Okay, it's mailbag time.
I'm presently writing this in a Los Angeles hotel room with virtually no voice. All my life I've been afraid I'd lose my voice and it never happened. Until now. Last night on television with Petros, I got crushed in our great debate because I couldn't speak loud enough. Right now I'm in the throes of the worst cold ever. (By the way, no one talks about this, but one of the worst things about being a parent of young kids is that one of your kids always has a cold. I mean, always. If your family is big enough then you can pass the entire cold through your family and then repass it back through two weeks later. This is infuriating.)
Michael H. sends us this picture of a Bama fan with magnets on his truck:
"Thought you would enjoy this photo I took in front of an Alabama McDonalds this morning. I think what I love most is that the two magnets don't quite match - meaning they were definitely purchased at separate times. This guy was so happy with the first magnet that he had to go out and get a second one made for child #2. The handy plates are a nice touch too.
May Bama and Kentucky fans never change."
Our beaver pelt trader of the week is Gabriel Garcia Marquez, who wrote this first sentence, which I think is the best in the history of novels, in "One Hundred Years of Solitude:" “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”
I mean, that's just f-ing amazing.
The entire book is just as good.
I've always been a big reader -- you think I got this good at dick jokes by accident? -- and back when I was a kid I was told if you like one book an author writes then go back and read everything he's ever written in the order he wrote it. Here would be my all-time top five favorite writers: 1. William Faulkner 2. Cormac McCarthy 3. Gabriel Garcia-Marquez 4. Franklin W. Dixon (I know this was a syndicate of dozens of writers, but I loved the Hardy Boys when I was a kid. Don't even get me started on the tears I shed when Iola Morton got blown up). 5. Ernest Hemingway
Okay, on to the mailbag.