This holiday season it's becoming a little disturbing around certain areas of the Monterey Peninsula; retailers so desperate to lure the wealthy and famous into their stores that their inner greedy morons are coming out to play. One client insists on describing their "wonderful, festive decorum" in their ads. Yes, a few people have attempted to explain to them that the word they seek is simply "decor," but their superior determination has prevailed. The best one yet is a local golf course advertising 7-day fairway passes at discount prices... and reminding potential customers in the final line of copy: "You can use the savings to buy your kids some gifts this holiday!" (Unlike last year when your kids had to make due with a card because you had to pay full price to get on the green.)
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Some mornings, getting up is the chief accomplishment of the day.
It isn't health care reform, it's health care payment reform.
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Edith visited Martha one morning, to discover her making breakfast for her husband, who was not at work, but still in bed sawing a log at eleven o'clock. "He's getting breakfast in bed, the poor dear," Martha said with a smile as she garnished the tray with a single rose in a narrow wine glass.
"Is he sick," asked Edith?
"No," answered Martha, "let me tell you what happened. He was out all night barhopping with his buddies, and came staggering home at 3 a.m. – first thing through the front door, he puked on the floor and made a vomit trail all the way down the hall to the bathroom. Then he tried and failed to get his pants off before he let loose with an explosion of diarrhea. I found him passed out on the toilet, his clothes drenched in vomit and poop... and a huge puddle of stinky pee forming beneath him on the bathroom floor. It took me two hours to mop everything up as best I could... he was too heavy to lift off of the toilet. I just managed to revive him enough to get him cleaned up and in bed an hour ago."
Edith's jaw dropped. "... And you're making him breakfast in bed?? Are you nuts, woman?? If my husband did that, he'd spend the night in the backyard with the dog – if he's lucky! Why, why, why are you doing this??"
Martha sighed happily. "Because... when I went to undress him, he pushed me away and said, 'dream on, lady, I'm married!'"
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Remember what an "expert" is: an "ex" is a has-been, a "(s)pert" is a drip in a hurry.
What am I thankful for? I cannot count all my friends, with all my fingers and toes. And that's just the beginning.
Money doesn't make you smart. It does, however, apparently win arguments.
If it weren't for dreams, no one would ever remember being asleep. Waking up and feeling rested or drowsy are merely clues that you've been asleep. Actual sleep is a non-experience... unless a dream is involved.
ANOTHER ONE FOR THE DAMN POETRY CORNER
I sat on the porcelain throne
Pondering adrift and afar
I rose to see what I'd done
A nail, a cork, a cigar
