Today’s We Are No Longer in Fort Wayne moment comes from Kate. I picked her up at school Friday, and in the this-and-that of the day’s download, she says so-and-so will not be attending the class Valentine’s Day party.
“Oh? Why?” I ask.
“She’s going to the Grammys.”
Well, I hope her classmate has a good time. If the mood of G-rated moderation sweepin’ the nation carries over to the music awards, her parents will rest easy, too. I just watched the most boring Super Bowl ever, at least in terms of the good parts — the commercials and the halftime show. Paul McCartney? Sheesh. Just bring back Up With People and be done with it. Where did they get those young girls to jump up and down in the front row? It would be like recruiting my junior-high classmates to scream over Benny Goodman.
On Saturday, Kate and I went exploring, from Lake Shore Drive to Royal Oak, along the infamous Eight Mile Road. The overwhelming impression: Apparently there’s always a living to be made in this town, if you’re willing to open 1) a used car lot; or 2) a liquor store. But at the end of the line we found Trader Joe’s, and so life is good again. Two-Buck Chuck — the consolation of the one-income household.
Headlines I wish I’d written: Man fined, banned from McDonald’s after Egg McMuffin assault
More tomorrow. I’m tired.