I was going to edit the blog to include a bunch of names I left out — Brian, his Shadow and Samuel, for example — but I just learned Mike Finley has died.

Oh, how I loved to hear him cackle when he dragged one of our penny poker pots.

He’d wave the stem of his pipe at you before you could say Jack Robinson.

There is a place of serenity where he grew bamboo, his love and livelihood.

Sweet Linda, his wife.

His devotion to Steve and Pat Brainard in Guthrie and the folk music that he carried in his heart.

He’s at Smith & Kernke on 23rd and will be cremated. That’s all I know for right now and I don’t feel much like writing any more.

Thanksgiving Day, what else is there to blog except my gratitude list?

First, I must thank God. I honestly believe that God — a force in the universe that is superior to me by whatever name — intervened to save my life from my own hand and released me from the bondage of alcohol going on 11 years ago. I believe in my innermost self that nothing I have today would be in my life but for that intervention. I would never ask anyone to believe or not believe in God based on what a carnal man like myself believes, but I can say without reservation that I believe in a God that created the universe and is amongst us constantly as a power for love. This God acted to save my life — on June 21, 1995, I was saying goodbye to life and had planned my own death and was resolved to carry out the plan. Obviously, my plans were changed and the next day I was in an AA meeting for the first time. From my perspective, this is a miracle; I know of no other way to regard these facts of my life. Next, I could not have quit drinking on my own because I tried many times in the last 10 years I drank and it was one of the main reasons I wanted to die. After two days of prayer over the Texas-OU weekend, some 100 days after my first AA meeting, I never again craved alcohol. In a single moment, I could feel alcohol’s hold over my mind and body lifted. My life was changed forever for the better, even though a great many sad moments have been in my life since that time. I did not “deserve” this gift. I had not been a particularly good man and had not earned any kind of special treatment from anyone for any reason. It was a pure gift. I’m still not anything special spiritually or much of any other way, but I don’t drink. I can be anywhere at anytime, including bars and at parties, and not have the slightest inclination to lift a glass of alcoholic beverage. It is, to me, a miracle. I am thankful first of all for my very life and, second, for my sobriety upon which all else in my life is founded.

I know some of you may be surprised at that, but there it is and from my heart.

I am thankful for my family. Even the sister I don’t talk to. I’m thankful for a caring and giving mother. I’m thankful for her mental and physical health and active social life. I’m thankful for wonderful sisters who have shown their love for me in a thousand nuturing and caring ways. Jaime, Susan, Mary E., I love you girls. I’m thankful for my son and daughter, two of the finest most wonderful human beings in my world. Smart, funny, and damn good looking the both of them. They grew up before I did and they have been my light on my path before me. I’m especially grateful for my grandchildren, Parrish and GK, who have taught me the true meaning of agape love on earth. How can I not be grateful for their father, my son in law, an honorable and bright man I pray for daily? Jesse, I love you and pray for your safe return home. My mother had six brothers and a sister, all of whom married and had children and her family was an enveloping coterie of love and laughter that helped form me. I’m grateful for my sisters’ children and grandchildren — they make Christmas happen, for one thing.

I’m thankful for my ancestors. Very Asian of me, I suppose, but I honor my father, Jack, and his adoptive mother, Elsie, and my mother’s parents, Pop and Mamaw. All dead now, but still living vividly in my mind.

I’m thankful for my own physical wellbeing. I can see, hear, feel, touch, walk, talk. I was in a courtroom one day feeling sorry for myself when the court called out the name “Hough”. How to pronounce it, the court asked. “Like Rough and Tough” came a voice from the back of the room. A woman stood and gathered her braces and crutched up to the bench joking. If this woman, with her obvious physical disabilities, could joke around and enjoy life, what was so important about my little problems? This story always gives me perspective about the issues that make me wroth and rend my clothes. How important is this? How important will it be tomorrow or a year from now? Is it CP or MS? Is it death, disability or enduring physical pain? Where is it written that I have a right to good health? Stop smoking, John. You are frittering away something very important — your health. I’ll always be grateful to the otherwise anonymous Ms. Hough; she will never know how important a gift she gave to a complete stranger just by being herself. Are you quite sure you know the gifts you have given?

