2012 — 11 April: Wednesday
While browsing a web 'chain' of sorts1 I was delighted to add another "Mencken" to my little hoard:
I once lived in a neighborhood that, for some reason, attracted a lot of door-to-door environmental petition canvassers. I started out trying to be polite, but ended up telling
them "You have to understand, I think that a lot of the environmental problems in the U.S. could be solved by shooting the board of directors of The Sierra Club."
For some reason they didn't come back after that.
As for political campaigns, I find myself in sympathy with Mr. Mencken's proposal that the loser of each Presidential Election be thrown from the top of the Washington Monument, to
abate the tiresome tendency of such failures to hang about, cluttering up public life forever after.
Monarchy looks better every year...
The comment was attached to a piece about Conan the Barbarian, oddly, and I'm not sure about those last five words...
Tea and breakfast, Mrs Landingham?
Junk?
Well, I never knew that!
(The origin of the term "junkie", among other things.)
In deference to the Titanic-related absence this week of our frenetic "how-did-I-ever-have-time-to-go-to-work?" chum Brian, Mike and I will be grabbing today's dose of fresh air on a local road walk loop — hopefully before the promised showers reach us. Then I'm predicting a visit to the care-home in my near future.
The car is...
... out on my little drive, after its little drive, and getting soaked by one of the showers that we mostly dodged during our walk. Still, that's why I carry my brolly, isn't it? It's 13:54 and I'm wondering whether to whizz over to the care-home regardless of said shower. I lack incentive, to be honest. But, with luck, the hail (for that's what it is) will scour the mud off my windscreen.
[Pause]
Well, I correctly deduced the nature of the phone call I missed on my mobile yesterday. It was from Debbie in the care-home, warning me to stay away for the duration of their current "outbreak" of whatever gastro-intestinal nastiness the Great God in His Merciful Wisdom has seen fit to bestow on the hapless/helpless residents. The notice fixed to the front door was a bit of a giveaway, too. So I beat a hasty retreat, bringing my little intended chocolate treat back with me. By my reckoning, it's time (15:32) for my next cuppa.
Recall those innocent, halycon...
... days when "rendition" meant nothing more than an artist's sketch of someone's appearance? Not any more. Gone forever. (Link to a very stinky story.)
An erudite reader (she knows who she is) has drawn my attention to an unconscious error in a footnote last Sunday. <Sigh> :-)