Greetings from San Jose, where I’m suffering from a persistent earworm of Dionne Warwick asking me if I know how to get here. There are a lot of different ways I could go with that, comedy-wise, but the bottom line is that I’m stuck in San Jose with Dionne Warwich singing in my head. I’m screwed.

But what the hell… At least I’ve got a view, right? Wrong:

Well, okay, but I have a nice room, right? Sort of:

It’s a handicapped room — my “closet” rod is three feet off the ground so my jacket’s sleeves are brushing the floor, and the shower has grab rails and a hand-held showerhead. But what the heck, my butt-crack has never been cleaner.