Yeah, I know. Doesn’t sound like me. It is, though. It’s the most truthful, close to the bone me there is.

I am so very grateful for friends. Think of a world in which you are isolated and without people. A horror. I have so many wonderful friends that I couldn’t begin to name them all. I’ve known Mike Elder and Rush Riddle for going on 40 years now. Imagine friendships that bridge five decades. Dennis Whiteman has been my friend for 25 years. I’ll see him this holiday season and be glad of it once again. I’m grateful for the friendship of Bob Owen, who helped me stay sober my first year and has taught me much since then as well. George, Debbie, Gary, Suzanne — the four of you hold my heart in your hands almost every single day and you never once have bruised it. I’m so grateful for the four of you I haven’t the words in my rather large vocabulary. Ralph: “as much as anyone can be”. He’ll understand. Rena, you know you have a special place in my heart. I saw you today at Starbucks and once again you enriched my life. BKMDANO, I’m sorry you don’t read my blog. I wish I could tell you how much your loyalty and example of a man with integrity and kindness mean to my everyday life. I’m getting a little overwhelmed here — it’s hard for me to list my friends and think of how much each of them has meant to me over many many years. Higgins, you are a challenge and a delight. Floyd, you and your son, Kevin, have been so kind that I can never repay. Skip, you Ziusudra, you. Hoffner, I know you don’t believe it, but you really ARE my hero. Larry P, I so admire your energy. Tall Ed, I’m angry with you right now and have been for some time, but I wouldn’t be mad if I didn’t care. Robin Meyers, you are absolutely the best rhetoritician I’ve ever encountered and one of the finest men I’ve ever met, rivaling my all time HERO, the late Rev. Earl Wiggins. Earl, I miss you. You never once told a lie nor disparaged another human in all the time I knew you. You raised four fine children and stayed married for decades to the same woman. You possessed every quality to which I aspire: kindness, compassion, intelligence, love, and the list goes on. If there’s a God and a heaven, this is one man I can say with confidence resides there now.

Ah, the women in my life! I am grateful beyond measure for the fine women I’ve known. I do not wish to be compared/contrasted by them, so I shall not try to measure them against one another. I have sometimes given my heart recklessly, but I’ve never been punished for that, even when one or another of you eventually left me in wreckage. I have loved many of you and many of you, I believe, really loved me. I don’t regret being foolish with my heart, I think the bigger fools are those who never give it up. To love and be loved for a short time is better than to live without love. Some of my loves go on. There are those women who still love me, even if they can’t live with me. I still love at least five women and one in particular I know I shall always love no matter what. I still love my ex-wife, Jeannie. She’s remarried, of course. I say “of course” because she’s too good a catch for some man not to have snagged her. She’s bright and funny and hard working and loyal. She’s the loving mother of my two children. I am grateful that she has been in my life; she saved my butt many times and, I believe, loved me. MB, I shall always love you and I cherish our friendship more than life itself. I would give my life for yours this day and any day gladly. KW, dammit, I still love you. I thought you were The One. Privacy Shattered Sharon, I don’t know what’s between us but it’s undeniably there. There’s one more and you know who you are. There are those women I loved but who never loved me and then there are some I cared about but couldn’t quite love who, nevertheless, loved me for reasons I never fathomed. I have been blessed by many women who have been friends and my share of women who were merely, shall we say?, friendly. Some women friends include: Danielle, one of many beloved secretaries, but the only one with whom I’ve been through so much and whom I’m proud to count among my buddies; Amanda and her mother; Sally Allen, a love from long, long ago; Babs (I am SO Angry with you over your behavior last week!!!); Katie, with whom I practice law; Debbie H, who broke up my law firm, red haired demon angel; Kelly O; Catholic Kelly, who spent some time with me this week when she could not have known how much I needed her simple companionship and was grateful for just that; Mrs. B. Crandall, one of the best and the brightest women ever to be a part of my life; Lynne Davis; my CPA, Denice; Sarah, who sends me emails galore from Tulsa; Jasmine (YUMMM!); the Pink Lady, my tobacconist; Jane Ann, who has cut my hair longer than some of you have been alive; Elizabeth Brown, who introduced me to KW; Leslie Gilkerson, the Evil One who knocked me out years ago by reciting a bit of poetry; Lynn Whitford, who befriended and settled down my sister as long as she could; Juliet, my new friend (I’m not so sure how good a job I’ll do at this new relationship); Marcy Roberts who kneads the kinks out of my social life; Tammy, the ultimate artist’s model; Victoria, my client; Victoria with not red hair, one of the “friendlies”; Michale Edwards, much more than a former secretary; June T, with whom I’ve not had contact for so many many years at her request; Barbara T, now remarried to a judge; Roma, a judge herself; Kevyn Mattox, a client and now a lawyer; Sandy, who broke my heart when she got married, the red-haired beauty from Paseo’s G Spot; Kat with a K, charming daughter of Rena and feisty sister to Charles; I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers Linda; and more, so many more!, including Maria, Mary, Mara, Marlene, … Viva la Difference!

