...is that someone was murdered. Allegedly.

That means I have a trial to cover tomorrow.

I know, it's twisted.

But this means I don't have to scramble for a story tomorrow, probably the next day either.

This means I get to go buy a bottle of my good friend Jack.

And have a drink. Or twelve.

'Lament where my country's heading.

And lament that my job inherently makes me happy at others' misfortune. Like, you know, when they die.

Excuse me, bartender?

Over the weekend this girl in my program was telling me about a bomb threat at an Evanston high school - she's got the education beat.

The powers that be drove her to the school before learning whether it was safe or not, and I swear to Christian-Evangelical-Conservative God: The first thought that popped into my head was "Cool! What a lucky break!"

Go get as close to a bomb as possible. "Awesome, thanks!"

...Am I being brainwashed, here?

I sure am approaching burnout, that's for sure. And I'm only two months in. Well that's a good sign.

*Sigh*

At least I get to fly to Houston this weekend (and pretend like I can afford all these jet-setting trips). I get to meet up there with Cronkette - remember what she looks like, what her skin feels like.

This is our second Houston wedding - we met at the first. Cronkette showed up at the reception as my boss's date...and in the end I managed to keep my job. To this day it remains one of my finest moments.

I remember Cronkette driving me to the airport at the end of that initial Houston wedding trip. I remember passing by Halliburton HQs.

And I wonder if I'll see that same Halliburton gate this time 'round. If so, then the only question is exactly how painful the stomach-punch is gonna be...

"Welcome to Texas. Bush won."

Oof!

Hey, at least the sun sets up here at 4:30 and it's 45 degrees! So I got that going for me, which is nice.

Alright, what am I doing? Jack's calling. I gotta go.