There were more books on the occult than you might expect at the Mary Crapo Elementary School library in Swartz Creek, and naturally, I read them all. I was a firm believer in both God and witchcraft at the time, although I hadn't yet developed an opinion on how far one should test their boundaries. Anyhow, that's how I learned about numerology ... of course, being eleven years old and gleaning my info from the kind of literature found in the public school system of a small Michigan town didn't ensure that I got the true facts, whatever they may be. So my understanding of numerology was, and is, pretty vague. However, from the book in question, I learned to calculate my own personal "lucky number" by adding the individual numerals in my birthdate together -- I won't keep you in suspense, mine is two, and that means that any multi-digit number that can be reduced to two in the same fashion is also apparently lucky ... eleven (1+1=2), twenty (2+0=2) or three hundred and fifty three (3+5+3=11, and 1+1=2). I've held on to this particular superstition ever since, and still turn to it any time I am forced to pick a number at random. I've always held a special affinity for eleven, for the purity and symmetry of its physical form ... a pair of ones side by side, standing proudly together yet still maintaining their individuality.

Well, anyhow today is the 20th, so in theory everything should be coming up Millhouse, but I'm nursing a sore throat, lacking for sleep and just endured an uncomfortable bus ride to work. Apparently today is the presidential inauguration, and there are people waiting in line at bars around the city for assorted inaugural parties. I don't trust crowds, and I don't care whether its a football game, a gay rights parade or the inauguration of America's first president of color, I'm gonna be pretty mad if this affects my afternoon commute.

Congratulations on the new job. Just keep us safe and well-fed without stomping on every toe on the globe, okay? If you can manage that for two terms, I'll buy a t-shirt with your face on it like everyone else.

PS. You'll be thrilled to know that I made it home without significant delay, so perhaps ol' Bama is okay after all ... then again, I am definitely coming down with a cold of some kind, and I have no reason not to believe that it's his fault.