Monday, September 24, 2001 6:06:37 PM
Rainy day blog
It is my habit, after dinner, to go out on to the patio, on which I spent many hours earlier this summer, perspiring, fighting off insects of unimaginable dimensions (Walter Reed fought no more daring battles), cutting thorn infested bushes with a machete, digging, cleaning then carrying huge heavy white stones a furlong or further (I know, brothers, how the Druids suffered on the Salisbury Plains), in short (which I admit is almost never my choice of expression) building a backyard patio compete with wooden picnic table and tacky blue and white shade umbrella (nowhere the word Perrier, nor does Calvin Klein, much as I suspect he might like to, adorn my ass). And have a glass or two of some fine Italian wine. (I know California and France make better, but I am really happy with a Sangiovese or some other grape that grows in the Tuscan hills). And write. Alas this evening a drizzle and a grey dead sky bracket the stones of my labor.
So I sit deep in the basement listening to Ornette Coleman and make some necessary corrections to my Blog entries.
I have been chastised. Mea Culpa! I was (and am I suppose) as I mentioned, the Highh Hheen of Lackzoom Acidophilus, but I got all the other titles wrong. Marc was Loww Hhheen, Foley was Double Splagg, Dean was Single Splagg, and Phil was the Treasurer. I almost apologize for any inconvenience I have caused by spewing forth this egregious and incorrect information.
On to the anvil. You will take my anvil over my dead cold.....well I don't really feel that strongly about it, but I would put up a great scratching screeching fight, you beasts! The anvil is a noble tool. Just you go to Danville during the Annual Anvil Celebration, put on by the local Red Grange Ghost Society and see what a festive feast is placed on your pewter platter. And, oi!, the iron pills. It just gives me the shivery fits! Which is also how I feel about my pants in the morning after a dozen or two donuts!
I will not at this time tell y'all how to get in touch with either the Anvil Workers of America or the Anvil Anti-Defamation League. When the two groups got together after an evening of beating dented metals the acronym AWAAAL was created and then later incorporated into a blues hollar that is sung to this day on most parchment farms down in Loosiana, while the prisoners whap heavy sledges on to the hot surfaces of their - dare I say it - Forged Steel America Made ANVILS! AWAAL!
Okay, I've said what I wanted in the most obscure way possible. It is time to move on to other things, but Ornette, Don, Billy and Charlie are done and the wine is but a sip (Now it is even less) - so adieu until the morrow and really parting ain't all that bad!