What is up with this week? Everything is breaking my way. Not in a winning-lottery-ticket sense (alas), but calls are getting returned, people are saying yes when there’s a strong possibility of a no, and I woke up today not with a cold, but feeling pretty good after 6.5 solid hours of unconsciousness. So maybe I should buy a lottery ticket. Or brace for the inevitable crash.
It was another nice day, so I took Wendy to the dog park for her afternoon constitutional. This is the one in Detroit, which differs from the one in Grosse Pointe Woods in that it doesn’t require a license, shot records and a $20 pass (predicated on the license and shot records AND proof of $100,000 in personal liability insurance). It just requires you show up with your dog, so that’s what we did. She played with at least five others pups, and they all enjoyed sniffing each others’ butts and precious bodily fluids:
Now she’s asleep next to me on the couch. Dreaming of that huge Bouvier des Flandres, I’m sure.
So a quick pass through the bloggage:
Benghazi-Benghazi-Beetlejuice! Hillary held her own. More than held her own. Which means what? The hearings will continue. The GOP is so hungry for blood they’re eating their own legs. Here’s a human-element piece about the emails; you’ll like it.
I loved Jan Hooks on Saturday Night Live — she and Phil Hartman were some of my favorite performers of that era. Grantland looks at her unconventional career, a year after her death at 57.
You know those raunchy banners frats hang during back-to-school week? They’re not so bad. Found myself liking this more than I expected.
Oh, weekend. Where have you been?