Overthunk

Thank you, know it all lady who used to write printer drivers for Windows 95 (according to her statement to the customer ahead of me in line) at the second ubiquitous, yet feckless branch of a drive-thru veterinary office I attempted to go to today.  Your simple assessment of the situation: peering at my dog's bothersome ass and stating "this will take more time than we have" saved me from returning to the closer outpost of the nonhelpful drive-thru vet branch office and unleashing a Basil Fawlty-caliber explosion of sarcasm and screeching on the bint who, on the phone, and then in person, when I shambled forward with a clearly very nervous animal in my arms, demanded "proof of rabies," which I could not produce. Let's lay aside the fact that what you were actually demanding, in correct English, was a demonstrable case of frothy mouth and erratic possible lycanthropy. What you meant was, did I have a metal tag proving the dog had been inoculated again...

Not too long ago, James Stafford, master blogger of the stellar Why It Matters , invited me to do a guest post . I've reprinted it here for your enjoyment or amusement or mere curiosity. Please do visit his halls of memoir and chronicles of music, as every minute not spent there is one you would have enjoyed! "Greetings from the briny depths of the internets, where I inflict my octo-schtick. Here are eight tunes my suckered arms embrace, reflecting eight life obsessions. INFORMATION The Cars, “Double Life”     “Lift me from the wondermaze, alienation is the craze.” Programming streams of foul language in Basic as a kid on a Commodore 64 only paved the way for my taking up residency on the internet round about ’95. When it was pay by the hour AOL, I signed on for a volunteer position to earn time, because I couldn’t finance my habit any other way. These days, I’m awash in social media and virtual worlds, and it draws a line, forms a language I ...

Though I like owning my house, I wish from time to time that instead of in a middle-class neighborhood, that it was in the middle of a hundred-acre wood or something. I have a crappy little bench, that needs either a coat of paint, or just to be thrown out, sitting in my front yard, fairly close to the door. You can sit on it, but it rather lists to one side. I don't sit on it for fear of causing its last day on earth in a sudden collapse, but it looks somewhat fetching sitting alongside the flowers that I usually remember to water in the bed that needs weeding. I pull up to the homestead today, after a day of toil in which every moment was begrudged (seeing as how I AM a teacher and it IS still summer, but today there was a pesky training day that could be finished in 3 hours but took 7 just to fill up the state-required time), a bank trip that shouldn't have taken 45 minutes in the 100 degree heat, and a lengthy stint at Walmart shopping. All of this was done while wantin...

Step into motorized listening booth Accelerate onto thoroughfare Put on heaviest metal to blot out niggling thoughts that pull at brain Let the unrelenting bass guitar thundering report of sticks on skin banging angry cadences Drive out these idiot notions Purging needless pain from the soul ------------------------------------ Does that make me crazy? -- Gnarls Barkley