CHEESES and SOY CURD, I MADE IT!
Thank you truly to you who did for you know what!
Today will not be the traumatic rant I thought it would be at this time yesterday. Y? Because upstairs renter arrived home later than expected last night, and our earlier plans for me to re-install one of her toilet seats had to be postponed until tonight, I HOPE before they eat dinner. One of the nuts that keeps the seat secure had vacated the premesis and left no forwardting address. So after I paid a bill Tuesday afternoon, it was an easy swing by Ace (of course) Hardware to get a pair of replacement bolts. Including the Nestle Crunch ice cream bar I purchased for late lunch as I approached the cash register, to total was less than $5. Heckova deal. Anyhoo, I’m not going to dine until the new bolts secure that seat.
So I’ve tweaked the web site for mon cliento precioso and will talk wit him later today. Another reason to stay away from the remaining three quearts of Burgundy. Now that my deadline writing — a terrific romp in the main, btw — is by me, it’s back to one feed a day. The only reason I really want to do my eat fest tonight is that there is nothing on PBS Thursday night I want to see until 10:30. Charlie Rose of course. At least tonight I’ll have some company on the screen, maybe, and it probably won’t be WSEC. They’re having another fund raiser and you know what that means: more twinkling Irish tenors from Branson and more Jerry Vale singalikes than anyone more than a few heartbeats away from a hospice should endure. I will tune instead to WILL despite the poor reception because I have developed a patholitical fear of encountering SEC’s director whose voice is like a pubescent male whose voice is changing and whose presence on screen is like a wall paper sales man who’s not comfortable in your living room; not that there’s anything wrong with pubescent wall paper salesmen.
I just received a terrific book about Springfield native son Mark Foutch I want to tell you about: The Show is on the Podium. If you knew Mark, you will want the book. If you want to read a well-written story about a Springfield kid who did well, you will want to read the book. First I am going to pitch a PAID review to the editor of the best news weekly this side of Neptune and probably the other side as well. Cross the fingers, or as my limey friend Barry Tempest might say . . . . fingres.
Live long . . . . . and proper.
