Blog #338                                August 31, 2023

 

Did you watch the Republican Presidential Debate last week?  I did, and I think they should have named it Dancing With The Conservatives.  There was Mike Pence doing the Square Dance, Chris Christie doing the Belly Dance and Nikki Haley doing the Diversity Disco (female, person of color, Asian American).  Ron DeSantis did the Can-Can (Trump says no you can’t-can’t).  Tim Scott danced the I Wanna Be the VP Polka while Trump was relaxing at home doing the Cakewalk and practicing the Jailbird Jitterbug. 

 

The whole debate reminded me of a bucketful of crabs.  If you put one crab in a bucket, it will climb out easily.  But put 8 or 9 crabs in the bucket and the frenzy of each crab climbing over the other crabs and pulling them down will guarantee that none escapes.  If they worked together, they would all survive, but their selfishness and greed ensure they will all perish.  So much for crabs and politicians.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling chipper today and not gloomy.  It’s so much easier to be gloomy than it is to be cheerful, isn’t it?  I mean, just look around.  The world out there is full of semi-automatic weapons, opioids, car-jackers, hurricanes, wild fires, flooding and politicians.  As Cicero said, “O tempora, o mores,” which is Latin for, “Man, this world has gone to shit!”

 

But hey, get over the gloominess and count your blessings.  (I’ve heard that somewhere.)  Look what you’ve got!  You live in America*, you’ve got people who love you and you get Limerick Oyster every week to lift your spirits and tickle your brain.  Cheer up, let’s see what we can tickle you with today.

 

*Technically, not all of you live in the United States.  Kitty lives in Mexico.  Hola, Kitty.

 

Do you belong to Costco?  What do you buy there?  I went there to buy Cheerios, but the smallest box they had would feed the Turkish Army for a month.  Then I went for some peanut butter, but each jar was the size of Danny DeVito and I had to buy two of them.  And, by the way, I didn’t think the prices were so great.  Plus, I have to pay $60 just for the privilege of shopping for the oversized, overpriced stuff that you’ll never finish and which they won’t put in a bag for you.  What am I missing?  I guess if you have a family of 90 and you bring them all with you to schlep the hippo-sized packages out to your pickup – well, perhaps it makes sense.  But if you’re just two old people who do not want to buy an apple pie the size of Lake Erie, I don’t get it.

 

But we did get some free samples of bread and candy.  My daughter used to belong to Costco and I would go with her on Saturdays.  She would shop while I packed the three little kids, all under 10-years-old, into one shopping cart and piloted them from one sample-food table to another.  They would taste everything – pizza, ice-cream, cookies -- then direct me back for seconds and thirds to the stuff they liked.  Oreos were their favorite, although their Mom would restrict the number of free Oreos they could get:

 

Those cookies are certainly yummy

But children, you listen to Mummy

You kids just say “no”

To O-R-E-O

They’ll make you too fat in the tummy.

 

It was all great fun, lots of free food and my daughter got to do her shopping alone.  Plus, I got to eat all the Oreos.

 

I just read that the Americans with Disabilities Act regulations state that dogs are the only species permitted to be service animals, with the possible exception of miniature horses. As with their canine counterparts, miniature horses must be individually trained to perform a specific task for a person with a disability.

 

If you’re in dread, choose Mr. Ed.

If you’re feeling sicka, ride your friend Flicka.

If you’ve got the flu, get Seattle Slew.

If you’re manic-depressive, get High-Low Silver.

If you have knuckle pain, choose Trigger Finger.

 

The whole thing started when a man and his miniature horse encountered a slightly blind flight attendant. The horse was making snuffling noises and the attendant, who thought the snuffling creature was the man’s son, asked if the boy had a cold.  “No,” said the man, “he’s just a little horse.”

 

Message from Shakespeare:  A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse (Richard III).  Horses for pets?  Too big, too smelly, eat too much!  Plus, even dogs aren’t stupid enough to let people ride on them.  Cats are the perfect service animals.  I can make Pops smile, make him coo, even make him bleed if I have to.  Purr.

 

Hey, don’t forget next Monday is Labor Day, the day we all get together and gorge on hotdogs and hamburgers, causing the people who work to work even harder to raise and slaughter animals and prepare and package the meats we shouldn’t eat at our age anyway. 

