Back To Work, But NOT Back To Writing About Work

Those of you whose lives revolve around me will have noticed that I just took four days off from writing. This was pretty much the result of my having taken four days off from my job. Since I have no internet access at home, I don’t post to this blog on my days off. Anyway, I asked for - and received - last Friday off. Combined with the three-day Labor Day weekend, this gave me four days off, if you’ve been paying attention - and even if you haven’t.

I have come to the realization that it doesn’t matter how many days I have off. If I had seventy-seven days off, I would still dread the morning of the seventy-eighth. The only way I will ever be happy with my work situation is if I can retire completely. I know that you like me, otherwise you wouldn’t be here reading this crap. So, if you’d like me to be happy, please send whatever you can afford to:

The Suldog Slugabed Fund
93 Winsor Avenue
Watertown, MA, USA 02472

I’m hoping for 5 million dollars. If I get donations totaling LESS than 5 million dollars, I’ll invest the funds appropriately in an effort to get to that amount. Everything that doesn’t go towards covering overhead expenses (pizza, Deep Purple CDs) will be put towards the purchase of lottery tickets. Every penny earned beyond the original goal of 5 million dollars will be returned to you, my benefactor. However, every nickel, dime, quarter, and dollar will go straight into my pocket, so don’t set your hopes too high.

I thank you in advance for your generosity.

(You might ask why I wouldn’t wait until I actually get some donations before I thank you. There’s probably a very good reason for that. When I come up with it, you’ll be the first to know, except for me.)

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In other developments, I saw a Charlie Chaplin film on Friday. MY WIFE and I went to see a screening of CITY LIGHTS. Of course, giving a review of a film that is almost 80 years old and unlikely to be coming to your local cinema would be a waste of both my time and yours.

It is a marvelous film, and Chaplin still amazes me every time I see him, which isn’t as often as it should be because he’s dead for about thirty years now. The only complaint I have about the film is that the dialogue wasn’t quite up to snuff. Well, that and the colors were rather drab. Other than that? I enjoyed it tremendously.

Well, OK, I suppose Mr. Chaplin deserved a better wardrobe. He was the star, after all, and his pants had holes in them. His shoes were at least three sizes too big. And what exactly was the point of that cane? I mean, HE wasn’t the blind one – it was his leading lady, and I do have to commend the studio for giving work to the disabled, although I suppose they might have had to, considering the ADA and all. And what’s up with that moustache? Doesn’t he realize that Hitler had a moustache like that? Does he want to be seen as some kind of anti-Semite? Oh, what the heck – the rest of the movie was just swell and I’m sure these things were only oversights.



Moving right along, on Saturday I watched the first Batman movie, starring Jack Nicholson as The Joker. No, actually I watched Clay Buchholz throw a no-hitter for the Red Sox. There is a resemblance, though.

What a wonderful game that was to watch. I don’t think there are any moments in sport more fraught with tension than those leading up to the completion of a no-hitter in baseball. And that’s what makes the watching of sports such an enjoyable pastime, that amazing sense of drama.

Well, that and the fact that I have a bet with Barbara on the Red Sox beating out the Yankees, and the loser will have to display the logo of their hated enemy on their blog. And on Sunday, the Sox won and the Yankees lost. And, as I write this on Monday, the Yankees have already lost again. Life is good.

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Continuing with this mish-mash of nothing in particular, on Sunday I visited with some of my in-laws. And I have to tell you about what sort of cruel people they are.

My in-laws, as my own family (my outlaws?), place a great deal of worth upon words and wordplay. They love to read, and to tell jokes and formulate puns. They are intelligent, and try to instill this love of words in their children, but sometimes it is done in a way that is less-than-benign. I will cite an example from this Sunday.

We were all asking my youngest niece, Ava-Marie, to replicate the sounds that animals make. She is two. We said, for instance, “Ava-Marie, what sound does a dog make?”

Ava-Marie smiled and said, “Woof Woof!”

We asked, “What sound does a cat make?”

Ava-Marie smiled and said, “Meow!”

We asked, “What sound does a bunny make?”

Ava-Marie smiled and then stopped dead in her tracks, a bewildered look replacing the smile on her face. And then my in-laws all laughed like hell.

(Oh, OK, so did I. It was hilarious.)

The thing is, we tried to pull this same stunt on my niece, Alyssa, who is now in her late teens. Anyway, when she was two, we asked her what sound a bunny makes. Well, if you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. Alyssa didn’t hesitate a single moment. She said, “Bun, bun, bun, bun, bun.”

(Alyssa doesn’t remember this and she gets slightly embarrassed when we tell her about it. I wouldn’t. In this family, it was the quickest reaction ever displayed to that question. She should be proud.)

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Finally, since I’m supposed to have been in the middle of a series of reminiscences concerning my various and sundry jobs, I have a note of correction concerning the very start of that series. I forgot to include two jobs in the original list. They are Gas Station Attendant and Garage Cleaner. Since I had previously written about both of those professions, you’d think I might remember them more readily. Nah. Anyway, that brings my total of jobs in my life to 27 rather than the previously-stated 25.

Does the above make any difference in the grand scheme of things? Not in the least. And so, I leave you, having gained nothing from the ten minutes you’ve spent reading me other than possibly a headache. Don’t forget to send in those donations. The quicker you do, the quicker I’ll stop bothering you.

Tomorrow (or maybe the next day – who knows?): Stories About Selling Women’s Shoes. Your excitement is palpable, even from here, and I thank you.