February 8, 2002
A Temporary Separation

Goodbye, Katie. I'll miss you. My morning Foglifter-and-Maybelline routine just isn't going to be the same without your relentless perkiness and your Abandoned-Puppy expression keeping me company for the next couple of weeks.

So long, Anne. Your perfect eyebrows are my cosmetic inspiration, each and every morning.

See you later, Al. Hearing the weather forecast for *our neck of the woods* won't be nearly as much fun without you around to deliver it.

And Matt ... my sweet, darling Matt?  What can I say?  Parting is such sweet sorrow.

I HATE the idea of the five of us being separated for the next two weeks. I really really do. The alternatives are beyond grim. Bryant Gumbel? A bloated, insufferable gasbag. Charlie Gibson? Scintillating as a stump. The local 7 a.m. news shows? More painful to sit through than an eighth-grade talent show. Even though I know it's only temporary, I wish we didn't have to spend this time apart. Still, I think we all understand that it cannot be helped. You have important responsibilities. Eating Jell-O Jigglers with Donny and Marie is a tough job, but someone's got to do it. 

And *I* have a responsibility to NOT slam the remote control through my television screen the 43,897,621st time I hear those fudking TRUMPETS again.

In the meantime, I hope that you have a very nice Olympics. I mean this with all sincerity. I hope that nobody gets hurt, and that everybody plays by the rules, and that the USA brings home lots of gold. I hope that those who love The Olympics  --  those for whom the games are something significant and special  --  are not disappointed.

I hope the rest of us never have to find out what "The Skeleton" is.

And when it's all over at the end of the month  ...  when the corporate hoopla and hullabaloo have quieted down, when the athletes have gone home with their ribbons and their Wheaties contracts, when it's safe to turn on NBC once again without hearing that stoopid Olympics theme music every 4.5 seconds  ...  I'll be right here waiting for you, with my coffee and my Maybelline in hand.

I might even listen to an Olympics anecdote or two without throwing the remote control at you.

Your friend,

P.S. I wear a Size Sort-of-Medium/Not-Quite-Large T-shirt ... and I'm especially fond of overpriced souvenir keyrings, airport snowglobes and Donny Osmond CD Retrospectives.

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