The Subway sandwich shop near my office opens at 9:00 a.m. Why do you suppose that is?

Of course, given the fact that I work in a huge office park full of people yet I am frequently their only customer at 12:30, maybe I’m the one with a fundamental misunderstanding of their business. Maybe in this part of town, people just can’t start the day without their footlong steak and salami breakfast hoagie.

I didn’t stand in line for a PS3 (I thought about it, but only for eBay purposes; papa needs a new pair of shoes) but Best Buy is selling something I gladly would have waited outside for. I have been hopping from foot to foot in anticipation for a month, and today is finally the day:

I went to pick mine up at lunch, even though there is no way to watch it for at least another seven hours. I can’t remember the last time I was so excited about something. It’s in a bag next to me at my desk, and occasionally I reach in and touch it. I stroke it like a cat. I may bring it back to work tomorrow. So faux-leathery.

There’s something really funny about the austere, faux leather tome-iness of something that is 40% blowjob jokes. It is bound like the collected writings of Thomas Jefferson on the outside, and on the inside I know for a fact a guy dressed like a foam shark rings someone’s doorbell and eats her. Classic = stupidity + age. (As someone who’s aging, I’m counting on it.)