TTYL

Who killed your uncle boy? The red monkey. Wipha has passed. The Sex Pistols are going to go on a 30-year reunion tour. I ♥ unicorns. You will get my out-of-the-office automated reply. None of these relates to any of the others. They are just ideas on a recycled shelflist card. I made a DVD. A real DVD. I imported more than 300 pictures from the 2007 Special Olympics Oregon State Summer Games into movie maker. Then I searched my CD collection in FileMaker for songs with the word "summer" in the titles. I ripped these onto my hard drive, then imported them into the movie maker as well. Save project and open in DVD maker. Then burn. It came out really nice. Stop the mail. Stop the newspaper. Call Brian Potter to remind him not to leave any fish on the porch. Now I can go to Shanghai.

Cluck, cluck

Control is down Dear Reader. Way down. And out. For the count? I hope not. For the time being. Digression is warranted, even encouraged as my mind wanders trippingly hither and yon, to and fro, wildly oscillating between this and that. Don't forget the other thing. Enough! (Never was, as has been previously reported.) A brief story. Properly, an anecdote. The rest was just fodder. Meaningless drivel. We were at the deli of a supermarket a few days ago. I wanted to get some chicken. I scream. You scream. We all scream for... chicken! We do we do we do we do. I asked how much four pieces would cost. $2.99. OK. Then I saw that an 8-piece selection was $3.99. Easy math. Oxymoron? I changed my order to eight from four. I could save some chicken for later. The kid, yes kid, maybe 19, probably not even, made our evening. Casually. Matter-of-factly: 'You know you're gonna want chicken later in the week.' Deep down I guess we all know that. Sometimes we just need to be reminded.