 

Pretty soon, we’ll have the choice of eating synthetic meat.  Synthetic meat, which has recently been approved for sale by the FDA, is grown in a laboratory from the stem cells taken from the actual animals.  Sounds yummy!  They already have brand names ready to go.  Look for these in your supermarket:

 

          Sham Lamb          Fake Steak

          Bogus Burgers     Fictitious Dishes

          Phony Baloney     Pseudo Food-O

 

Maybe next Labor Day, instead of hamburgers and hot dogs, we’ll be eating Shamburgers and Not-Dogs.

 

Ok, enough inanity.  Let’s get to something serious, like the definition of the Weekly Word.  Inanity means lack of sense, significance, or ideas; silliness.  Describes me perfectly.  But as silly as today’s edition was, if I tickled your brain just a little and made you giggle even once, well, that’s one extra smile you had today.  I feel privileged to have caused it.  I’ll try to tickle you again next week.  So stay well, count your blessings and enjoy your Not-Dogs.

 

I just realized I haven’t mentioned Carol even once.  Hi, Honey.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

News Insert:  On Monday, my 18-year-old North Carolina granddaughter, a first-year student at the University of North Carolina was confined in her classroom for three hours as an active shooter roamed the campus after killing a teacher.  This is horrifying.

 

 

 

 

Blog #337                                August 24, 2023

 

This week I received a piece of mail from my health insurance company.  In it was a Multi-Language Insert describing the message in the following languages (this is true):

 

English                 Spanish                 Chinese Mandarin           Japanese     

Tagalog                 French                  Vietnamese                     German

Korean                  Russian                 Arabic                            Hindi

Italian                   Portuguese            French Creole                 Polish

Chinese Cantonese

 

Believe it or not, when I was teaching English as a Second Language a few years ago, I could say hello in almost all of those languages.   So hola, bonjour, ciao, namaste, ni hau, konnichiwa, shalom, aloha, hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  Did you know that the United States does not have an official language?  Why is that, I wonder?  Maybe we have a sense of national guilt and don’t want to impose the English language on everyone else.  But I don’t know why we should have a sense of national guilt just because we killed all the Native Americans, held millions of Africans in slavery and enjoyed the Bill Cosby show.

 

Last Sunday, I pulled out a pair of golf shorts, and, as I slid into them, out fell a white sock, a tan sock and a brown sock.  So that’s where they go!  I decided to check the rest of my shorts.  I found five more single socks, a tablecloth and a small Jamaican woman who had come to clean our house a few years ago.

 

That might have been a little lie.  Do you lie?  Do you lie all the time?  Have you ever lied?  You’re lying!  But a small lie once in a while can be a good thing.

 

You look marvelous!

I like your hair.

Yes, Sweetheart, Santa Claus knows what you want.

Read my lips, no new taxes.

Fat?  You’re not fat.

I have not had sexual relations with that woman.

 

Yes, sometimes a little lie hurts less than the truth.  But I really do like your hair.  By the way, Tagalog is the language spoken in the Philippines, and, as Edith Ann (Lily Tomlin) would say, “that’s the truth”.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  You told a lie, an odious lie; upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie. (Othello).  The only lie I tell my Pops is that I like playing ping-pong with him.  He rolls the ball down the hall, I chase it, he walks to the other end of the hall and throws it again, I chase it.  I hate the stupid game, but it gives him a lot of exercise and that’s good for his health.  Just a little lie because I care.  Purr.  Oh, and I might as well do the Weekly Word.  How about odious, which means extremely unpleasant and repulsive.  Like dogs.

 

I take either 9 or 10 or 11 pills in the morning depending upon the day of the week, the wind-chill factor and the Signs of the Zodiac.  At night, I take another half-dozen or so.  And all that requires a lot of water.

 

My pills, there’s too many to mention

Just to give me an ounce of prevention

To swallow them though

Takes so much H₂O

That I suffer from water retention.

 

At our age, we have to do everything we can to stay healthy, and in that spirit, I decided to try an Impossible Burger.  It was on my bucket list, along with kissing a zebra and finding a day when Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was quiet.  So I dropped into Burger King and tried one.  You know, once you put it on a bun and cover it with ketchup, pickles, lettuce and tomatoes – it doesn’t taste that much different from their Cow Burger.  Of course, their Cow Burgers aren’t exactly winning any Michelin Stars.  The only Michelin reference you would get at Burger King is that if you eat there enough, you’ll begin to look like the Michelin Man.  A little round, a little spongy. 

