Winter finally came a-calling yesterday.
More of a “ring the doorbell and run” deal, actually. Left 0.06 inch of rain on our doorstep instead of a flaming sack of dog shit.
We’ll take it. Don’t gotta stomp it out or nothin’.
Today dawned clear and cold, and the furnace and humidifier were harmonizing on what sounded like some sort of mariachi tune as I awakened just before 4 to “shake hands with the governor.”
“Are you getting up or going back to bed?” Herself asked as she set about her day.
“Back to bed,” I mumbled, and made it so. The next two hours of sleep were top shelf, curled up like an old dog under blanket and comforter. The news cycle can’t get me in there, with the phone locked and in silent mode. No wonder Miss Mia Sopaipilla loves the bed-cave I make for her every morning after coffee. And she doesn’t even read The New York Times.
The press is deep into “The Year in Review” mode now, which reminds me of the last time I went to a Broncos game at the old Mile High stadium, back in the days when the Donkeys would have had their hands full going up against a Pop Warner squad from Saguache.
Anyway, the Donks were getting their asses handed to them, by whom I can’t recall, and though there was plenty of time remaining on the clock, the stands were emptying faster than bladders full of the industrial lager the fans were slamming to drown their sorrows.
In mid-exodus the PA gives out with a cheery, “And don’t forget to watch ‘Bronco Replay'” on whatever local TV channel was playing the piano in that whorehouse. After which some tosspot a few tiers downhill from us lurches to his unsteady feet, bellows, “Wasn’t it bad enough the first time?” and then tumbles down the stairs.
All these years later three hundred and sixty-five steps seems like quite a tumble, especially since I’m not wearing any protective gear — like, say, sinuses lined with cocaine, a beer-swollen liver, and a couple dozen extra elbees of adipose tissue.
So please excuse me if I skip the replay. It was bad enough the first time.
Mad Blog Media 
CNN’s Year in Review it’s about the same appeal as a live streamed and recorded revisit of my colonoscopy last spring. Extending the metaphor, you gotta go through a lot of shit and the payoff is an up close and personal look at a tumor or two.
“The Year in Review” is a lot like Eddie Izzard’s imagining of a mass murderer’s diary from “Dress to Kill”:
Not sure what I did to be so blessed, but during the two week break from school, our pups have decided to hold their tinkle until 7 AM, instead of the normal 0530. With that extra hour plus of snooze, I can almost tolerate other carbon based lifeforms that share the roof with me before the 2nd cup of Joe kicks in.
Sleep. The breakfast of champions.
This year in review? Like you, I’ll pass.