Miller: it leaves a much better taste in your mouth in the morning than Bud Lite

Last night I went out to hang with Scott in Wheaton, and drink beer. I had one, a guinness, before I left, and lost count after my second Miller Genuine Draft at Scott's.

He told me I had six. I'll take his word for it. I just know my liver and kidneys hate me, but that's another story. We drank beer and watched some basketball, Ron White's "They call me 'Tater Salad,'" a few episodes of South Park, and a few of Family Guy. Good stuff.

I went home on the very last train from Maryland on the Red Line last night, and it was an experience unto itself, whatever that means.

I sat down in the very back seat of the train and pulled my Cabelas baseball cap down so no one could see my eyes. Spooky, I was. Then a pair of cops got in and sat down near me. I smiled, touched my fingers to my cap in a little imperfect-but-friendly salute, and they smiled back. All was well.

They got off after a few stops, and then a young couple in ball attire boarded and sat in the chair right in front of my face, where they started making out like crazy before realizing they were right there in front of me, stopping, and looking sheepish.

So I pulled my hat down over my eyes and let them have some privacy, which they were more than happy to take advantage of before getting off the train one stop before me.

I was glad to be able to look up again.

I trudged up to the apartment, came inside, and went to bed at around 3:20 A.M.

And I woke up around 10: 30, and called my friend Annette for I thought she was leaving today for Kansas and would be wanting to meet up one last time at the airport.

Only she's leaving next week, and it sounded like I awoke her from her sleep and came off like a complete stalker.

I blame the beer.