My watching the President’s speech was interrupted...

…by someone at the door. I answered the door prepared to unleash a curmudgeonly blast at whoever it was, and had my guns spiked when I opened the door- it was uniformed boy scouts collecting canned goods for the poor. If you've ever wondered why I talk about my neighborhood so much, that's an example... Norman Rockwell's ghost lives here. And hey, I can always get the speech online.