Blog #401                                November 14, 2024

 

And speaking of plungers.  Were you speaking about plungers?  I wasn’t speaking about plungers.  We have a plunger.  Everybody has a plunger.  I have no great place to put it, so I just keep it in a corner.  But I noticed that it had accumulated some mold or slime or some je ne sais quoi (it’s a French plunger), so I asked my wife to give me her Martha Stewart advice.  Should I soak it in bleach?  How much bleach should I use?  Can I use the bucket?  Do we have a bucket?  How long should I soak it?  I figured she would know what to do.  And she did.  She looked at it for two milliseconds and said, “Throw that disgusting thing out and buy a new one for three dollars.”  Simple enough.  Why didn’t I think of that?

 

And speaking of plungers (sound familiar?), are you going to celebrate World Toilet Day?  Yes, World Toilet Day.  It’s next Tuesday.  Look it up.  I’m not exactly sure what we are supposed to do in celebration, so I did what I do best.  I wrote a limerick.

 

Yes, World Toilet Day, this is it!

So I went to my toilet to sit

But I just didn’t care

And was bored sitting there

‘Cause I really did not give a shit.

 

I apologize for that, but sometimes the Limerick Muse just grabs me by the throat and makes me write things I shouldn’t.  I bet all you plumbers out there liked it though.  I respect plumbers.  They’re the people who actually do know shit from Shinola.

 

Do you have an Alexa?  Of course you do.  Everyone has an Alexa or an Echo Dot or some silly cylinder that doesn’t understand what you’re saying.  I really don’t get along with our Alexa, but Carol tries to use her sometimes:

 

Carol:   Alexa, play some Barbra Streisand music.

Alexa:   I cannot find a movie of that name near you.

Carol:   No, Alexa, play some Streisand music.

Alexa:   Ok, connecting you to the Albanian Embassy.

Carol:   Damn it, Alexa, PLAY BARBRA STREISAND!

Alexa:   Getting directions to the nearest Bar-be-cue restaurant.

 

Life is too complicated.  Alexa and Siri and cell phones and – well, just getting dressed.  It’s all a mystery to me.  The following is a true story.  While I was still working, Carol went to Disneyworld with two of the grandchildren.  I was home alone and surviving tolerably until I realized I had a fancy-schmancy bank party to go to after work.  I was the bank’s biggest customer, so I had to make an appearance.  I found a black and gray houndstooth jacket and black pants, a white shirt and a snappy little paisley yellow tie and wore these to work.  As soon as I walked in the office, Amanda, my loyal and wise associate, grabbed me by the paisley.  Foxy, she said, you can’t wear houndstooth with a paisley tie.  You look like a dime-store kaleidoscope.  She removed my tie and threw it on the floor.  Thirty minutes later, I had a meeting with a representative of a different bank.  As soon as he sat down at my desk, I noticed he had a very nice, solid gray tie.  I buzzed for Amanda to come in.  How’s that tie? I asked her, pointing to the banker.  She decided it would work.  I need that tie, I told him.  He instantly removed it and handed it over.  I was his biggest customer too.

 

One day, my partner walked into my office with a scissors and cut my tie in two.  I laughed, of course.  The next day, he brought me six new ties.  And that’s the truth.

 

It is astonishing to me that a man so inept at dressing or operating any device more sophisticated than a rubber band has survived this long.  I am consistently wrong, lost or mismatched, and cannot fathom why so many people ask me for advice.  I am good, however, for a few limited things.  As an example, one of my grandchildren needed some information about the characters in Moby Dick.  And who do think he called?  If you answered Ghostbusters, I’m not sending you any more blogs.  He called me, of course, the only person in the Northern Hemisphere to have read the book six times.  I am definitely the right person to call if you have any questions about Moby, The Raven or Paradise Lost.  But not about fashion.  Stevie Wonder dresses better than I do.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and have calmed down since the election.  My wife and oldest daughter are going to a spa in December, and she asked me to print out her schedule.  Included were activities such as Soul Journey Meditation and Cardio-Drumming.  Cardio-Drumming?  It sounds to me like somebody banging on your chest, or maybe it’s just playing the drums at a rapid pace to make your heart beat fast.  We have a lady friend who has a drum set at her house.  What if Carol likes it and brings a drum set home?  I’m telling you right now that if she does, Shakespeare and I will be moving in with you.  I hope you have a comfy chair for my crepuscular reading and an extra room for the cat toys.  Shakespeare won’t be any trouble.  He’s a good boy.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Unbidden guests are often welcomest when they are gone (Henry VI, Part 1.)  And I need two water bowls and two food bowls and a night-light.  And get Pops a soft blanket.  He likes that when he reads.  Pops won’t be any trouble.  He’s a good boy.  We’ll be over in an hour.  Purr.

 

I know you’re waiting for me to tell you what crepuscular means.  It’s our Weekly Word, of course, and means relating to or happening at twilight.  You’d be surprised how often that comes up in conversation.

 

Well, it’s Wednesday evening and the crepuscular darkness is invading the sky.  See, I told you.  Anyway, that means it’s time to say goodbye.  Please stay well and count your blessings.  And one of those blessings is that even if the election has made you as depressed as Venus de Milo’s manicurist, you’re still living in America.  Life will go on, and I’ll see you next week.

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com