Cockiness will not be tolerated: the week before last was so easy, so short-lived, compared to the plains of this past one. I’d misunderestimated it. It started with the shock of supra-high blood pressure, which alerted me to a new wakefulness on dietary matters. Diet never matters until it hurts someone, and it was evidentally hurting me given the challenge of fitting into pants and blood pressure cuffs.
On Tuesday I engaged in what might be a budding tradition in in my coffers: the weekly movie, although it would’ve been better to have read instead. This week it was Jim Carrey’s “Yes Man”. I found it only moderately entertaining. Nothing as exhilarating as last week’s “Valkeries”, and it had one nauseating scene involving a fornicating old lady. Naturally that is what lingers in memory.
The week was a one-two punch of a half-foot of snow and brutal cold. The cold is as nothing to the snow but still... Our garage door doesn’t work when it's this cold; we have to “help” it along. Which means on the coldest days of the year we have to leave the car. Which sort of defeats the purpose of garage door openers as you want them most when it’s minus 10 degrees and one nanosecond outside freezes your nose hairs and short hairs. I whine therefore I am.
But tis all moot now because I’m looking at a fine stretch of pony. Monday is MLK day, an off-day the positive result of our corporation’s political correctness (not meant to disparage Martin Luther King who was a great American leader, but we don't get off President's Day, for example. If you give MLK, you have to give GW & AL.) We’re always behind the times, which is why we only started getting the day off two years ago, but hey at least we get the day off so I shan't complain. Black activists may not have gotten reparations for slavery but they've gotten this honkey a day off work and for that I am grateful.
I have the gimlet eye of McDonald’s coffee and breakfast in my reptile brain, as well as the prospect of the filling prose of Updike (for lyrcisim) or Dean Koontz (for story). Then there’s “The Education of Henry Adams” for an autobiographical break.
I began Friday late afternoon by taking a short nap in the sun under the coincierge of the south window in our family room after devouring Max & Erma’s tasty filets of fish. Before dozing, I read of the exploits involving the story of a US Air jetliner that landed in the Hudson river yesterday. 155 passengers, no deaths. A fine respite from bad news.