1. It never fails to surprise me how many people are like “Oh, poor Marc Smirnoff.” Though, you know, folks, maybe we’re the only people in the world–beside that poor intern–he was a raging asshole to? Let’s feel special.
2. It’s a long story that I won’t get into out of respect for the fact that the people I care about have changed a great deal in the intervening years, but let me just say that I feel about this the way Daisy Duke might feel upon learning that Boss Hogg had bankrupted Hazzard County. If the Duke boys were running pot not moonshine.
3. Okay, so I learned something–I think–yesterday. The Necronomicon was NOT written by Lovecraft, as I’d always assumed, but was written by some Ed Smith dude. So, Lovecraft made up a book. And then the book appeared and everyone who didn’t think it was written by the “Mad Arab” assumed it was written by Lovecraft but really, it was written by some other dude, who seems to have hoped people might mistake it for Lovecraft. That, my friends, is so great I cannot stand it.
Back to 2, for a second. It will be weird, if there’s wide-spread legalization of marijuana, to realize how many people I know will be able to tell stories of their youthful days as our equivalent of rum runners.