Not much time today—plus: hoagie coma!


Flexing my bulging, Michigan-bred he-muscles yesterday, I ripped the left underarm area of the shirt I was wearing, a sad act of defilement that was accompanied by a pitch-perfect Hollywood sound effect. I’d think what happened was really cool—i.e. get out of my way, fools, I’m the Incredible Hulk!—were it not for the fact that it’s among my favorite shirts. I found that puppy at the Salvation Army just as the lone hipster scouring the racks made his turn into the aisle; had I arrived two minutes later, I’m convinced that I’d have never felt the embrace of Ol’ Lady Light-Blue. I’m going to go see if the sewing doctors can resuscitate, but it’s not looking good.