Point Me Toward Tomorrow.

True story: There's this blue jay (at least I think it's a blue jay; it's looks like a blue jay except that it's feathers are duller than you would expect. And if it's not a blue jay, then the story is irrelevant.) that lives near my home. It is a rather bird-brained bird. It's been known to fly into windows--which is quite frightening when you're sitting there eating your morning Wheaties. It's also fond of perching on the front doors of my car to admire itself in the side-view mirrors. Which...okay fine; birds do that, you get a parakeet as a pet and you put a little mirror in the cage so that it can look at itself. The problem with this stupid bird is that it ends up crapping all over my car doors while it sits there. Makes me wish that I had a garage.

So...Kiss today goodbye/And point me toward tomorrow.

Not that tomorrow is looking all that bright. I'm not entirely sold on the idea of John Smoltz versus the Rangers. But hopefully he'll prove me fantastically wrong. I'm not concerned about Beckett--hopefully, that doesn't equal bad things. But then the series ends with the Fabulous Adventures of Tim Wakefield in Arlington. Maybe I'm remembering Wake's record in Texas as being more horrific than it actually is but it seems like you would do your best to avoid having him pitch in there.