This is what I get for waiting, for choosing to be "busy" today, "running errands," instead of posting this entry. (I also feel sheepish about my low-key Saturday because a trio of my fellow bloggers - John, Gary, and Heather - were apparently starting a new breakfast club by going into work this morning. But hey, I got up early too... so I could gaze at Campbell Brown on "Weekend Today.")
So anyway, I was ready to write about something Mis Hooz sent me on Thursday called "The Somerville Gates," a witty little parody of "The Gates" by an artist in Somerville, MA.
No reason that New York and Central Park has to hog all of the fun with "nightmare, cheesy, poorly-spaced, garish, ugly glow-in-the-dark orange things," as Keith Olbermann called them.
But the New York Times ran a story about "The Somerville Gates" today, so I don't look nearly as clever as I would've 24 hours ago. And if I can't make myself look clever, then dammit, I'll pout. And whine about it here. Or hope that you read me instead of the Times.
Here's what party-pooper Sarah Boxer wrote.
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