 

I’ve met a few celebrities over the years.  I’m not easily star struck and would not go out of my way to see anyone famous, and don’t really care who they are marrying, divorcing or sexually molesting.  I’ve never asked anyone for an autograph.  On the other hand, if I’m near someone I recognize, I have no fear of starting up a conversation.  I mean, they’re no different from me really.  They probably have socks in their golf shorts too.

 

I’ve talked with Stan Musial, William Shatner, Jackie Mason, Matt Lauer, Donald Trump (yes), Billy Crystal, Bob Costas.  Costas was very, very nice.  I introduced my wife, and Bob and I talked about boxing while Carol surreptitiously examined his wedding ring like a KGB agent.  By the time he was gone, she could describe the ring as meticulously as if she were selling it on QVC. 

 

Honestly, I could talk for twenty minutes to a woman wearing Stonehenge on her finger and never notice it, but then I have the curiosity and observation skills of a head of lettuce.  My little Sherlock, on the other hand, could eye a ring from twenty yards and know the Five Cs before the woman could turn around.  Five Cs, I hear you ask?  I thought there were four.  Five:  Cut, Clarity, Color, Carat and (the most important) Cash.

 

In the news today, the Palm Beach District Attorney has indicted Donald Trump for the following:

 

·        Eating corn on the cob the wrong way – one count of Salt and Buttery.

·        Interrupting a man masturbating in a polling booth – one count of Erection Interference.

·        Bringing a set of matryoshka dolls to a showing of the Barbie movie – one count of Russian Doll-usion.

·        Not tying his tie properly – Mr. Trump pleaded Knot Guilty.

 

I have finally found a group of guys who share my idea of a pleasant afternoon – being alone!  They have joined my Hermit Club and we have all decided not to meet every Tuesday at 12:30. If things work out, we may expand it and not meet on Thursdays as well.

 

It’s time to stop now. I have places to go and people to see and Impossible Burgers to avoid.  Stay really, really well, count your blessings and don’t forget the Hermit’s Club doesn’t meet on Tuesday.  Don’t be there.  But be sure to be here next Thursday for more of me and my high-class drivel.  See ya!  And by the way, you look marvelous

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

Blog #336                                         August 17, 2023

 

I was recently asked why each blog includes a Weekly Word.  So let’s talk about my Mom.  I was my Mom’s baby.  She had two older children from a previous marriage, so technically they were my half-sister and half-brother, but my sister was 7 when I was born and my brother was 5½ and the term half-sibling was never an issue.  As I became older, they were older still and exhibiting the signs of looney-toons that characterized them all their lives.  Their father must have been crazy, which is probably why my mother kicked his can down the road and found a new husband who would become my father.  My siblings were never much company for my mother, but there I was, a cute little boy who liked to learn things.  She taught me how to play bridge, canasta, hearts, mahjong and a whole panoply of solitaire games.  She did crosswords with me and was very punctilious about grammar and vocabulary.  To the time she died, if we would differ about the use or definition of a word, my phone would ring at midnight.  It was Mom and her dictionary verifying why she was right and I was wrong.  She was usually right. 

 

Plus, my Mom grew up in Chicago, so she never said Highway Farty or my harse is in the carner, which is why I don’t have a St. Louis accent.  She died at the age of 79 from lung cancer, and I quit smoking soon after.  So if you wonder why there’s a Weekly Word – that’s my Mom.  Might as well get to it.  The Weekly Word is punctilious which means showing great attention to detail and correct behavior.  Thanks, Mom.  

 

Last week, I tried to do something helpful.  This is usually a mistake.  I noticed Carol was reading in bed with a low-wattage bulb, so I got a higher wattage bulb with the intention of brightening her life.  Have you ever heard me say, “I can’t even screw in a lightbulb”?  I screwed this one in and there was a pop and all the lights went out in the bedroom and bathroom.  I tried the circuit breaker, but that didn’t work.  The next day, I had a workman tell me I shorted out the lamp.  I unplugged it, switched on the breaker and … well, now I know how God felt on that First Day.  Except God didn’t have a wife yelling at him.  Or maybe He did.  Do you think God had a wife?  Mrs. God? 

 

What? You made Adam in your own image?  What makes you think you’re so hot looking?  Go right now and make a Woman.  Out of what?  Use Adam’s rib, Stupid.  The poor Schmuck doesn’t need half of that stuff you gave him, like an appendix or a baby toe or that ego.  And you’d better make the Woman look like me if you know what’s good for your holy self.  Maybe make the breasts a little bigger. 

