The Weather Channel this morning said it's 73 degrees and sunny in New York City. No eff-ing way. It's gotta be at least 80. Feels that way, at least. And it's not sunny. It's humid. Either that, or it's possible that the quality of "73 degrees" in New York is like the quality of burgers in New York -- infinitely worse than it is in Southern California.

By the way, you know you're in New York City when you hear someone tell his boss to "go f*ck yourself," and the boss laughs as if the guy had just said, "Hi-dee ho, neighbor!"

I'm feeling pretty low this morning. Tony and I are partners in this fantasy football league, and we lost this week to a girl whose team name is something like "Flower Power" or "Girls Rule" or "BCBG Athletics" or something. It's really got nothing to do with it, but part of me actually felt that my "man-ness" alone would be able to carry me to victory. You know, as in "I'm a man and you're a woman, so that means my players will do better than your players, even though all the players are men."

So Tony calls me last night after the Monday Night game, and he goes, "Dude, Dan. We lost to a freakin chick! A freakin chick!"

"That's true," I thought.