Normally when I'm this late it's with a book, not the telly. Which is why I've probably never noticed that Carson whatshisbutt has a late night show. And he's spectacularly awful. Not so bad it's good awful, but so bad I quickly polished off the glass of wine so I can shut down the pooter and head to bed.

Sweet Fancy Moses the commercial's over! Where the hell is that remote?!

Carson Daly is SO bad, they BEG people coming out of the Tonight Show taping to go be in his audience...

What if Carson Palmer hosted instead?

Wasn't he on MTV? I thought he was supposed to be some hottie or something. On his late show he has all the charisma of cold, congealed oatmeal. Does he have no shame? Does he have no friends who can tell him how much he totally sucks?

Danger is: Trying to make a pass on a 2 lane highway in a Chevy Cobalt. I think I'd have done better with a riding lawnmower.

I'm reading this as you attempting to hit on someone, and somehow being in a riding lawnmower would have improved your chances?:D

mmmm......breakfast of (ex) champions :p

Ever notice that, counter-intuitively, it seems easier to get used to driving a rental car than it is to get re-used to driving your own car after driving a rental car? I suppose it's because when in a rental car, you're expecting things to not feel right, but when you get back in your own car, it's jarring when your muscle memory is incorrect.

An odd realization stemming from a strange late night convorsation between CP and myself:

I've been to several historical recreated villages from the colonial era on the east coast. These are places where buildings from the time are preserved, and people dress in period costumes, demonstrating what life was like during the time. There'd be women tending gardens, a baker baking bread, and invariably a blacksmith making stuff. Sometimes they'd even give some small bit of metal work to the visitors (I've still got a square nail lying around somewhere). It ocurred to me last night that while you are guaranteed to see a butter churn at these recreated villages, and maybe even someone pretending to churn butter, not once do I remember getting to taste any hand-churned butter on the spot. Which made me realize that at that point in history, it was easier to smith metal than to make butter.

Fire, Clang!, Red hot metal, screeech of the metal in water, beefy blacksmith.

or

Wooden churn. Wooden pole. Up and down. Up and down.

If you made your living selling tickets, which one would you rather be selling them for?