Well, I WAS going to write about why Jim DeRogatis bugs me so much today, but I just listened to R. Kelly's Happy People and after 11 tracks of discofied dippiness of the highest order I can't seem to focus on anything. That thing should be called Happy Pills! It's too monochromatic and filler-filled to make my top 10 probably, but after our Weatherman the Pied Piper tells you its "love o' clock" for the umpteenth time, it's hard to get your mind to see things otherwise (unless you're fighting the good cheer, good times, good people, happy people, which I just don't do). After a good night's sleep I'll probably be able to rationally discuss my disagreement with another writer's philosophy, but right now I just wanna, step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step...

If you would like to complain to R. Kelly about my 24-hour transformation into a flower child, his number is 1-2-3-L-O-V-E. Smooth operators are standing by. Now step, step, step, step, step, step...