RIP Mike

It's a small death, but in the Harlot family, it's a significant one. Is it wrong for a eulogy to be hilarious?

Here in Ohio, we are dealing with cold campfire cookouts, an altogether scarier and human brand of death, euchre regulations, rural driving customs, and a great big loving family.

Back at home in Chicago, everything had been off-balance: there were no dishes in the dishwasher, but there were paper plates littering the kitchen from all the leftovers we'd reheated, since we didn't cook for a week. All wee I tried to use HTML while typing in Microsoft Word to create my italics. There were suddenly four more holes in my mouth, one of which is vented into different parts of my body.

Here, despite the conservative/consumerist strangeness, things make more sense. Perhaps I (like the White Sox) need to define myself in opposition to something from time to time. Life is no different, really; I'm still not cooking, there are still scary holes in my mouth, and I still have a fascination with the < i > pattern. But I am grounded, in a good way.

I'm also loving the fact that Elwood snuck in and posted a great baseball post when I wasn't looking. Joy abounds, in my corner of the 'net.