Hell, my own damned intern can�t even be bothered to show up yet this week, nor will she deign to e-mail me about it, knowing full well that my boss is the softy.

Grmph. Growl.

Kate alleges I�m quite contrary today, so clearly I�ve overcome the torpor and moved on to rancor. Is this improvement? It�s movement, and I suspect your viewpoint depends entirely on your proximity to me. Luckily almost all of you are safe, due to the aforementioned flight-booking issue.

Oh, and the Slingshots have postponed our bowling night until next Wednesday, due to unforeseeable circumstances along the lines of barrel-scraping poverty as we�re down to the dregs before our monthly payday. Maybe other reasons, but that�s foremost.

It shall not, however, prevent me from venturing across town to support a blind bartender. Seriously.

STOP. Everyone stop. Mood change. I just had the most amazing soup ever. Moroccan yellow split pea soup with millet. That, combined with the sunshine warming me on my cross-town drive to procure said soup and with returning to find an e-mail from Kate directing me to this Onion article about David Foster Wallace, has made my day improve dramatically.

I just Googled �Moroccan split pea soup� and found a similar-sounding recipe at jewz.com. Heh. Let me go check catholicz.com. Muslimz.com? Yep, you get the picture.

I also found a recipe for �Yellow Split Pea Soup with Back Bacon.� Go ahead, Google it, if you must. No back bacon here, thanks.

So, in other news, I�m going to put myself at your mercy and ask for someone to give me a persuasive speech about why I should or should not go to the sold-out Sleater-Kinney show Saturday night. Yes, I have tickets. But why? Did you read Tomato Nation yesterday? Read it, then. Because she�s right, you know. That�s how it is at rock shows like Sleater-Kinney. It won�t just be the usual crowd of townies who show up for things like Neko Case. Nope, we�ll have all those students, we�ll have long lines at the bathroom and bar, and we won�t have room to move. But it�s Sleater-Kinney. Here. And I have paid my money. But the horror of being packed in with all those crazy kids keeps tapping me on the shoulder. So motivate me, please. One small thing I ask.

That and I want less David Letterman and more Sarah Vowell. See what you can do.