It may only be the third day of February, but I'm ready to be done with winter. Connecticut is currently under another onslaught from nature, with snow falling steadily since early afternoon. This needs to stop, time now. It's much more sub-freezing precipitation that I'm used to receiving on the other side of the Sound. And it makes me that much more anxious to relocate back to the good side of that body of water.
Work continues...because that's really all it ever does. Yet again, we spent probably hundreds of man-hours prepping the engine room for a high-profile visitor who didn't quite make it onto the Submersible Death Trap. Not even I could claim that our efforts had gone for naught - the cleaning we've done will benefit the boat, for at least a whopping two or three days.
What an ending to Super Bowl XLIII. I was pulling for the Cardinals in this one, not only due to my general NFC leaning, but also to see such a starved franchise break through. And for a few minutes, it looked like it might happen. That is, until Santonio Holmes and the "Double Toe Drag." As that catch was made, and I looked at the game clock graphic, my only thought was, "thirty-five seconds...how coincidental." It was, after all, the second consecutive year that the game-winning touchdown had been caught at 59:25. All credit to Holmes, Big Ben, and all the Steelers for earning the "one for the other thumb." They did control the majority of the game, thanks not only to their own play but to Arizona allowing the country to get quite familiar with Terry McAulay - who I thought did a pretty good job, except maybe for that last
I abstained from consumption during Sunday's showcase game, thanks mainly to a wicked hangover from the previous night. I delved into the library of hard liquors gifted to me by my ex-roommate J. Raymond. The night began with regular screwdrivers, vodka and orange juice. Once the Smirnoff was expended, it was on to Blue Curaçao, in the same 1:2 ratio with the orange juice. It tasted great. I'm pretty sure it produced a vomit session (thankfully, a clean one), and my not answering the bell until 1310, with the headache not clearing until just before the Super Bowl kicked off. There's a reason I call such beverages by the collective name of the "Elixir of Death." And yet, somehow, a very small miracle came out of all that drinking...I coherently finished the post about my NYC trip, and got it in before the curtain fell on last month.
Finally - so, the President said he "screwed up" with the appointment of Daschle to lead HHS? I think I'll be watching Anderson Cooper 360° at the top of the hour.