Another day in the life, a Tuesday, the second work day of the week. A long day. I awoke early, for whatever reason, and therefor showed up at the office early, as it was raining like crazy when I left the apartment and I decided to drive rather than take the bus. Still, my mood is positive. I have a glass of cheap, but drinkable red on the desk readily at hand and Ms. Emmy is studiously grooming herself on my lap as I write. This is good, although, if I look outside, it seems like winter.
It is winter.
No kidding? In California? In the second half of February? Surely you jest. Best not jest with an old man in the middle of February lest he do something off the wall and foolish.
When, old man, in this life, have we ever been other than foolish?
I generally say it's a Zen thing: the Jester, the clown, the search for satori through one-liners and alliteration. Not every man or woman I've met understands, but the one's that do are invariably superior specimens.
Superior? You mean they don't throw things, don't avert their eyes when they pass you by?
Perhaps I digress. This seems to have fizzled into total incomprehensibility. Here in Oakland.