A brief update, from the depths of the morning

Has anyone ever noticed how maudlin impulses become almost overwhelming towards the wee hours? The Editor has difficulty retaining an objective point of view around this time of day, or night. Everything seems imbued with extra nostalgic meaning and depressive possibility. This is probably the copious quantities of excellent Glenlivet speaking, however, so please disregard anything which seems . . . maudlin. Perhaps it's not the wee hours, but being drunk during the wee hours, which is at fault. See, if bars stayed open twenty-four hours, this issue would not arise, as the Editor could continue to play pool until the sun was safely up. (I do not at this time have the resources to install a pool table at home; if anyone wishes to contribute to the cause, please let me know. A sucker's born every minute, so I've heard.) In the meantime, I am doomed to pick-up games with random folks at the pseudo-imitation-English pub down the road. I'm sorry, but this is California. We do not have English pubs here, as, well, it's not England. And my friend, who accompanied my on my mission to find a game of pool this evening, informs me that the mixed drinks at this place are just awful. I wouldn't know, as I drink, you guessed it, Glenlivet. Which it would be a form of sacrilege to mix with anything, except perhaps some hot water and a spot of lemon, in a dire winter emergency.

And once again, this is California. Define "dire winter emergency"? Well, there's some water on the street, see, and the temperature has dipped below the point where it's comfortable to wear a t-shirt outside at four a.m. Having lived in less benign climates, the attitude of my neighbors towards weather of any kind seems a bit hyperactive and overblown. But then, they moved here to spend their vast bank accounts on luxuries of the most decadent sort, and spend their time demanding that the very tides obey their commands, egged on by their mobs of personal assistants and interior decorators; much like King Canute and his council, only without that excellent monarch's common sense.

Anyway, I don't play golf, surf, or believe that the universe revolves around my ability to walk out onto the patio of my mansion and drink a pina colada in the middle of January; thus, rain isn't an issue, except for the zombie problem, of course. You mean you haven't seen it in the news? Thank god for blogs: it's the only place for a real update on the state of the world.