Damnable Dissertation Distraction

I'm looking at some crappy prose in my chapter about witches, so I'm avoiding serious thought by waxing on about my friend The Birmingham Boy's problems. Because they amuse me.

The Boy has decided to go on sabbatical from "the ladies" for a solid year. His last girlfriend was some sort of crazy Latina, and he was married before that, so he's thinking that a break might do him good.

I hear the sabbatical thing -- I've taken a breather for many a season here and there along the primrose path that is my life -- but a year? I'm considering starting a betting pool about his potential success or failure, but I'd hate to seem unsupportive.

As an aside, the Boy is considering getting work with a fella named Dick Deasy, which has had me making up slogans all day. "Feeling queasy? You need Dick Deasy!" "He's not sleazy! He's Dick Deasy!" "Take it easy -- leave it to Dick Deasy." "You think that's cheesy? Check out Dick Deasy!"

Back to work. Maybe some wine and then some work. (Shout out to Reds red wine, "the people's wine." Any wine with Soviet leaders' faces on their corks is serious drinking. And I feel so lefty! Sure to inspire something academic.) 'Night, comrades.