I am grateful to teachers, including those who taught me merely by writing a book. I’m grateful to Judith Maute, a law school teacher, and R.E.L. Richardson and Rick Tepker and a host of others who treated me special in law school. I’m grateful to Clay Lewis, my creative writing teacher and a wise mentor. I’m grateful for my high school English teacher, a little spitfire of a woman who demanded — and got — excellence from us all. I’m grateful to the writers of the King James Bible, the Tao, The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, Guide to Rational Living, and 10,000 other volumes I’ve actually, no bullshit, read. I’m grateful for my students at Heritage Hall, circa 2000-2002. My students still look me up and run into me around town and they never fail to make my day. I’m eternally grateful to my friend, teacher and therapist, Jolly Dr. Max.

I’m grateful to Claude Anderson for teaching me sumii and how to live an honest life. I miss you, brother.

On a global scale, I’m a wealthy man. My material blessings are beyond counting, but I would especially mention what I don’t really own: the art in my house and the artists who created these things that belong to the world and the ages, even though I am the temporary caretaker. Yeah, house, Miata and wardrobe, blahblahblogblah!!! It’s only money, I’ll make more.

I grateful I live in a place where I can bitch and moan about politics and write this blog without worrying excessively about ending up in Siberia or the Sinkaiying desert.

I’ve learned and grown and been nurtured by journalists and politicians, writers and fellow students.

Thanks! Thanks to you all.

Wrist hurt cleaning. (CLEANING?!? Shut up, he explained)

This grey and cloudy Sunday morning, I’m listening to Andrea Boccelli because I’m a sentimental and romantic old fool. If you know what that means, you know what that means; if you don’t, then I can’t explain.

I went to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire last night with about 1,000 teenagers out on dates. First, let me say this is one grandparent who thinks it would be inappropriate for my little grandkids to go to this movie because it’s just that scary and dark. I jumped in my seat at least twice and that’s pretty good for “gotcha” movies. Although I’ve read all the books and seen all the movies, it bothered me that this is not a stand-alone movie. You have to know the “backstory” to enjoy this movie. If you’ve just dropped onto earth on your galactic travels and don’t know about the Harry Potter phenomena, you’d be lost as hell. For that matter, the British accents left me scratching my head a time or two — wtf? wha’d he just say? Huh? — and the fact that the story line requires whispered conspiratorial conversations makes the matters worse, imho. The movie’s special effects are, well, wizard. I’m sure that there are young readers out there who are outraged that not every single bit of the book is deeply explored in the movie, but the cuts didn’t bother me much and it was too long a book to expect anything else. Besides, I’m more accustomed to seeing my favorite books butchered by the film remake. That was one of the things we loved about Lord of the Rings — that it stayed pretty true to the books as well as it could be done. I’m still a little hacked off about the complete cut of anything about Tom Bombadill, but that’s fat that’s been chewed thoroughly.

