Mister Boo is exhausted already and it’s only day one of the Labor Day weekend. Perhaps because there’s nothing to eat out here on the deck? Unless you count the delicious French rosé to my left, which I am decidedly not sharing as I fiddle belatedly with the iPad as a means of updating the DogS(h)ite pre-Interbike.
He can’t have any of the kung pao chicken that I shall be stir-frying directly, either. The Boo has a delicate constitution, and we have new carpet in the basement.
Meet Henri, whose “Paw de Deux” won the Golden Kitty at the inaugural International Cat Video Film Festival in Minneapolis. Henri also has a book of “philosophical musings” to be published by Random House come fall, says Kathleen Geier at The Washington Monthly. And yet I feel nothing. …
Oh, Lord, am I ever glad that the likes of Charles P. Pierce, Ed Kilgore and Steve Benen are following this Floridian fuckery so I don’t have to.
There is something excruciatingly discordant in the keening of pirates who, after scuttling the Ship of State with pointless warfare and the dispensation of booty unclaimed from same to all their mates, have the effrontery to dress down the colored fella we hired to police up this mess for his failure to immediately raise the wreckage from the Mariana Trench in which they left it, tow it to drydock a la Jack LaLanne and then promptly outfit it as a luxury yacht for honkies who make extravagant bets with each other using other people’s money and call that work.
Thus after a quick whiff of the same old bullshit I sailed away on my Nobilette for a cruise through the Broadmoor, then fired up the Vespa for a voyage to the Colorado Farm and Art Market to take a few pix of a nifty startup, The Local.
This food truck is manned (womaned?) by a couple of lively U.S. Air Force vets who are bringing tasty Mexican-American-Asian cuisine to the landlubbers here in Bibleburg. I’m talking burgers on a pretzel bun with bacon jam — yes, bacon jam — and Korean barbecue tacos.
I shot the pix for The Farm Beet, one of the many sombreros worn by my friend and colleague Hal Walter of Hardscrabble Times, and I don’t imagine that he’ll object if I post one here.
When a guy hasn’t had an actual job for 21 years, a long stretch of actual work comes as something of a shock to the system. I had a number of perfectly good reasons for quitting that last job, and “actual work” topped the podium.
Still, a man must earn, and thus I spent the last 11 days on the clock, and ain’t I glad that’s over. Now I can get back to viewing with alarm, peeing on various wingtips and riding the damn’ bike.
Today I played catch-up on the chores that had gone begging while I was locked to the money teat. I bought a metric shit-ton of groceries (including ice cream); treated myself to a new pair of running shoes from Colorado Running Company; went for a short jog; and got my old eyeglasses repaired while contemplating some new cheaters (I’m feeling a bit like Mister Magoo after an extended bout of pixel-pushing).
Tomorrow I’ll get back to business around here. I understand the Republicans are playing One-Handed Spit-In-the-Carpet in Florida. Won’t that be fun?
