Dear Pete:

My BOOT EDGE EDGE T-shirt and I reached 14 people (16 if you count the couple I ran into again after my turnaround) this morning, so we have achieved critical voter mass, at least in the 6:00 am CEMAR Trail demographic. There is still work to be done, but I am exhausted and my T-shirt is clinging to me like a drowning Titanic victim and I need to shower and get on with my day.

I ran my same three-mile route as always, but this time my watch registered me at 3.05 miles—no doubt because for once I wasn’t running at the speed of light (so people could read my shirt) and my watch could actually keep up with me. Science is amazing.

Do you have ANY IDEA how hard it is to achieve the holy confluence of isolation, gumption and aim that it requires to take a reasonably flattering gym stealthfie of this artistic and compositional caliber? DO YOU?

No, you do not.

Open letter to One Direction: No matter how many times you mushmouth through that stupid chorus, never in this or any other language does “hotel rooms” rhyme with “rendez-vous.” Sheesh.