Just finished a lengthy IM with MB in Memphis. She’s such a wonderful woman and I care so very much for her and about her. Earlier this week, at Sue Moss Sullivan’s art show house party, I just had to call MB and tell her about the highly textured work. She would love that stuff. MB says she’s too busy moving into her new house and getting ready for a family Thanksgiving there to do much in the way of creative work, but she also said she has her loom set up in a sunny nook in the up stairs and that image melts my heart. We “chatted” about this and that, but the topics seemed less important than the connection, if you know what I mean. Anyway, love ya, MB.

Speaking of a former, I’m not just single again, but without any love interests at all. Not even anyone I’ve picked out as a “next ex”. I was journaling today about my love life and it seems that a bunch of things have conspired to make me give up some of my adolescent behaviors. Quel Catastrophe! Imagine John Long grown up. No. It’s too much. John, not smoking? Exercising? Eating right? Cooking for himself? No. No. No. It couldn’t be! Don’t you all realize that I should be drowning in self pity, self loathing and substance abuse? Could it be that my adolescent angst has finally run its course? No. No. No. I resist this with every fibre of my being. I’m still the oppositional kid with too much smarts for his emotionally stunted heart and a mouth full of acid sass. What would I be like if I grew up? What would that look like? How would it feel and smell and taste and sound like? Will I have to give up the Miata for a hybrid? Nah. Surely not. Nevermind.

The voices in my head intervened here and I have to stop and come back to this. The idea of growing up and stopping smoking … well, it’s just too much for me to handle this early in the day.

Just noticed that i didn’t blog yesterday. sorry about that.

The floor fight in the House of Representatives over a resolution to withdraw U.S. troops from Iraq caught my attention. The most junior member of the House said of 34-year-incumbent Rep. Jack Murtha (D-Pa) that “cowards cut and run. Marines don’t” and the Democrat side of the aisle erupted into British style chanting and yelling for more than 10 minutes, highlighted by Rep. Ford charging across the partisan divide pointing finger first and being restrained by the Dem Party leadership. Murtha is a retired Marine colonel, widely regarded as a hawk and well respected as chairman of the defense spending subcommittee of the appropriations committee. He’s also a Bronze Star and Purple Heart recipient and veteran of both Korea and Vietnam. Dick Cheney tried his line about politicians losing their backbone and Murtha threw Cheney’s five deferrments and “other priorities” biography right back in his face. Kerry said he would not allow Murtha to be “swift boated.”

Here’s the latest from Peace House:

TUESDAY VIGILS CONTINUE
5 pm, in front of BackDoor CoffeeHouse
at Classen Blvd and NW 34th Street

SATURDAY VIGILS BEGIN – NOON to 1 pm
Permits have been obtained for weekly Anti-War Vigils on
Saturdays, Noon to 1 pm, Pennsylvania Ave at the Northwest Highway
Gather just before Noon on the northwest corner of the
intersection. DO NOT PARK in the business lot right there, but park
in the next two lots to the north.
LARGE READABLE SIGNS WILL BE THERE.

