Sheep used to graze here. Now they just sunbathe.

March is here.  There’s a sudden thaw sweeping the northeast.  The winter is dying, with no mourners.  Nemo’s spirits soar.  His usually sour disposition is suddenly and intemperately disposed towards charity and love for his fellow man.

Did Barbara Boxer whine that the GOP hates Sesame Street?  Let it slide.  Robert Reich, that dependably desperate headline hog, actually tried to incite violent class warfare?  Let him.  No one listens to him anyway.  A couple of nutty perfessers want the government to sell adjustable-rate, inflation-protected annuities?  And another one wants to do away with employee performance reviews, because they’re — well — just not really very empathetic?  Of course they do.  That”s why they’re perfessers.  The competition for Stupe de Jour has never been so heated, but nemo cannot muster enough vitriol to do justice to the topic.  Leave it for another time.  For just a day, let visions of balmy summer pervade the Cannibal.  Flowers.  Sunshine.  Gentle breezes.

And then, since the forecast calls for the temperature to fall off a cliff tomorrow, back to business.  Boxer, watch out.