weak for wine

Okay, I admit it. I fell into my old love for cheap red wine and had two glasses of Chas. Shaw this evening before I dozed off during a NASCAR Busch Series race on FX. Maybe, NASCAR is the problem, and I'm not really weak.

After the race, I tuned in Keith on MSNBC in time to watch him talk about another member of the weak race, the male. Patrick Kennedy is going into rehab. Can I look myself in a mirror after experiencing such trauma? What do mirrors have to do with this activity anyhow? Will I sleep like a baby, insuring that I can launch myself into an anti-rehab program, red wine and NASCAR.

As I write, a PD chopper is overhead. If I rush out and toss the bottle into the recycle bin, maybe they'll not notice. I think it has to do with a girl gang fight at the park, quickly becoming new spectator sport. It'll appear in the scanner report, even if it's unfounded, it's too good not to acknowledge. After all, the report of a crime is often better than the real crime.

Except I pissed off the PD PIO today when I asked her to investigate a rather tricky hit and run near the Holiday Inn yesterday. First time I even heard her speak like a human being. When she's pissed. Maybe I've stumbled in on a secret of man-woman dealings, but I'll keep it under my hat pending more study. Lots more study.