Dale is going to be getting up at six a.m. every day for the next few months. Staying up late has ended. At night I will be asleep and during the day I will be awake, and when my telephone rings after a certain time of the evening it will be answered by a machine. Answering calls you don't want to take is one of the nicest things a machine can do for a person. It asks only for electricity in return. I love you, asnswering machine.
The downside of the early morning, for now, is that it was nice to be woken by light coming in the window, and light doesn't do that at six in Minneapolis unless there is something terribly wrong, like unless there is water coming in it at high volumes as well, say, to extinguish a fire. Which I guess reminds me that waking people up when there's a fire is another nice thing that machines do. Thanks, smoke detector. Now that the theme is inescapable, I'm going to do the Sunday thing and pay homage to my coffeemaker for its tireless devotion to service, and then read the Atlantic monthly, whose annual double issue arriived yesterday.
The vikings/packers (read: packers) game is at 3:30 central, so if you want to come, you may enjoy my scintillating company at the Leaning Tower of Pizza. I'll be hanging with a major celebrity. If by some chance you still don't know who he is, you'll know me because I'll be wearing my favorite pants. They're brown and slightly checkered and I'll be the most awesome guy in the bar.
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