All right, got up at the ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m.—copy editors prefer the crack of noon, and went out to breakfast with Kathleen—eggs and corned beef hash at Valentino’s. Did grocery shopping and laundry (three loads). Neglected raking up the remaining leaves of the fall, plus all those damn Higgs bosons. That can wait, along with the leaves in the gutters on the garage. Wrote a review of James Wolcott’s entertaining memoir, Lucking Out, which no one much seems to have read. Bought a white pine my height for a Christmas tree. Got in mounted in the damn stand, with sap all over my hands, so that Kathleen can complain that there aren’t enough lights on it. (There are plenty. What is our living room supposed to be, Las Vegas?) It has only fallen over once, so far. Drank an astonishingly good Heavy Seas Yule Tide Belgian tripel ale, which made me a lot more amenable to fiddling with the Christmas tree and its stand. Soon Alice is expected over for pizza and hanging decorations on the tree to conceal the imagined inadequacy of the lights.
Tomorrow: back to the paragraph factory.