I was going to post something from work tonight, just to get caught up after a fun weekend in Columbus. But then, work got in the way:

1) Fatal wreck in Beaver Falls.
2) Runaway barges on the Ohio River.
3) A power outage in Monaca.
4) An unbelievable finish at the Masters.

OK. That last one didn’t really have much to do with work, other than the fact that I was sitting in the newsroom when it was going on. The point is, I didn’t have much spare time, either over the weekend or today while I was working. And believe me, boys and girls, we have some stuff to talk about. I knew this was coming, but the impending Twentieth Reunion of the Upper Arlington High School Fucking Class of 1985 kind of smacked me in the face yesterday. I typically don’t deal well with this sort of thing, and this time, I’ve already promised Juan, HSP, Kewy-san, and others, that I’m going to show up.

Let the angst begin.


  1. Won’t you tell everybody you meet that the candyman’s in town….

    Fear not the weirdness of another class reunion. We’ll go easier on the spiritual condiments–“sniffy treats” in my normal patois–and actually try to remember this event. Maybe. Tooth enamel be damned….

    Good to see you and the lovely. One of these days you two will learn to cook. Jesus Fucking Christ on a barbeque skewer….


  2. That was the good part of the weekend: We ate very well.

    But hearing from Ally — a good thing, in and of itself — only served to wratchet up the tension I always feel about these goddamn things as they approach.

    At least we’re not having it in a fucking children’s museum this time…

    Anyway, I’m glad you liked your food. Grilled scallops are magic, and are only made better with the blessed fruit of the pig…


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