Tomorrow is Opening Night, and I got the jitters – but not for the reason you think. Yesterday, as a tribute to the late great Ricardo Montalban (<-- wiki entry), I took my Chrysler Cordoba with rich Corinthian leather for a ride, and, man, I just kept driving. And the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking about my wife and this affair she’s having with the Alien. Then I started talking to myself out loud in an accent very similar to Ricardo’s, and before I knew it I had driven until I saw the sign you see here. And now I have no idea where I'm at. When I left, the temperature was a bone-snapping 2 degrees, and now I’m wiping the sweat from my brow as I look for an answer to all of life’s nagging questions, most notably: Why do I feel so lost?
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