A Needed Chuckle

I always dreamed of being a foreign correspondent. And as much as I have enjoyed smoking drugs, I would not like to be this foreign correspondent.

(But, seriously, that was why I got my journalism degree. I always dreamed of being one of those war correspondents or something. Don't know what happened; a reality check, I guess. I had coffee with Stevie Cameron -- the journalist who blew the lid off the Mulroney Airbus scandal and other things -- and she told me that, unless I fancied a cocaine addiction and alcoholism, I might want to rethink my plans. She said it was bad enough to see the worst man had to offer on a daily basis, but to deliberately go out seeking it was like pouring poison into your soul, and a hard living to live with. Sounded likely to me. So, here I am, in all my slacker glory. Still, funny piece up there. Gosh, it's nice to have my sound fixed on my computer. I rock.)

Depress-o-meter: A six out of 10, maybe lower. Just hate Mondays. I really, really hate Mondays. Boomtown Rats, anyone?