Spitball Army

I thought I’d get to the polling place by 6:00 a.m. and be the first in line, or close to the first. Then, last night, it dawned on me that I would have the privilege of waiting just as long at the #1 position as I would at #56. So I take my time getting to the community school polling place, arriving at around 6:20. Coffee mug in hand, I step into the line. I am indeed #56.

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About a week ago, on the Facebook website, someone posted an event entitled “Election Day.” Members were asked to choose whether they were “attending” or not, much like R.S.V.P.’ing for a dinner party. I selected Yes, and added a note: You would have to kill me to keep me from attending. I haven’t always felt this way.

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(photo: spitballarmy.com) I’ll give you one guess why we stopped here and, no, it wasn’t for the ice cubes (aka “turista”).  We heard that Clark Gable was hanging out at a liquor store in Baja, so we went to see for ourselves.  No, really, that’s me. It used to be the easiest thing to hop […]

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I received an e-mail from a daily reader of this blog. In it, the reader complained of this blog’s recent infusion of political content. The reader’s note referred to it as a “disgusting trend.”

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It is easy to see that this challenge smacks of the dieter’s challenge. “Maybe I’ll have just one extra slice/bite/drink…” Is it truly just a matter of will? How old will I be before I realize that I no longer need that deluxe DVD edition of The Lion King?

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This morning, my radio alarm clock announced the arrival of a new day with the strains of a string quartet. I lay in bed trying to identify whose quartet it was. It sounded like Beethoven, perhaps even Brahms.

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Just recently, I heard – on one of the reality shows I occasionally watch (I think this might have been Bravo’s Top Design) – someone exclaim, “Oh, travertine,” through a grimace. Has travertine become a sign of poor taste?

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So, I cautiously opened James Taylor’s Covers CD when my review copy arrived in the mail, already acknowledging my disappointment at the absence of original songs. My opinion of the album only worsened when I read the song list. Track number one: “It’s Growing.” No, I thought to myself, it can’t be.

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There was so much vinyl – multiple copies of many titles, and what seemed like endless rows of classical music – that I was overwhelmed. The two guys working the store seemed overwhelmed, too, wedged in behind a small sales counter that was piled high with boxes of new vinyl arrivals.

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Eventually, in that retail business mileau, I had to tell the community, “Thanks, but no thanks,” for that financial black hole to nowhere. If I really wanted a financial black hole, I’d dig it myself.

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