Not ready to drink the Taylor Martinez Kool-Aid just yet, but another coupla weeks of that, and I'll at least shake the powder into the glass.

Mass, Weight Watchers meeting, workout at the gym and New York Times Sunday crossword -- all done by 11:30 a.m. It's a good thing the feeling of moral superiority I have right now doesn't last long, or I'd be pretty damn hard to be around.

Used-car shopping for my daughter, I told one seller I wanted to have a mechanic look at a prospective purchase. "Yeah, I'll have my guy look at it," I said. As soon as we were out of his earshot, my daughter says, "you don't even have a guy, do you?" No, of course not, and I'm sure he knew it too, but he didn't call me on it. Because you never doubt another guy's guy. That's standard Guy Code.

Best proof of American exceptionalism: Prime-time Saturday college football. :) Proof U.S. still not perfect, though: Play by play by Brent Musburger. :(

Paul Ryan says he misspoke. He meant to say he finished the marathon in under three hours riding his unicorn.

Heading west from Lincoln on I-80 on game day, I feel a little like salmon in a Saturn.

Wow, Politifact is really on a roll. I guess they're even fact-checking the Huskers' play-calling this afternoon. That should be festive.