One Friday evening I was wiped out. It had been a rough day at work. Carol—THE dean—had been uncharacteristically bitchy all day. Even getting home was a struggle. There was a convention of some sort in town whose participants were clogging up restaurants and public transportation and generally making life difficult for us “natives.” Then, just as I was getting off the Rapid after work, the skies opened up and I slogged home through a downpour. I didn’t have an umbrella because Stu Scott, the Channel 7 weather guru, had said it would be a beautiful day.
In no mood to go to a restaurant or to cook, when I got home I put a frozen pizza in the oven and opened a beer. I had a second beer before the pizza was ready, and another with the pizza.
When I was finished I threw out the uneaten porti