 

No, don’t be nervous.  I’m the one who’s going to get hit by lightning, not you.  But just to be safe, hold your device a little farther away.

 

And tell Adam he has to honor and obey her.  No, she doesn’t have to honor and obey him.  If you made him in your image, he probably can’t even screw in a light bulb.  That “Let There Be Light” trick of yours blew out half the stars until I showed you how to do it.  And conjure up a little “Let There Be Calvin Klein” and make some clothes for that woman.  Fig leaves are so Sixth Day. 

 

Maybe you should move even farther away!  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and ready for an adventure.  We had a fun adventure last week when 15 of us hopped into a mini-bus and drove to Yennimsville for some chicken.  Let me explain.  I don’t want to describe our group in any way that might insult someone, so let me just say that we all voted for Johnson for President.  Andrew!  It took us 40 minutes to hoist, climb and groan ourselves into our seats, load up enough liquor and beer for an Elks Convention, fasten our seatbelts and settle in for the drive.  We were as crowded as a Taylor Swift concert, hungry as springtime bears, and happy as a chimpanzee who just locked his keeper in the cell.  The drive took an hour or so, during which no-one drank any of the liquor or beer, but we all chatted as our hunger grew and as we drew closer to our destination, a family-style, fried chicken and mashed potatoes, apple-pie kind of place somewhere in Illinois.  It was terrific.  The service was perfect; the food was delicious and voluminous, and we all ate like mosquitos at a nudist convention.  It somehow seemed harder to load us back into the bus going home.

 

The party last night was a winner

As we drove for an hour to eat dinner

On the way back, the bus

Seemed more crowded for us

When we started, I guess, we were thinner.

 

Even before we ordered dinner, two people in our group asked me if this was going to “make the blog”.  Well, there you go – it did.  Thank you to Steve W. for planning the whole adventure and being a thorough and resourceful host and to Rick K. for being our fearless driver.  It was great fun.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  There is a world elsewhere (Coriolanus).  I’m not going on any adventures.  I have it too good here at home.  When Pops leaves the front door open, I stare out into the hall at all those doors and rugs, but I never go out.  It’s a jungle out there.  Purr.

 

When I’m at a restaurant with a hard wooden or metal chair, I usually ask for a seat cushion.   I think I should start my own brand of chair cushions.  I even have a name picked out -- Stool Softeners. Don’t you like it?  They’ll sell faster than earplugs at a Joy Behar speech. 

 

Ok, you’ve had enough of me.  You have better things to do, so go do them.  Just make sure they include counting your blessings and staying well.  But be back next week for sure. 

 

Adam                                      Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blog #335                                August 10, 2023

 

They made you take math courses -- in Grammar School (which became Elementary School and then Grade School), in Junior High (which became Middle School) and in High School.  You hated it.  Prime Numbers, the Pythagorean Theorem, Cartesian Coordinates, Imaginary Numbers, Tangents, Pi, Asymptotes.  And who the heck is Fibonacci?  And who cares?  What good was it all for?  Well, I’m going to tell you why you took all those horrible math courses.  Because last week was Senior Day at Walgreen’s, which means that, if you are a Senior (I am), you get 20% off most items, unless they are otherwise on sale.  The item I wanted was $50, but if you bought one, you got the second one 50% off.  That was the sale.  So here’s your quiz for today.  Should I:

 

1.     Buy two of them at the buy-one-get-one-half-off price without any Senior Discount, or

2.     Buy two at regular price and use the 20% off Senior Discount?

 

And don’t answer that it was Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with the protractor.  It’s a math problem.  Figure it out.  Answer later.  And since most of you don’t know your asymptote from a hole in the ground, we’ll make that our Weekly Word.  An asymptote is a line that continuously approaches a given curve but does not meet it.  Makes your life worth living, doesn’t it?

 

I’ve been very, very busy this week.  No time to say Goodbye-Hello.  Goodbye.  Hello, and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling chipper and staying dry.  Here in St. Louis, we’ve gone from excess heat to torrential rain, thunderstorms and flash flooding.  This pattern seems to be going on in so many parts of the country that the Biden administration has decided to build an Ark.  That’s right.  The obvious problem is: which people should they pick to go?  Inclusivity and diversity are fine concepts, but with all the different races and religions and ethnicities and political beliefs, and now with 48 different genders – well, representing them all will leave no room on the Ark for the animals.

 

Two Whites and two blacks, two Chinese

Two Mexicans, two Cherokees

Two Christians, two Jews

Two Reds and two Blues

And 96 LGBTs.

