Report from the No-Sleep Zone

Writing from the Admiral's Club in LAX; about 25,000 airmiles and 10 hours of sleep in the last 96 hours. Hence, my head is fog-bound. I assume that's why I can't find any logic whatsoever for appointing an "airplane guy" (who thinks sales of 100 items is a great year) to run a crumbling car company. The only dimension the new guy scores well on is "anybody but Billy." I'll say more when the fog burns off—maybe it will all become clear to me.