Play Ball

As part of my continuing effort to appreciate some of the benefits of self-employment, Honey & I are driving up to Miami today, to watch the Cubs lose to the Marlins. We’re meeting Springheel Jack and the hydrogeologist before the game, for cafe Cubano and eclairs caramelo. It’s not exactly an antidote to the long hours and unanticipated capital outlays, but it’s something.

In my absence, please enjoy this rebroadcast of the Pat & Ron Show.

64% Remaining

“67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age.”

Actually, this one’s okay. I’m not enthusiastic, understand, but nor am I depressed. For the first time in years, I find myself both content with my present situation and moving forward. Which is as good an endorsement of this whole bizarre Florida scheme as anything, I s’pose.

(Still – today, I am as old as my mom was when I was born.)

Revelation 21:6

I never really did well in school.

I was never on the Honor Roll.

I didn’t go to a flash college.

I am neither a doctor nor a lawyer.

I was never much of an athlete, either.

I always played right field.

I cannot dunk a basketball.

I am slow and asthmatic.

I am not famous.

I am not rich.

I can neither sing, nor dance.

I am an acerbic, dyspeptic, hypercritical nightmare of anger-management issues.

And yet today, my friends, you can be proud, for today I am, in complete accordance with the laws of the United States of America, an ordained minister.

An ordained minister entitled to perform the rites and ceremonies of the church, including weddings, funerals, baptisms, and blessings – but explicitly excluding circumcision – subject to the laws of my country, state, or locality.

According to my diploma, I am also entitled to “all the privileges and courtesies normally offered to members of the clergy.”

Like the specific right to sign myself:

Rev. Al Surname
Universal Life Church

"Hello, Kolovitz?"

I was going to start the photoblog portion of our program with a tour of the dorm room.

With captions and everything.

A little peek inside, y’know?

Like Cribs.

Except about cement-floors and inflatable beds, rather than platinum potty chairs and mink throw pillows.

But last night, my plans were adjusted, when I came out of the bathroom.

I spotted what I thought, in the dark, to be a gecko making its way across the floor.

Thankfully, I turned on the light before I picked it up.

It was not a gecko.

Double egad.

I evicted it — ably aided in this by Honey, who stood on the bed and screamed — and sat down for a few ill-advised but riveting minutes with Google.

According to one news report, it is presently “scorpion season” in Florida.

I don’t recall the relocation brochures mentioning a “scorpion season”.

I will be speaking with my attorney.