 

We’re going to need a bigger boat!  Send hate mail to the address at the bottom of the page.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Judgement and logic have been wise jury members since the time of Noah’s ark (Twelfth Night).  I don’t care what your religion is.  I don’t care who you love or how you love and I don’t care what color you are.  All I know is – you’d better have a damned cat on that boat.  And it better be me!  Purr.

 

Can you believe it’s still my wife’s birthday season.  This week she went to Happy Hours three nights in a row to celebrate her birthday again.  Three Happy Hours in a row.  How much Happy does one person need?

 

I think bars should start having Grumpy Hour where people get together to bitch about whatever politician or governmental policy makes them grumpy.  And appetizers are half-price.  White Supremacists could be on one side of the room eating Potato Skin-Heads, Black Lives Matter on the other side ordering Pigs in a Blanket.  And all drinking Michelob Lighten-Up.  Sounds like great fun.

 

Back to my wife getting wined and dined.  She apparently has more friends than a lottery winner, and they all want to celebrate her birthday. It’s been a month and they’re still taking her out.  She’s been taken out more than Chinese food and has celebrated more birthdays than Methuselah.  You’d think she’d have cake poisoning by now.  I asked her to stay home with me but she blew me off like the dust on an old Everly Brothers record.  Nice to see you, I’ll get back to you.  Bye, Bye Love.

 

Nobel Prize winner Knut Hamsun said love makes the wise a fool.  And what happens to your local fool when his wife is out celebrating with the “goils”?  Poor, loyal, devoted and obedient me?  I stay home alone.  That’s big of me, isn’t it?  Maybe I need two wives so one can be with me while the other is out gallivanting.  That’s bigamy, isn’t it?  Oscar Wilde said, “Bigamy is having one wife too many.  Monogamy is the same.”  Oscar said that, Honey, not me.

 

And what do you think those girls talk about in their little distaff staff meetings?  They talk about which single, senior lady is dating which single, senior gentleman.  Do you think they hold hands?  Do they sleep together.  Who can we fix up with that recent widow or widower?  It’s like they never left High School.  Then she comes home and tells me what my life is going to be like if she goes before me.  First, I’m going to get casseroles.  I don’t even know what that means, but it’s apparently some kind of ritualistic rite of passage I’ve never heard of – When you’re born you get circumcised; when you’re a teenager you get pimples; when your wife is gone you get casseroles.  Then she tells me I’m not allowed to date any of her friends.  Then she says she has someone picked out for me already.  Someone I don’t even know!

 

She likes to control everything I do.  She tells me how to drive, where to park, what to say.  So now, apparently, she thinks that when she’s off to that Holy Canasta Parlor in the sky where all the card tables are square, all the dinner tables are round and all the walls have mirrors – she thinks she’s still going to be able to pull my strings like some Heavenly Shari Lewis.

 

Ok, remember the math problem we started with?  If you picked option #1, you were right.  Option #1 costs you $75 -- $50 plus $25.  Option #2 costs you $80 -- $100 less the 20% discount.  See, aren’t you glad you took all those math courses?  Next week we’ll do fractions!

 

Phew, all this math has tired me out.  My X is exhausted and my Y in wiped out.  Stay well, People, and count your blessings.  Don’t forget next Thursday – we have a date.  I won’t have anything else to do anyway.  My wife will be out celebrating her birthday.  See you then. 

 

Lambchop                      Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

Blog #334                                August 3, 2023

 

It must be Thursday, because here we are again.  Hi there and welcome back to the incoherent ramblings of the elderly.  I hope you’re feeling well and staying cool.  The big news here in the Midwest is the weather, which is hotter than Taylor Swift tickets.  It’s so hot --are you ready for all these?  It’s so hot that:

 

·        My daughter’s chickens are laying omelets.

·        Elizabeth Warren asked Donald Trump to dinner so she could be with someone shady.

·        My artificial flowers died.

·        I saw a funeral procession driving through a Dairy Queen.

·        Everybody is sweating like Hunter Biden’s lawyers.

 

And, of course, the weather people are having an Arctic Blast making up new weather-phrases and frightening people.  Strangely, much of their weather terminology describes how I sometimes feel.  When I have a cold front and my stomach feels like acid rain, my mood often becomes mostly cloudy and I sink into a tropical depression.  You know what the heat index is.  We ought to have an Age Index:  I’m 77, but I feel like 91.  I’m totally cirrus.

