, odds are strangely good that you’ll meet other honeymooners who live remarkably close by. We met Mick and Franco (excuse any bad spellings, guys — we were drinking!), two bright, fun, funny people from Denver. Not only did they help me find some cool local art to buy, but they claim to know where to get real Italian in the Rockies. We’ll be keeping in touch.


Melissa took an extra week off, and we’ll be busy spending all those wedding checks getting the condo fixed up. It’s gonna cost a grand just to get decent, working closet doors in this place. Yesterday, we picked up wall shelves to complete the dry bar I built in the dining room last year. Oh, and there’s that little matter of getting a deck built. And let’s not even discuss all the painting we need to do.

So. Call this my working summer sabbatical.

Melissa and I owe big personal thanks to Lileks, Tim Blair, Stacy Tabb, Pejman, Dawn Olsen, Jeneration, Sue Lizano, NZ Bear, Mike Hendrix, Jessica, and Joe Katzman. You each know why already. Thanks, kids.

Here’s some political commentary to keep you oh-so-briefly entertained:

Wen Ho Lee. Richard Jewell. And now Steve Hatfill — the FBI SAC needs to be spanked with golf shoes.


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