It’s 3 a.m. in the Holy Land, and I am quietly celebrating Russia’s victory over Holland. I’ve got no one to high-five and no one to knock back the shots with, but I am high-fiving and knocking back shots in spirit, on the astral plane, where the stars shine red tonight. I must admit that I didn’t watch the game. I decided long before that it was going to end in tears, and spent time dorking-out with my extended edition of “The Return of the King” instead.
I’d regret it, but not really. I do have the tendency to curse my team when my spirits are not high overall (and they haven’t been, lately). I just read on a friend’s blog that in the center of Moscow, down the Arbat, someone rode a tractor in the overall pandemonium.
On the astral plane, I am riding that freaking tractor.