I'm often surprised to see the neighborhood drunks out and about in the early hours of the morning, while I myself am still groggily blending my wife's leftover mugs of coffee. Where do they have to be? I imagine, if I were a neighborhood drunk, I wouldn't get out of bed until noon. But no, there they are, feet freshly be-slippered, ready to put in a full day of pop-topping. Hmm.