“It is a human characteristic to love little animals, especially if they’re attractive in some way.”
— McCoy, “The Trouble with Tribbles”, stardate 4525.6
“When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.”
— Ignatius Reilly “Confederacy of Dunces”
Is the Honey Bucket still here? Yes. Is our neighbor down the street, who actually knows how to do his own remodeling, jealous? Yes. For the love of God, he has saved himself and his lovely wife tens of thousands of dollars by working on his own place and not hiring contractors — it looks great, their house, total showcase now — and he loves the damn Honey Bucket.
“Insanity in individuals is something rare — but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche, philosopher (1844-1900)
Happy Birthday, Stephen King!
Yeah, you heard me. We now have a Honey Bucket port-a-potty in the front yard. Resplendent. And the contractors didn’t care for the way my bedroom window looked, so they took it out and nailed up a couple of huge pieces of plywood over the hole.
Then they called it a day and split.
I (heart) contractors.
Yes, the contractors are here! All six of them, including one guy who looks like a DUI guy who careened into the backyard on his bicycle this a.m. You know DUI guys, right?
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view.”
— Harper Lee, writer (1926- )
Oh dammit all to hell — the contractors, the ever-elusive contractors we’ve been waiting for, nigh on three months now, finally, magically, reappeared today. It’s like having a vision, really, when you’ve been waiting for someone for so long and voila! There he is: The Contractor. He had a certain aura around him, a halo, glowing, and he said the magical words, “Hey. We’re ready to put up the scaffolding and get going.”
Then the Nasty Neighbor yelled at him and next thing you know — whoosh! He’s gone.
“Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary.”
— Mark Twain
More later — am on Crazy Soccer & Eating Schedule that makes it impossible for us to get to bed at a reasonable hour and has left me and the kids snarling, sleepy and hungry. And ill-clothed. Sometimes when a woman wears a black push-up bra under her husband’s Bad Monkey T-shirt to soccer practice, it isn’t in an attempt to be sexy (ha!). A la Kelly Lynch in “Drugstore Cowboy,” wearing a black bra under a white lacy top, for example.
No, it’s because WM has only two brassieres (a bre, my Auntie H calls it) and can’t find one of them. I am so freaking tired and dehydrated. Thus I will drink more coffee. I may work out this morning. I will rehydrate in pool. I will ignore Skeezy Hot Tub Guys who stare at the women in water aerobics.
Coach Wacky Daddy is on sked, as always. I will attempt to follow his lead. Wacky Girl is peeved cuz she doesn’t get to sit with the second-graders at lunchtime. “They made us sit with the kinders!” Oh, the indignity of public schools.
love,
WM
C called Wacky Sister over the weekend — they’re hanging in. We went to see the Sprinkler, Crackerbash, Pond & Hazel reunion show on Saturday, me, Wacky Sister, and her friend C. Too loud, too fun. I (heart) Sean Croghan. I (heart) both the Croghan brothers. Don’t tell anyone it’s a secret.
C, if you’re reading this, we saw Sean’s brother Paul and told him you’re fine. He was glad and sends you a hello.
and now, the quote of the day: “Truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.”
— Flannery O’Connor, writer (1925-1964)
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