Well, I don't get the sense Pat wants to kill me, that's true. I think he may have drowned some kittens in his time though. Little helpless kittens that looked up at him with sad wanting eyes as he shoved them down into his rock filled burlap sack before strolling, whistling all the way, to the river.

Ok, it's not Pat...but I do feel better, physically, emotionally and mentally when I avoid talk radio, tv, and the papers. When I do pay attention I try to use that cold clinical detachment a surgeon requires to cut another human being open, fiddle about in all that blood and guts, then sew him or her back up all good as new. Ya know...that "I'm just taking care of a little plumbing problem" attitude. That casual "Drop your pants sir, bend over and put your elbows on the table" line that they can deliver with such nonchalant elegance just before poking a finger or two up a strangers ass is sort of what's required here.

As we sat in the bar the other day my friend turned to me and said "This is all the medication I need. The last place you want to be is in a hospital unless you are near death!" then he downed his high octane cocktail. He's an emergency responder. I did not quite know what to say to that being that it sort of came out of the blue so I said "The last place you want to be if you are in good health is in front of a tv."

He gave me an odd look and shrugged and said "I'll drink to that." and did.

So did I.