Between rounds of trying to herd me to bed, Carlos is skidding around after a milk-jug ring (he's newly a fan of them; Miri has loved them forever, and is especially fond of chasing them under the closet door and then looking lost). It's late, and I'm tired, but it's Friday night, and I don't have to set the alarm. So there is good.
And that's about all I can summon. So we enter the list of items tagged to "blog about", ruffle through the options, and present this:
As it says
where I read about it, "Perhaps the weirdest opening sentence in a NY Times article ever." That is indeed one hell of a sentence, no two ways about it.
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