Good lord, it's our eighth wedding anniversary today. (That's bronze or pottery for all you bestowers of traditional swag.) Jack and I were going to go to dinner at our town's oldest and most reasonably-priced French restaurant, as has become our anniversarial habit, but this fucking election has given everyone sweaty palms, and I need to be somewhere with a working television to monitor the results. Plus, it's opening night for the Lakers, baby! I'm going to miss Shaq, but we got Vlade back!! And who cares if we win or lose when we have a center who horks down three or four Marlboros during halftime.

Ah, but I need to post something appreciative and romantical about my hardworking, balls-of-steel, heart-of-gold spouse.

Thank you for teaching me how to cook.

Thank you for teaching me how to listen to the differences between Pablo Casales and YoYo Ma.

Thank you for putting up with only so much of my bullshit.

Thank you for giving me all this space to figure out where I need to go.

Thank you for supporting us when I lost my job.

Thank you for getting us out of debt.

Thank you for having a mother who sends us packages from Zabar's.

Thank you for loving our little boy so much.

Thank you for loving our little boy so much.

And most of all, thank you for being available for sex at any time.