In Which Your Humble Blogger isn’t stoned, I swear, but I mean have you ever really looked at snow? I mean looked at it?
In Which Your Humble Blogger is unusually despondent and probably needs a little Jeanette MacDonald inspiration.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is a cranky old man, but not The Cranky Old Man. Not the definite article.
In Which Your Humble Blogger aims for a kind of dry ironic tone, and probably misses by a mile. Ah, well.
In Which Your Humble Blogger actually, in point of fact, and with an eye toward punctilious honestly, has a bag that is neither new nor even new to me, but that has only been in frequent use over the last six months or so.
In Which Your Humble Blogger still doesn’t really understand that so many Americans believe that tax cuts are inherently good.
In Which Your Humble Blogger knows that your yiddish lyric is different from his, but gave up on sorting through which is original. The one I’ve got isn’t the one Pete Seeger sings, that’s for sure.
In Which Your Humble Blogger had never previously imagined Cary Grant as Mattithias/Matisyahu but is now far too amused.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets a lot of stuff off the old proverbial.
In which Your Humble Blogger does not suggest doing an internet search on the phrase [the heart pants life glows].