Ok...another one of life's lessons that I've recently learned is not to drink an entire pot of coffee at 2am and stay up all night writing, unless I've got no place to go for a couple of days. That really screwed up my schedule. But it's almost 5:30 in the morning here in America's Playground, and although it's cold as hell outside (Yeah Doc, Minnesota is colder than hell), I'm wide awake and ready for the day.
But writing is going to be light-to-non-existent for the next couple of days. Vanessa arrives in a few hours and we've got lots of Vegas buffoonery planned. This morning, I have to go wash the last month's filth off of the ghetto sled (although I'm thinking about renting a 300M for a couple of days, just because...), I need to go to the bank, the cigar store (you've got to admire a woman who appreciates the simple pleasures of a fine cigar and a top-shelf martini), and find some decent clothes that match. Then it's off to the airport and the silliness begins. In addition to all the match-plays we have to burn, I still have a few LVA coupons that need to be used by the end of the year, and part of the agenda is to get a little more ink done. We should have a great time, and I probably won't be near a computer for the next day or two. However, once she heads home and I get some sleep, I'll post what I can, pictures included.
Before I sign off, I have to make a quick mention about last night's Steelers/Colts game. I've never been much of a Peyton Manning fan, often getting a perverse satisfaction out of seeing him choke away the big game. But after the season the Colts are having and seeing the first play from scrimmage last night where he made Pittsburg's vaunted defense look like his own personal bitches, all I could do is shake my head in amazement and admiration. Indy is definitely better than my all-time favorite team, the 1999 Rams, and I'd love to see them run the tables and make history, if only to shut up Nick Buoniconti and the rest of those old farts from Miami for the last time. I have a feeling that the case of champagne they've had on ice the entire year won't get opened unless they man-up and send it to the Colts locker room in Detroit for the post-game celebration in February.
19-0. That would even obliterate my old roommate Neil's Happy Hour Hook-Up Without Catching The Clap record. Here's to hoping they don't run into the NFL equivalent of a U of A sorority girl with a huge rack and an appetite for Cosmopolitans.