The saga of my idiocy and general moronic level of
competence was joyfully closed yesterday when I was reunited with my wandering
garage remote. I was in the middle of my
weekly staff meeting when the very nice lady from Enterprise called to report
her possession of the wayward remote. I
really enjoyed not having to journey back up through to house after backing the
car out of the garage this morning.
 |
| Reunited!!! |
I know there are some people out there who read the blog via
FaceBook and who must be in veritable shock that yesterday’s post did not
receive immediate and vociferous attack by my favorite radical liberal – the Cantankerous
One. Whenever I have the effrontery to
question liberal mantra or heaven forbid – the Activist in Chief, he quickly
mounts his charger to have at me. Rest assured he is alive and as feisty as
ever. For some reason he couldn’t
comment on the post – he must have used up Facebook’s monthly quota already
with his assorted diatribes, but he did send me a long detailed message attacking
my position. All is right with that part
of the world.
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| Just to Poke the Bear - One More Time |
I came into work today to some grim news that was decidedly
not all right. Our Chief Financial
Officer and my adopted sister for Frist Friday celebrations is in the ICU after
suffering a heart attack. She’s only
fifty one and is much too young for this type adventure. Please put her in your prayers today. An object lesson for those of you approaching
middle aged. This incredibly smart lady
hadn’t seen a doctor in nearly 30 years.
Once you hit forty this must be an annual ritual even though it’s a monumental
pain in the ass.
I polished off the latest in my sojourn with John D
MacDonald’s inimitable Travis McGee with The Dreadful Lemon Sky. One of McGee’s friends shows up late at night
to leave a lot of money with him for safekeeping. Shortly thereafter he learns she was killed,
run down late at night. McGee feels the
need to investigate the coincidence of her death so he and Meyer take the Busted
Flush up the coast. He’s soon hip deep
in ladies, an amateur drug ring, and a very nasty attorney. Both McGee and the Busted Flush take some substantial
hits. This book was welcome as it
brought McGee back to earth and into his comfort zones of operation.
As with all MacDonald’s work I leave you with some of his
words; here describing a swinging address populated with young people. Meyer speaking, as always, as McGee’s
conscience and honesty broker –The Dreadful Lemon Sky: “Fifteen Hundred Seaway’s one of those
bachelor boys and girls places, everybody seems to laugh a lot. It’s very depressing. Eighty small apartments. There’s a kind of … watchful anxiety about
these people. It’s as if they’re all in
spring training, trying out for the team, all trying to hit the long ball,
trying to be the star. And in a sense,
they’re all in training. They’re pretty,
trim, and brown. Very mod in the clothes
and hair departments. They’re all
delighted there’s a long waiting list for Fifteen Hundred. Pools and saunas and a gym. Four channel sound systems. Health fads, Copper bracelets. The Joy of Sex on each and every
coffee table, I would guess. Water beds,
biofeedback machines. There doesn’t seem
to be any kind of murky kinky flavor about them. No group perversion scenes. Just a terrible urgency about finding and
maintaining an orgasm batting average acceptable to the peer group. Their environment is making terrible demands
upon them. I bet their consumption of
vitamins and health foods is extraordinary.”
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