Bleh. I think my recent hypomanic phase has ended, and that is a good thing because it means I can finally sleep, but it also means that as I am writing these words, I am very very sleepy, and just want to go back to bed and get some more of those big beautiful zeds.

So I get the feeling I am heading into one of my sleepy periods. Fair enough. Might make tonight’s writing a little more onerous than usual, but what the heck, I have done this little trick of mine in this state of mine before, and nobody has complained.

Had a wee baking disaster on Thursday. Tried out a recipe for ginger bread (which is like, gingerbread flavoured bread) in the old bread machine of which I am so fond, and out of routine habit, I doubled the amount of spices called for in the recipe.

See, recipes always spice things for toothless scared old people with serious heart conditions who might be killed by actual flavour, so they prefer to just be gently reminded of their memories of flavour so they can contently reminisce.

So when I am baking and they ask for cinnamon or ginger or whatever, I just automatically double it.

But in this case, I think that might have been an error, because I did not end up with bread at the end. I ended up with ginger colored bumpy lumps. Clearly, the leavening did not occur. I am guessing somehow either the bread was not elastic enough the carbon dioxide bubbles when they formed, or, more likely, my extra potent quantity of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves just plain killed the yeast before the whole leavening thing could get started, and so I basically ended up with unleavened ginger lumps.

Lesson learned. Do not mess with the complex biochemistry of the baking process. It is not like making cookies, where there is no leavening process, no yeast, so you can tinker with proportions and the worst thing that can happen is the cookies taste a little funny.

Nope, bread is more delicate, and I will, in the future, follow the recipes to the T when I make the bread, and hence not make the lumps.

Apartment smelled really, really good for a while, though.

Oh, another silly thing I did. I bought a bottle of good old cheap fake vanilla (technically, vanillin, so I am chillin’ with vanillin like a villain) and then discovered that not only do we already have some vanilla, it is the real deal, not the fake artificial stuff.

So not only did I spend five bucks on vanilla when I did not have to, but I basically bought generic beer when I already had true champagne at home.

Oh well. I will use the real stuff until it runs out, I suppose. Or maybe I should use the fake stuff first, then when I switch to the real stuff,it will be like everything I bake suddenly tastes way better. The other way would be kind of depressing.

This way, things actually get better over time, and for my whole life, that is how I have preferred it.

I have never been someone who wanted to eat their dessert first. Then the rest of the meal is going to seem pretty boring and lame by comparison, plus you deny yourself the pleasure of anticipation. Clearly, waiting results in more pleasure, and I am all about getting the most pleasure for my buck.

Speaking of pleasure, I have been greatly enjoying a warm and nourishing wash of lovely schadenfreude over two news items about bad things happening to people I loathe.

First, Daniel Tosh of the execrably bad show Tosh.0, where he gets all his material from Internet video clips and then pretends he is adding value by making extremely dickish and unfunny comments about them, has ignited the fires of rage by making some hilarious jokes about rape during a set at the Laugh Factory (same place Michael Richards ended his career forever) last week.

Joking about rape is edgy but potentially acceptable to me. I am a comedy guy myself, and I would never, ever say some subjects are completely off limits. In fact, some of the most positive humour comes from the most sensitive subjects, because that is where the greatest tension lies.

However, luckily for us who had Tosh and his smug fucking face, he did not just joke about rape. When a woman objected to the joke, he said “Wouldn’t it be funny if she was raped right now? Like, if five guys raped her right now?”

And that, my friend, is going over the line. Reap the whirlwind, you horrible hack. You pushed things too far, and now the limb you went out on has cracked behind you.

And speaking of terrible things happening to smug bastards, Mitt Romney is in hot water because not only does it turn out he has money in both Swiss and Cayman Island banks, but he has been telling people he had nothing to do with the running of his evil, evil job killing firm Bain Capital after 1999, but there is documentation showing he was running it in 2001.

So already, he is looking really shady.

But wait, there’s more. After more than a year of trying to be the only Presidential candidate to ever run for the Oval Office without releasing his tax records, he recently and very reluctantly agreed to release them… for only the last two years.

Talk about making himself look even worse. What happened three years ago, Mitt?

And it gets even better. Turns out ole Shifty Mitt claimed he had nothing to do with running Bain Capital after 1999 on some forms for the SEC.

And laying on SEC forms is a federal crime, a felony.

Imagine, for a moment, the glorious image of Mitt Romney doing the Perp Walk, handcuffed and cowed, as he is hustled into a cop car by the FBI.

And felons cannot run for President. It is right there in the Constitution.

So imagine what the Republican Convention would be like then.

Ah, the glory of it all.

See you tomorrow, folks!