The Morning After: Don’t Recognize the Sound of My Own Voice Edition
Well, hello, there. Sorry if things have been sparse here as of late. I awoke yesterday with peculiarly large lymph nodes and inner ears that seem to have gone scuba diving without my permission. But I'm hopping off to one ye olde urgent care center cold & flu mill this morning, where a medical doctor can hopefully inform me how I might go about not sounding like a classic movie nerd post-haste.
* Another guy claiming to be looking for a date to the inauguration is 52, loves "fresh seafood on the grill, roast chicken and fine wines," looking to take you to "one of the department stores to purchase a gown or gowns—if you would like to attend more than one Gala with me."
* Other Craigslisters, on the other hand, are advertising their interest in your inaugural gravy train, like this 40-year-old Kensington woman. She's a charmer:
I have been in the DC/MD area for three years, and up until recently I was completely unimpressed, ney, disappointed with the "energy" of the area. However, like so many others, I have experienced the verve, excitement, and yes, the hope that permeates the air these past few weeks. . . . Therefore, I am very interested in attending the Ball!
* Via Slate: Barack Obama's Presidency: kids ask, parents answer.
* Also in Slate, Christopher Hitchens completes his yearly curmudgeonly exercise of hating Christmas:
I have just flung aside my copy of the Weekly Standard, a magazine with a generally hardheaded and humorous approach to matters. It contains two seasonal articles that would probably not have made print were it not for the proximity to the said solstice. (To be fair, the same can be said of the article that you are reading, but I claim exemption under the terms of the "to hell with all that" amendment.)
* Evil Slutopia has a guide to how your holiday shopping can help women.
Photo via trialsanderrors.