it’s a little spooky in here.  I can see lightning flashes and hear rumbles of thunder.  Should I ride it out or go run and hide?

I’m purging my idea files–to make the bigger ones smaller and the smaller ones bigger.  Does that make any sense?  The file doesn’t want to be disturbed.

That one looks interesting–“Live a Little, Love a Little.”  It’s stacked on top of a dusty pile of miscellaneous musings.  More material to feed the fires of the latest “smarmy fest.”

I get crazy ideas and try them out on readers.  Not that readers are guinea pigs; not for attention, but rather for variety, in hopes they will be liked.

It’s not without risk.  I’ll never be seen on the Jumbo Tron at Yankee Stadium–I’m OK with it.  Sometimes it’s the shortest distance to make a point.  Sometimes I go too far.

Lightning is striking all around me.  So far–there’s no rain.


It didn’t start that way, but ended up as “Wet-Dog Wednesday.  I was bound and determined to grill burgers–come cloudburst or high water.

There’s nothing like the smell of two wet dogs.  I should be thankful they like me enough to hang around.

Yes, I’m crazy enough to carry an umbrella and grill in the rain.  The grill’s under a covered porch–of course.  It’s a hundred foot hike to get there.  Here comes another mini-rainstorm from  two mutts shaking off water.  The burgers smell great.

“Wet-Dog Wednesday”–it’s here, it’s now.  Take your dog for a Wednesday swim–walk in the rain.  It could catch on.


the sun

Searching for my kryptonite on this early Sunday morning; more rain is coming–after a week of the same.  My two dogs are sticking close by my side.  Their disappointed stares pierce my heart.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.  The sky is angry gray.  Ecstatic patio frogs croak with delight.  At least the grass and plants will be happy.

My morning started immersed in European gastronomy at the local IHOP–starting with French toast.  There’s nothing much in the newspaper–except for disaster anniversaries.  Five years since the Macondo Gulf oil well explosion.  Twenty years since the Oklahoma City federal building was bombed.

Who in the “H-E double hockey sticks” really cares whether media darling, Kylie Jenner’s hair is pink, blue, or green?

Negative self-esteem used to be the perceived most important problem among children.  What in the name of self-indulgence is up with “Selfie Sticks?”  Why take pictures of other things?  It’s no wonder there are so many narcissists.

More lightning flashes.  The electric lights are flickering.  How many narcissists does it take to change a light bulb?  I don’t care–as long as I’m not doing it.

The rain is here.  I must tiptoe, so as not to run afoul of shape-shifting social mores, as defined by social media.  There wasn’t a visible sunrise–wishing for a peaceful sunset.