Fables of the Reconstruction

I'M NOT DEAD! Though after schlepping everything my girls and I own up a new set of stairs, I feel as if I should be. While there is still cardboard on the premises, the Pittman Relocation Program is, for the most part, complete. It wasn't easy. Between my love for dusty books, the kids' Barbie kingdom and my bride's unabashed shoe fetish, we have a ridiculous amount of claptrap for a family of our tax bracket. But alas we are here and after a back-breaking weekend of new neighbors and Feng Shui, I'm ready to assume the Lenslinger mantle. Too bad I got nothin' to write about. Sure, I could tell you how the car overheated on the way to the house-closing, how confusing daylight savings time is when you can't find your clocks, how closely my new backyard resembles an Indian burial ground - but it all seems so...domestic. No, you come (came?) here for tales from the open news road, an electronic world seething with well-coiffed buffoons, shackled villians and a certain cameraman who thinks too much. So stand by for a breathless dispatch from the news front in the coming hours, whatever the subject may be. I'll even conjure up a photo or three - provided I find my digital camera. The last time I saw it was in backseat transit, jumbled among the crockpot and a few hula-hoops.