Twice a year, the Wigster packs up and heads south, because my house is still divided against itself, no matter what President Lincoln says about it. With Mrs. Wiggy in North Carolina and Himself in Detroit, these visits are essential to both our continued good health and mental equilibrium.

Here are the photos from the drive, as usual:

Man, do I ever feel old. OK, older. Read this:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8117619.stm

Smooches,

Wiggy

I went to McDonald's for lunch today, just before I went to do my laundry.

Sitting across from me were two men conversing with each other. Normally, I would be engrossed in my newspaper and would not hear them, or I would be watching CNN on the TV hanging from the wall over the row of tables. Today, however, there were no newspapers in the paper machine when I came in, and someone had (once again) vandalized the TV set, so it was displaying "Please insert smartcard to continue."

One man was speaking earnestly to the other. I happened to overhear. Here is what he said:

After the weight loss.

Disease. Illness. Other bad things.

How has your Wiggy been brought to this low state? Pull up a chair, my droogies, and I'll explain.

In July, 2008, the Wig uprooted himself from Royal Oak,MI, and found new digs in another Detroit suburb. It was an apartment building, which offered considerably more privacy than the previous arrangement of renting a room in a flophouse. At about this time, your hero made a tragic mistake. Wiggy decided he needed to take some exercise.