I’m lost without Hugh Hewitt.
He’s on vacation right now, as many of you are aware, and while he’s gone this time he’s chosen to set aside his usual practice of bringing in guest hosts. Instead, he’s replaying a rogue’s gallery of his least pleasant, most hostile interviews. Harsh words are spoken, cutting remarks made. In a few notable cases, people hang up on him.
In other words, he’s turned his show into Michael Medved’s.
Believe me—the last thing I need after three hours of Medved on Disagreement Day is three more hours of Medved.
(Please understand, I like Michael Medved personally, so far as I can determine from listening to his program. I’d very much enjoy having dinner with him, or making small talk over cigars at Lileks’ place [hint, hint]. But only as long as there wasn’t an argument going on.)
I hate arguments. I am to arguments what John Murtha is to any conceivable use of American military force.
Bring back the guest hosts, Hugh! If you can’t find enough people willing to do your show, I’ll take a day. I’ve done radio. I’m a famous pundit.
Just as long as I don’t have to argue with anybody, of course.
Report on my first night with CPAP (for those who care): It went OK. I managed to keep the thing on all night, which many people can’t do at first. I did wake up more often than usual, probably because of the succubus on my face, but I always went back to sleep quickly, which is a rare pleasure of late.
I overslept, having forgotten to set my alarm clock in my concern to set up the CPAP right.
But my energy was good. Better, I think, than it’s been for a while. I ran out of gas in the early afternoon, but one can’t expect miracles right away.
Or maybe it’s all the placebo effect.
What’s that, Phil? You think I should blog about something the readers are actually interested in, now and then?
Hm. That’s a challenge. Vikings? Hats? Sissel Kyrkjebø?
Phil! Where did you learn words like that?