Permits for Saturdays secured
by The Peace House
Nathaniel Batchelder, Director
www.peacehouseok.org

Permits for Tuesdays secured
by the Impeach Bush Rally
Lisa Ghiariani & Tara Feuerborn
http://antiwarfair.com (NO WWW)

Went to Sue Moss Sullivan’s annual house party last night and the art was gorgeous! Everything was so textural and three dimensional. I loved it. I like so many of the things so much, I was moved to call MB in Memphis and left a message about how much she would have loved the weavings and “quilty” broaches and other items. I really really wanted a scarf bought by Dr. Pelovski (sp?) and have my eye on a Ron Ferrell small piece of a moon and fish that was on the porch that I hope survives Christmas when I have a little spare change for art (this year’s art budget was long ago spent on a J Don Cooke that stands in my entryway).

The personal “news” of the Paseo-Red Cup crowd was pretty depressing. Bamboo Mike is now in hospice. Kat with a K’s mother has serious medical issues. Tall Ed, with whom I’ve lately had “issues”, is diagnosed with a cancer. Button’s grandmother is in hospice and her mother has lost her job. I can’t express my gratitude for my good health and the good health of my septuagenarian mother and I pray for the succor of my friends.

On a lighter note, I received from JohnX a DVD of a 2:45 minute film clip he cut together from our film shoot at the Huge Ass Cross on I-35 in Edmond. Unfortunately, I can’t link or upload it for your viewing pleasure for two — yes, count ‘em, 2 — very good reasons. First, I don’t know how to do that stuff yet and plan a trip to Stillwater to consult the webmaster to resolve that. Second, and most important, is that John X laid a Fleetwood Mac track over the film and we don’t own those rights. Damn intellectual property law anyway.

I almost forgot another bit of news that caught my attention in the national press. A former press aide to Tom DeLay has been indicted in a kickback scheme involving Texas Indian tribal casinos, a former high flying GOP lobbyist and U.S. Rep. Ney (R-Ohio), who’s allegedly been taking bribes. Were it not for the Iraq War, this would be the top scandal of Bush’s second term. I don’t have the words to express my contempt for the hypocricy of the Republican Party.

They say we have a 20 percent chance of rain and/or snow tonight. SNOW?!?!!! Fuck.

Last night, The Gary, Mrs. Oz and I watched a movie, “Yes”, that I understand was also shown at the Wednesday Paseo dinner and movie night in my absence (I had to be in court in Shawnee early Thursday and couldn’t host). What a wonderful hidden gem of a film, all done with the dialogue in poetry but seamlessly and almost unnoticeable. The topics included western culture versus Islamic culture, being and nothingness, male-female relationships, abortion/right-to-life, racial stereotyping, mother-daughter relationships and more. Totally engrossing film beautifully shot with an Aldomovar-like attention to lovely colors in both foreground and background. Button made a cameo appearance, just long enough to deliver some pastry for our enjoyment before returning to her jewelry chores. The Oz himself is in Quartz Mountain Lodge for a seminar and won’t return until Sunday.

Dinner last night was at Lido and SuzArt showed off a huge bump on her arm where she’d received a flu shot. She felt like crap — DUH! — and went home early, missing Sue Moss Sullivan and “Yes”. Also missing the later festivities was BKMDANO, as usual.

If I think of anything else, I’ll just blog more later. Right now, I need to get out of the house and get started on my weekend household duties — dry cleaners, bank, pharmacy, grocery, dishes and laundry. You know the drill.

I suppose I have lived in interesting times. Like Dickens’ character, I do not yet know whether I will be the hero or the villain of my own life, nor do I yet know whether it’s a curse to live in such times. In a way, it reminds me of the Chinese “Warring States” Epoch some hundreds of years ago before the Empire was restored. I was born right after World War II, on the precipice of the Korean War; I grew up with the war raging in Vietnam. I watched us go to war again in the Gulf War and now, the Gulf War sequel and the so-called War on Terrorism, a never-ending war of 1984 nightmarish dimension.

My lifetime has been “interesting” as well due to the fabulous advances in technology and medicine. I think the beginnings of space travel, the virtual evolution of mankind by means of computer enhancement and the eradication of smallpox are all signal events.

