Into the Wild Blue Yonder

By the time anybody reads this (except for the insomniac) I will be way up yonder in the blue, en route to Yoopie. Since I am so short of breath from smoking, I have asked for assistance getting to and fro, and there and back. Then I will get on the aeroplane (escorted to my seat by a ravishing LA model who will want to exchange cell phone numbers) and go.

"Yoopie" is the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (U.P.), where lives Bud Avery, stepfather of my buddy Vicki Bennett. Bud's wife died in early March. Mine died in November. So we are going to cheer each other up and have a snowball fight. Bud lives almost all the way to Lake Superior (on the shore of Gratiot Lake), and he still has over 4 feet of snow. This is stuff that you can't get in Texas.

(I am going to ask the pilot how many miles to the gallon does he get. 2-1 he doesn't know.)

We land in Minneapolis (or St. Paul). The last time I was in Minneapolis I got hooked on a brandy drink that had hazel nuts floating in it. The next morning I awoke lying naked in the bathtub. (Here's my theory: I was afraid of hurling, so I wanted to leave my lunch somewhere decent. But, Sweet Jaysus, I made it to work that day!)

Vicki intends to join us the next day (Friday). I hope she feels welcome, but you know how a couple of old guys (75 and 78) can bond, and so there's not much hope. We might let her make the beer run.

I come home on Sunday. If I write anything on Friday or Saturday, you sure will get it because I know how much you count on me for rib ticklers. Just remember, though, I am now a "never on Sunday" kind of guy.

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My favorite word today is rest. N., don't bother me. Def.: Sleeping with one eye open to avoid being called lazy.