This is a picture of Carlton and me from earlier this summer.  My parents will probably KILL me for having a cigar.  Even though I smoke fewer than two a year, it’s still grounds for my death.  Not from cancer, mind you, but from their verbal bludgeoning.  They would further argue that I’ve ruined a perfectly good picture.  I disagree.  Carlton and I shared a cigar and a glass of bourbon at one of his work functions.  It was a lot of fun, and as a matter of fact, this picture was taken on the day I credit with being the "upswing" in Carlton’s happiness.  He had been really stressed by work, life,…. ME, and he slowly but surely changed his outlook for the better.  I love how happy he looks in the picture.

I am aware that most blog entries (including my own) are plagued by angst and what I call blogorrhea, driven by a need to be poetic and eloquent.  It’s the common person’s way to seem artistic.  As U2 once said, "every artist is a cannibal/every poet is a thief/all kill their inspiration/then sing about their grief."  I think comedy and lighthearted themes are much more difficult to convey without being too much like a syrupy movie. 

No angst: this one’s just happy.  I love this guy.

Uh oh.  Am I Nora Ephron?