This, That . . . And The Other Thing

I’m in the midst of tying up lots of loose ends.  Either I’m dying or it’s the end of the calendar year.  (Yes, it’s probably that.) And there is some unfinished business here at the blog factory that I need to attend to.

Unbeknownst to you, my (valued) reader, these gems don’t just spring from my head and wind up on the page in one fell swoop. There’s a lot of percolating going on . . .  all the time. Often I enter ideas, titles or thoughts in a “Drafts” folder on my WordPress site.  The time has come to clear those out and get them out of my life once and for all. Generally, these kernels never developed for an assortment of reasons. Those reasons fall, not so neatly, into a variety of categories as follows:

Great Titles But No Content

I Thought There’d Be More

The Penis In The Mine

(End Of ) Life Coach

Very Naked . . . And Very Afraid   ( a reality TV show)

Tasteless Blog Post

A number of months ago there was an article about a mountain climber who intended to climb Mt. Everest as a memorial to the disaster last spring when 18 people were killed by an avalanche.  Actually, as I remember, it was more to affirm that mans’ will can overcome monumental adversity and setbacks. What was interesting to me was that the climber who issued the challenge to Everest had already failed in six previous attempts to “conquer” it.  What I found particularly remarkable is that, in the course of those failures, he had lost all of his fingers save one.  This information got my mind going and it was only my sense of propriety that prevented me from writing anything about this.

Off-Beat Story Does Not A Blog Make

A friend, Retep#2, had given me an article about a custom in China where female strippers are asked to perform at funerals.  Apart from making a mental note that it might be a way to increase attendance at my you-know-what, I wasn’t stirred to write anything.

Similarly, there was an article in The Times about a robot that some scientists were having hitchhike across the country.  I thought that would be fun to write about until I read that the robot was set up at a roadside, someone would pick it up, put it in the car and drive until they dropped if off again at another roadside. From what I could tell, the robot could have been a sack of potatoes being transported from one coast to the other. That’s not a story.

Mean-Spirited Blog Post

(No to be confused with a tasteless post.)  Occasionally, someone will come into the office formerly (and currently) known as Garfield Realty and tell an agent that she is looking on behalf of her child who is too busy to look at property on their own.   What I have proposed to anyone dealing with those customers is to suggest to them that the agent would get his or her mom to come in to show them around.  This story might have spun out of control in a way that could make me seem awfully unattractive.

Way Too Self-Referential Blog Post 

Obviously, they’re almost all about me but this one is almost beyond the pale and never saw the light of day. It appears here in an abridged form:

When I was in college, I was in an amazingly boring class and I spent most of my time doodling and writing poetry.  Not the kind of poetry that you feel in your soul or that would make you cry .  . more the kind that might make you smile a little bit.  I still remember parts of one poem that I wrote and since this is my blog I can post anything I want.  I was going out, at the time, with a girl named Myra Schwartz (everyone had names like that in the 1800’s). And here is part of my ode to Myra:

I’ve sailed the seas/ and in all ports

 I’ve never met/ a girl like Schwartz.   

You can see now why I got all the girls.

 

 

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2 Responses to “This, That . . . And The Other Thing”

  1. Rich Says:

    I came across a photo of you and M Schwartz some years ago. I still have it somewhere. Bear Mt boat ride.

  2. iron(ic)man triathlon Says:

    Boy oh boy….if I could get hold of that photo, I would post it and the world could see (grandiose enough?) why one lovestruck boy was writing poetry.

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