So, how important are the events of my own little life on that scale? I can’t even complain at this very moment that anything’s broken, bleeding or in jail.

I had a flat today.

Tuesday was a horrible day in court, but today was terrific.

Blahblahblogblah!!!!

I’ve looked back over the blog for the past month and I’m doing a lot of bitching and moaning. I don’t experience life that way. No, really, I don’t. Mostly, I’m a pretty happy camper and more often than not, I can maintain some perspective. How important is this going to be 5 years from now? In a thousand?

I’ve now blamed crankiness on both the dark of the moon and the full moon. That’s half a month I’ve been cranky. I have the fear that I’m just turning into one of those old bachelor curmudgeons. Kinda like The Gary with silver hair. (Just kidding, old boy.)

I hope you guys can also have some perspective on what I write. I do bitch and moan. However, I also go to movies, go to art shows, work with Oz and JohnX on the movie, write and read my stories at the Red Cup, and pursue a rather active social life as well as a profession. I’m actually enthusiastic about life and try to live it fully and exuberantly.

Tonight is not my night out. It’s Noveau Beaujolais est arrive night at the local bars/restaurants and a recovering alcoholic like me needs to know his limits.

Pray for peace. Love greatly and unwisely. Laugh as much as you can whenever you can. Speak the truth fearlessly. Sleep well.

Dearest: I’m in Kuwait. Can’t say where or for how long. Apparently I can buy a
pre-paid sim card for my cell phone, which seems to be the popular thing to do.
I’ll look at the prices and decide then. I don’t think it will matter in terms
of what Sprint charges you to recieve the call.

I have a 20 minute limit on the internet. It’s raining and cold. Billy Rasy took
me on a goose chase this AM looking for coffee (got soaked), even tho there’s
free coffee in the DFAC. He’s nuts. You-know-who instructed me not to do PT,
again. About caused my eyeballs to pop out. I cut myself shaving last night and
joked to the CSM that I better not let anyone see the cut – might not be allowed
to shave anymore. I got a good laugh. I awoke at 430AM and ran anyway. Felt
extra rewarding. He didn’t even get out of his fartsack until 730. Of all the
things to have to sneak.

Anyway, I’m good. Artillery in the background makes me wish I were doing that.
Give my love to the kids and let the family know. All for now. Love, J

Oh, how my heart aches for this fine young man and his family because they’re mine. There are 150,000 Americans in Iraq with no clue about when they will get to leave. So many little children at home missing their fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters and parents scared to death for their all too grown up children. I’m NOT trying to be political, I’m just trying to say that every day I call up Google news with my heart in my throat. I’m ashamed that when I hear three marines have been killed, I’m relieved that it wasn’t “my” soldier. I pray for peace.

Got this over the internet from a friend and it sounds right to me, so I pass it along. Posting this information does NOT mean anyone who reads this has any kind of attorney client relationship with me. If any part of this is wrong, tough luck.

ATTORNEY’S ADVICE—–NO CHARGE

A corporate attorney sent the following out to the employees in his company.

1. The next time you order checks have only your initials (instead of first name) and last name put on them. If someone takes your checkbook, they will not know if you sign your checks with just your initials or your first name, but your bank will know how you sign your checks.

2. Do not sign the back of your credit cards. Instead, put “PHOTO ID REQUIRED.”

3. When you are writing checks to pay on your credit card accounts, DO NOT put the complete account number on the “For” line. Instead, just put the last four numbers. The credit card company knows the rest of the number, and anyone who might be handling your check as it passes through all the check-processing channels will not have access to it.

4. Put your work phone # on your checks instead of your home phone. If you have a PO Box, use that instead of your home address. If you do not have a PO Box, use your work address. Never have your SS# printed on your checks, (DUH!). You can add it if it is necessary. However, if you have it printed, anyone can get it.

