Boy Howdy, This Is Strange Stuff

What with Memorial Day coming on, I think it would be okay for me to get depressed. The trouble is I never got the hang of it. (Note to maker of Prozac: If you're countin' on me, better start looking into Chapter 11.)

My piece is going to be a little unweildy today because I don't have a beginning, a middle or an end in mind. I shall just bumbledick along.

Some more things about my favorite person (me):

62. My Dad took up bowling at the age of 67. Within months he was on a team, averaging 187. I said, "What's the secret?" He said, "I think my average would be higher if I tithed." I have always voted for my Dad.

63. 35-10-30-499. That was the draft card number I was given in 1948. Why I can remember that but none of the addresses of my former homes is beyond understanding. I got called up but deferred because I was in college (that was in the good old days when we could discriminate against poor people). Then I got deferments for being married, having a child, and getting to be overage. I always vote for beating the system.

64. I love Mexican food. So I really looked forward to getting together with an honorary niece down on the California-Mexico border. Her husband, a Mexican, drove us into Mexico to a Chinese food joint! He said Mexicans make lousy food. I love to get educated.

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Yesterday I wrote about an aborted effort to Make My Pile by packaging "the sweet smell of a baby." Commenters had a field day:

Muzik Dude said: "I've been trying to reproduce scents like wet dog and low tide." (Dude is not interested in making money.)

Dave Morris said: "Imagine making your pile off of babies making theirs."

I have given it up. Instead, I am going to copywilburwright the word "package." Royalties will be immense.

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Each week, my buddy Shane, the immensely clever Briton, provides astrological advice. You might like to know:

"Virgo. Enquire at your local grocery store about the range of pornography they'd stock for you.

"Aquarius. "Oil an actor's bicycle tyres and invite them to break a leg."

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My favorite word today is nostrum. (no-strum) n. v. Southern Folk. When the banjo player declines to play.

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Matey says:

The Lord loveth a cheerful giver. He also accepteth from a grouch.