In Which Your Humble Blogger also did not get extra points for working the name of the town into the lyrics. Come to think of it, I’m not altogether sure what the name of the town was. But that probably happens a lot.
In Which Your Humble Blogger could probably get a nice note going about the song “Rumainye, Rumaniye”, but would have to decide how to spell it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger maintains that 22 inches is a lot for Greater Hartford, even if the midwesterners consider it a flurry.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is uncertain what to say, but is certain, somehow, that it is important to say something.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t so much regret not being able to keep up—I never could—but still. Only twenty-four hours a day, only two ears a head.
In Which the spirits came all in one night! They can do that, they are spirits.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has not, in point of fact, been asked to repeatedly address the topic. But if I don’t, who will?
In Which Your Son, the Blogger, is surprised by the score.
In Which Your Humble Blogger hopes to put this whole sorry episode behind him.
In Which Your Humble Blogger tries to spark more interest in the dud game of Encore, by hanging upside-down over the spikes, slowly slowly lowered to my hideous doom. Each correct answer brings me one inch closer to safety.