We were reminiscing today about how so little seemed to be made of Phil Hartman's murder at the hands of his wife, before she committed suicide. Hard to believe it will be 5 years in May.

I can no longer call my immediate coworkers cubemates, per se, since we're not technically 'in' cubicles any more. (They're more like open stalls where one can perch, without the least premise of privacy. So now scratching or adjusting myself is a floor-wide spectacle, and I for one welcome the additional attention into what would otherwise be strictly Victorian moments.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. Jason, a stallmate, gave me this link to an outstanding archive of Phil Hartman sound clips. Tribute page here.