. . .

Hark, the herald angels sing

Advertising wonderous things.

(I know, I know. It's Tribune. Don't push me. I am this close to the edge today. Last night I saw The Perfect Clock Tower, and feel The Need. Not because of anything going on in my life. It's just that a clock tower like that - tall, centrally located, within sight of half the city, with an actual clock on it, plus a great thing on top to fire from - needs to be used now and again or it goes stale.)

That's pretty much it. I have nothing more to say. You can cry fraud if you like. Many do. It's the fashion. Beanie Babies. Pokemon. Crying fraud. I may have to start selling fraudulent antiques just to cash in on the craze. A parking ticket with Richard Nixon's name on it - a fraud about a crook. BIG money there. An end table designed by King Arthur. Honus Wagner's bunny slippers. My spare socks.