5. Place the contents of your wallet on a photocopy machine. Do both sides of each license, credit card, etc. You will know what you had in your wallet and all of the account numbers and phone numbers to call and cancel. Keep the photocopy in a safe place. Also carry a photocopy of your passport when traveling either here or abroad. We have all heard horror stories about fraud that is committed on us in stealing a name, address, Social Security number, credit cards.

6. When you check out of a hotel that uses cards for! keys (and they all seem to do that now), do not turn the “keys” in. Take them with you and destroy them. Those little cards have on them all of the information you gave the hotel, including address and credit card numbers and expiration dates. Someone with a card reader, or employee of the hotel, can access all that information with no problem whatsoever.

Unfortunately, as an attorney, I have first hand knowledge because my wallet was stolen last month. Within a week, the thieve(s) ordered an expensive monthly cell phone package, applied for a VISA credit card, had a credit line approved to buy a Gateway computer and received a PIN number from DMV to change my driving record information online. Here is some critical information to limit the damage in case this happens to you or someone you know:

1. We have been told we should cancel our credit cards immediately. The key is having the toll free numbers and your card numbers handy so you know whom to call. Keep those where you can find them.

2. File a police report immediately in the jurisdiction where your credit cards, etc., were stolen. This proves to credit providers you were diligent, and this is a first step toward an investigation (if there ever is one). However, here is what is perhaps most important of all (I never even thought to do this.)

3. Call the three national credit reporting organizations immediately to place a fraud alert on your name and Social Security number. I had never heard of doing that until advised by a bank that called to tell me an application for credit was made over the Internet in my name. The alert means any company that checks your credit knows your information was stolen, and they have to contact you by phone to authorize new credit. By the time I was advised to do this, almost two weeks after the theft, all the damage had been done. There are records of all the credit checks initiated by the thieves’ purchases,! none of which I knew about before placing the alert. Since then, no additional damage has been done, and the thieves threw my wallet away this weekend (someone turned it in). It seems to have stopped them dead in their tracks.

Now, here are the numbers you always need to contact about your wallet and contents being stolen:

1.) Equifax: 1-800-525-6285
2.) Experian (formerly TRW): 1-888-397-3742
3.) TransUnion: 1-800-680-7289
4.) Social Security Administration (fraud line): 1-800-269-0271

Last night’s windstorm woke me up repeatedly, banging one thing or another against the north windows of my bedroom. I have to be in court today and I needed a good night’s sleep, darn it. Even worse, the north wind brought freezing weather and my Miata’s top is tightly up. I hate that. I was perfectly OK with 70 degree weather and sunshine, thank you very much.

I’ll go to a grip and grin at Untitled this evening at 5-7 p.m., a “thank you” reception for those of us who Marcy volunteered for the Holocaust memorial event held there last month.

For those who notice the entry from yesterday is abbreviated today, mea culpa. I’ve told you all that there would be times between now and Christmas when I offered to tear off heads and shit down necks and I’ve told you why. I’m not even quit yet, but cutting down to ultralights and cutting my consumption to half is already withdrawal territory, apparently. That, plus the fact that I’m an emotional midget and hardly a grown up at all.

The “news” has bored me the last couple of days, so no political screeds.

Other than that, hurt my wrist again last night somehow and I’m soldiering through again.

LOOK OUT, JAY Leno and David Letterman: Pat Robertson is at it again. The television evangelist and former Republican presidential candidate has a way of coming up with some real thigh-slappers. This one must have the people of Dover, Pa., rolling in the aisles. On Thursday Mr. Robertson said on his daily television show, “The 700 Club,” that because all eight Dover school board members up for reelection on Tuesday were voted out of office after trying to impose “intelligent design” on high school students as an alternative to the theory of evolution, God is not going to show up if there’s a disaster in Dover. They’d voted God out of the city, Mr. Robertson said. How Mr. Robertson managed to deliver that line with a straight face is beyond us. But we suppose that when you have his comedic touch, anything’s possible.