For Salim

Never bring a knife to a gunfight, a child to a bar, or Hugh Jackman to host the Oscars. All are good ideas that in hindsight bring clarity, and that's how herpes happens.

After my whirlwind tour of Ottawa, during which I marked my territory, swam, ate poutine, and peed on Parliament Hill (though not in that order), Dr. Manhattan returned to Mecca 2 with family in tow, eager to watch the Academy Awards.

Naturally, things didn't go according to plan. The 18th Letter couldn't fall asleep, I had a hard time accepting the fact that I'll probably never eat a poutine ever again, and Legs got loopy off Midol.

Still, I tried. Which is more I can say for one Mr. Hugh

(G. Rection)

Jackman. Seriously, where'd he go? If he hosted the Oscars, so did I!

But let's leave that to the trades and Gay Blade. All I want to do now is celebrate.