It's easy to be somewhat impressed with the idea that I finally got off my ass and de-rubbled by home. But the truth is that we had another important imperative: We've set off on Estivus Peripatetica, which translates loosely to Summer Tour of Moxie's Midwestern Relatives Who Lack Cable Television. We're going to cover hundreds of miles and visit eight venues over these next ten days, stopping here and there for a visit and a cup of tepid coffee. We should print t-shirts.
Anyway, to offset the costs of this odyssey (LODyssey?) that will keep us out of the city for five glorious, soot-free weeks,
we my wife found a subletter to watch the Laid-Off Lair while we're gone. We've never met this woman, a rising college sophomore, but we've talked to her many times on the phone and she seems OK, if a little distant. The only real concern is her MySpace page, in which she avers that 1) she is a promiscuous, chain-smoking drunk and 2) all of her BFFs are promiscuous, chain-smoking drunks who are CRRrrRRRAAAazzzAAAY! She Her daddy gave us a hefty security deposit, and if one ounce of my Scotch is missing or I detect the slightest whiff of tobacco, I'm gonna cash that fucker faster than you can say "comparative negligence." (Or, for her benefit: COMMPaaRRaTiiiiivE NeGGLiGEnZ, BoYEE!). I will also link to her page and expose her photos and "crushlist" to the ridicule they so richly deserve.