So here we are, more than three months later. I’m hittin’ those podcasts, I can fall asleep again, I’m more in love with my iPod Touch than I can describe.

Everything is good.

Really?

Let me lay this scene on you. It’s Friday. I’ve just dropped my son off at science class. I’m getting back in that Corolla (named Natalia, after Adam Carolla’s daughter) to drive back to that hot box. I glance at the clock – 12:01. Yes! Frosty, Heidi and Frank are back from commercial.

Um, no, loser. They haven’t been back from commercial in quite some time. And it doesn’t seem likely they’ll be back from commercial any time soon.

Sure, they throw that FHFU at us once a week. I appreciate it. In the way that Big Tom, Deaf Christy and Jerri Manthey (outdated Survivor references just for you, Frosty) appreciate a spoonful of peanut butter. It’s awesome when you get it, but what you really want is a whole jar. Or many jars. Just waiting for you in the pantry. 

Maybe you used to have non-stop access to peanut butter. Maybe you didn’t eat the peanut butter every day. Maybe sometimes you said you hated peanut butter. Maybe sometimes you took the peanut butter for granted. Maybe you occasionally listened to Dr. Laura in the car instead of eating peanut butter. (What?!) 

Since when did life become a jar of peanut butter that never contains more than one bite? A bite that you have to scrape from the sides of the jar and it gets all over your hands and it leaves you smelling like an old lunchbox all day?

Since February 20, 2009.

(This metaphor makes The Story of the Three Bees seem like Heart of Darkness.)

What I’m trying to say is that I’d like some more peanut butter.

And I would like the peanut butter to play a Kurzweil every now and then.

Boy the way Glen Miller played…