The yachtsman just called me from the airport in DC and offered me $5 to have the air conditioner on when he got home. I'm considering his offer because I can be bought, but usually not for so little. [If you're reading this, honey, call back and offer to make me strawberry shortcake this weekend, and it will be a cool 72 degrees when you walk in the door.]
The yachtsman also said, "I can't believe Michael Jackson is dead," about five times during our brief phone conversation. Michael Jackson has been dead to me for awhile now, so I'm not that shocked.
What I do find weird is this description of the content of Gov. Mark Sanford's e-mails to his Argentinean mistress, from the South Carolina newspaper that published a bunch of them this morning: "There is talk of Coosaw, his Beaufort plantation, and his love of digging holes on the property."
Huh? Digging holes as a pastime? Is that a Southern thing?
I tried reading the e-mails, by the way, and just cannot recommend them. They're (a) boring, (b) trite, (c) cliched, and (d) hackneyed. I couldn't make it past the descriptions of sunsets and tan lines to the promised, more original material about hole digging.