There’s a good reason why my fingers have not been fleet this week: I was abducted by a rogue branch of the R.N.C. and forced to watch a loop of W’s stump speeches from his ’94 gubernatorial campaign in Texas.

Well no, not really; but I was pretty busy. Anyone who relies on federal money for their livelihood knows that September marks the end of the federal reporting year. Hoo wee, that’s the makins’ for some good times.

We’ve now established that I’m the guy in the office that’s never seen a cup of coffee that was too cold to hold, or too old to, crap, one word short of a perfectly good rhyme, drink.

“John, how can you drink that stuff?”

“What, it was made in the morning right?”

“Yeah, like, Friday morning.”

And then the phone rang. I didn’t answer in time, but thankfully the caller left a message. It was a friend from high school that I hadn’t seen in a few years. It was the perfect time to hear from an old friend; something to yank me from my fevered working haze. It just goes to show you that life does throw you curves, but they don’t always come in high and tight, sending you sprawling to the dirt.