Holden Caufield would have called this a crumby weekend. I am inclined to agree. My beloved transcendentalfish, Emerson, passed away this weekend. Dear Emerson began his fishy life in a drawer as a practical joke and has been with me for no fewer than four moves. He has been a constant in an otherwise tumultuous two years. He will be missed by all. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to "goldfish for Obama", a cause near and dear to Emerson's fishy heart. I tried to get him to at least hear Edwards out, but he refused.
As if the loss of my fish were not enough, the Steelers had to go and lose. And not just lose, but lose in a knock-out drag down fight to the death. The victory would have been sweet, my friends, it would have been sweet. It's amazing what one fourth down conversion can do to a city.... At least my Pens have a nice little winning streak going for them. There's a lot riding on you, Armstrong, you better not let me down.
The last straw, the very last straw, was the end of the pumpkin spice latte for the season. I know you're all feeling the same pain, so I won't belabor the details; I guess I should thank the vanilla latte for taking me back every year after I spend months cheating on it with a superior latte. Until next Fall, my dear pumpkin, fare thee well. (Apologies to Holden, I go and steal his sentiments, and I somehow doubt that he'd approve of my latte addiction, so I'll just throw that out there now).
A final note to those who love and care for me. When I die, please do not flush me down the toilet and then go out for pizza. Thank you.
Happy New Year!