Another Sunday Night ...

I have one and half more midterm portfolios to grade for the night. 12 down, 3 gazillion to go.

I'm procrastinating. Can you tell?

Sundays at the Cherry Street Grille in lovely Vermillion are delicious. The daily special is All You Can Eat tater tot hotdish. Does it get any better than that? Not so much. While I have yet to partake in this wonder, I can't hardly wait. Mmm ...

I was watching Bill O'Reilly the other night (his show is like the mangled metal of a car wreck; I can't look away) and it was a best-of clips show. I watched as O'Reilly went toe-to-toe with Spike Lee about racial profiling and then threatened to kick Phil Donahue's ass. This man is as about as ridiculous as they come.

I love Downy Wrinkle Release.

Is CSI on around the clock? I am beginning to think so.

Big, crunchy leaves fell from the trees today and were skimming off my windshield as if some kid tore off all his paper bag book covers and tossed them to the wind.

I played some ball today at the park. Love it. I ain't as quick as I used to be, therefore, I need to hit the gym ASAP.

Those last few essays are on the kitchen table, calling my name. On the bright side, my white button-down has been doused in Wrinkle Release and is ready to go for tomorrow. On the not-so-bright side, my tummy is not filled with tater tot hotdish.

Which probably isn't such a bad thing.