 

Exercise often helps my mood become sunny.  Some days I do the treadmill.  When it’s not too hot or too cold or too humid or too windy, I walk outside.  And each time I work at the Zoo, I wind up walking several miles.  Today, I even vacuumed.  (I know that’s how you spell it, but it just looks wrong.)  After my heart attack in 1997, Dr. Heart gave me three restrictions -- do not play craps, do not vacuum, do not have sex with an unfamiliar partner.  Seriously!  I have not played craps or vacuumed since.  But now, the person who comes to clean didn’t come to clean today, so Carol has been cleaning, and I volunteered to vacuum.

 

It’s not the vacuuming itself that’s so hard, it’s the cord.  It’s always in front when it should be behind (like my wife) or on the left when it should be on the right (like my wife).  Sometimes it’s wrapped around my leg or my ear.  And, of course, the plug is behind the bed.  I don’t think Dr. Heart talked about moving the bed.  I’m still working on the “unfamiliar partner” thing.  I wonder if he meant the vacuum cleaner.

 

Sometimes, for exercise, I play ball with Shakespeare.  I roll a ping-pong ball from one end of the hall to the other, and he chases it.  Once he’s corralled the ball, he sits there waiting for me to arrive.  Cats do not fetch.  I trudge to the other end, pick up the ball and throw it again.  He chases, I walk to the other end, pick it up and throw.  That’s how we get our steps in.  He gets three steps for every two of mine.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Power to flattery bows (King Lear).  There he goes again, making fun of my missing leg.  He should talk!  I can run faster than him and jump higher.  I’m smarter, softer and way more handsome.  But even though I know I have him totally under control, I let him think he’s the boss.  That way, I always get what I want.  Carol taught me that.  Purr.

 

Weather terminology permeates the language of our self-perception.  We’re in a fog.  We feel under the weather.  Some people, when they’re mood is low, go for coffee.

 

When I’m feeling low-down and crappy

I know what will make me feel happy

A large cappuccino

With zero caffeino

Skim milk and a chocolate frappe

 

I never drank coffee, and I’ve given up most other things I used to love.  I loved smoking – gave it up in 1995.  I loved wine – gave that up in 2007.  Then there was popcorn at the movies – not since 2009.  Chocolate – 2018.  Ice cream – 2019.  What’s left to love?

 

Well, I love my wife and my family.  I love to read.  I love to write.  I love my cat, but don’t tell him.  He’s arrogant enough as it is.  I love the sunshine and the Zoo.  I love to teach.  I love all you loyal readers out there and I love to be with my friends.  You see, it’s not individual people that I dislike; it’s the accumulated mass of humanity.  I mean, there are terrorists and credit card thieves and mass shooters and car-jackers and I hate them all!  Oops, sorry.  I’m going to start trying to love everybody.  Can’t we all just get along?

 

Something really spooky happened last week.  On Tuesday, in the letter that I write to my daughters every week, I wrote the following: Now I’m going to start a history of the ancient civilizations in Pakistan called Empires of the Indus.  Only me.  Hey, it might come up in a crossword sometime.

 

You know I like abstruse history or travel books, and this is one.  It’s not that fascinating, but I learn a few things.  Anyway, the following Sunday, as we all were Zooming the NY Times Crossword, there was the following clue:  Himalayan River.  The answer, of course, was Indus, just as I had predicted five days earlier!  Now that’s pretty spooky.

 

Abstruse is a good Weekly Word.  It means obscure and difficult to understand.  Kind of like me.

 

ITEM:  It appears that The Biggest Loser is coming back for a new season.  I can’t wait.  There’s nothing more thrilling than sitting on my couch, eating butter-free, salt-free popcorn and watching fat people sweat.  Two spin-offs have already been planned entitled The Biggest Liar and The Biggest Racist.  Sounds like our Presidential election.

 

ITEM:  When we went to see Oppenheimer last week, we got Senior tickets at a pretty low price.  Pretty soon we’ll qualify for the Super-Senior Price for people so old they can neither hear nor see the movie, and are there just to suck the salt off the popcorn and avoid sitting at home while their wives watch The View.

 

Are you tired of me yet?  I am.  Are you mad at me yet?  Get over it.  I haven’t even picked on anybody. I know you like it better when I’m a miserable curmudgeon.  Don’t worry, I’ll get back to normal next week and pick on somebody.  Probably Carol.  Don’t miss it.  Stay well, count your blessings and have a frappe.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com