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Pretty beat today. Actually had to leave the house to go to class last night, and didn’t get home ’til about 9:30. Good thing it’s fairly warm out, but I’m still pretty beat. We also got our cat back home yesterday. He was a pretty sick little fella, and he’s still not out of the woods yet, but at least he’s home (though we’ve had to keep him isolated from the rest of the gang, which I don’t think he’s terrible happy about. Well, lots more of the catching up type stuff to do. Don’t know that I’ll ever get through this semester. Don’t really even know that I care. Isn’t it about time for spring break or something?

Ah, Ash Wednesday. Brings back memories. Back when I was in college (the first couple times), Ash Wednesday was the day we’d dig into our ashtrays, schmear a cross on our foreheads, and then go out in search of Catholic girls. Since I went to SUNY schools, they were a bit of an exotic commodity. Of course, in Buffalo, we could always go over to “The Locker Room,” which was a bar over by Canisius – a Jesuit school – (or make the trek up to Niagara, but Canisius was just a few blocks down Main Street). There were usually one or two rich girls looking to rub daddy’s nose in it. If that didn’t work, there was always Buff State to fall back on.

Anyhow, you’re supposed to give up something for lent. As for me, I think I’ll just plain give up.

Now that I seem capable of remaining conscious for several hours at a time, again, I have time to think about how far behind in everything I am. It’s enough to make me sick.

Another Monday rolls in, as I try to figure out why I’m supposed to care that Britteny Spaniel Spears shaved her head (or anything else). Thom Hatmann’s first day in the Franken slot today. Everybody should call in and ask to speak with Marc.

Our power was out for about 12 hours (maybe more) yesterday, then on for an hour, and off for a couple more. Not exactly what I needed. Better it should have happened today, when all I’d have missed was….

On Press the Meat, you’ve heard him spread White House lies and deception Mon thru Fri, now it’s your chance to hear him lie through his teeth on a Sunday, as Timmy Potatohead hosts Tony Snowjob. Timmy also has Senators Jack Reed and Chuck Hagel, on to tell us how proud they are of the US Senate, and then Richard Engel crawl out from under the rock he’s been hiding under to tell us how brave he’s been pretending to cover Iraq, while the real journalists have been out there with their asses on the line.

Over at CBS, Bush buddy Bobby Schieffer has a throughly exciting show in store for us, with Presidential “hopeful,” Joe Biden (keep hopin’, Joe), Dick Lugar, and hack writers Doyle McMAnus of the LA Times, and Josephine Hearn of The Politico.

On the Goebbels Broadcasting Channel, it’s a thrilling EXCLUSIVE with Republican “front-runner” Mitt Romney (really? The Mormon from NJ is a front-runner? Says a lot about the rest of the field, doesn’t it?). Then, at the roundtable, it’s The Nation’s Kristina vanden Heuvel, Fareed “Token” Zakaria and George :jerk: Will. Plus, Michael Douglas, for some reason.

Over at Fux News with Weaselface Wallace, it’s Carl Levin and the Newtster.

Wolf Blitzer trots out the Snowman again, as well as a bunch of other people that I don’t really give a shit about, and later, on 60 Minutes, Bob Simon tells us about Kurdistan, “the other Iraq” (must be a nice place), Lesley Stahl tells us all about autism, and Kenny Chesney tells Anderson Cooper he’s not gay (no, really, honest). No word on if Anderson Cooper will tell the rest of us, “who gives a shit.”

Plus, there’s all your usual Sunday night hijinx. All assuming your power stays on, of course. Enjoy.

Still trying to get over whatever the hell it is I’ve got in my armpit. Hope your day goes a bit better than mine.

Another Marc Maron finale show today. You’d sure think there’d be a place for him in the lineup somewhere. Anyhow, as with yesterday, you can stop over to the Franken show blog and blog over there, if you want.

Hope you all caught Marc on Conan last night. Don’t forget, he’ll be in the noon – 3 eastern slot on most of your AAR stations (sorry, Gypsy). I hear tell that Al’s blog will be left open for a couple of weeks, so if y’all want to blog over there during the show, it might help to show the new brass how great an idea it would be to bring Marc on board permanently. Just be nice to Al’s bloggers, if there are any there. They’ve just seen their favorite show come to an end, and – no matter what any of us, personally, felt about Al – we all know how much that sucks (twice). Guess I’d better go see if I need to shovel again. See ya.

So, here we go, another Wednesday. And Valentines Day, to boot. It’s rather an odd day to have representing “romance,” really. Back in the olden days, (like, the fourth century B.C.), the Romans had an annual lottery around this time of year (for the festival of Lupercalia), where the names of teenage women in the vicinity were placed in a box and drawn at random by young men. The two were then paired off for a year, until the next lottery (although sometimes they fell in love and stayed together permanently). Not a bad set-up, really – one year trial, and if it doesn’t work out, well, better luck next time. None of this sat very well with the Christians, of course (ever the spoilsports), so they figured they’d better fuck things up. That’s where they came up with the whole Valentine’s Day thing.

The Christians (unlike the Catholics) hated all that pagan stuff, but they knew if they were to successfully control everything (and everyone), they needed to give the people their little rituals (kind of like sitting though a lecture on the King of Peace and the meek shall inherit the Earth, before heading out to the football stadium and screaming in a drunken rage, “kill, kill, KILL“). So, they decided to create a day to honor Saint Valentine – a priest who refused to quit performing marriages after they were banned by Emperor Claudius II (seems they were having trouble getting people to enlist in his legions, which he attributed to married guys not wanting to leave their wives and families). Valentine was given quite a few chances to knock it off, but he refused and was eventually beaten to death with clubs, and then beheaded (just to make sure, I suppose; the Romans were quite thorough that way) on February 14th (actually, there were a bunch of Valentines – at least three, and maybe as many as seven – but the story works better with only one). What with the Christians – even back then, apparently – having a difficult time separating brutality, blood, and death, from love, they figured this was just the sort of thing to make a lover’s holiday out of.

Supposedly, before his execution, St. Valentine (one of ’em, anyway) send a note to the jailer’s daughter (whom he had cured of blindness, or so the story goes – far be it for me to suggest there was something more untoward going on) signed “From Your Valentine.” Aw. So, instead of the lottery, the Roman guys and gals started exchanging Valentines cards (probably saying something like “sayus, babyus, putteth down que plumbus, and getteth mei plumbus surgo surrexi surrectum”), and then some kid probably cried ‘cuz he didn’t get one, so his mother bitched, and then they came up with a rule that everybody has to give a Valentine to everybody else.

So, anyhow, in keeping with the romantic customs of the day, has anybody out there every had an increasingly sore armpit, accompanied by chills, fever, fatigue, and night sweats? Just curious.