The NBA gives me a German star and NASCAR gives me a Jeff Gordon win.  What does the NHL give me?

If I keep getting what I want when I don’t ask, what will I want when I get what I asked for?

Thanks to Kevin at Ruby Tuesday; Kayla Hayes and smiling coworkers at Krystal; Casey at PetSmart; Sharon at HarborChase; the friendly faces at Bloom Dancewear; Joe at Kinesthetic Cue.

I don’t want to be right.  I don’t want to be right.  I don’t want to be right.  I don’t want to be right.  I don’t want to be right.

I want to be correct.

I let the house fill with attic spiders, knowing one day I might expire, attract flies and thus feed my eight-legged companions who wouldn’t give me a single thought of thanks.

We recycle our states of energy no matter how hard we try to preserve ourselves and our memories.

Would I have traded places with my brother in-law, if I could?  Sure.  At least as far as social/family obligations go.

But I couldn’t and I can’t.

So I didn’t.

Perhaps I’ll be worm food one day.

Or cremated, burnt offering to the gods.

Some days, I am the God of Fire, bellowing smoke and ash, extinguishing impedances to that which we perceive as good.

Some days, I meditate long hours with no thought but what a guy like me thinks and need not be repeated here.

Although this is a personal journal read by no one but me, I do not write every thought that passes through the loudest voices of my competing neurochemical activities we have previously called thoughts of consciousness because, like a person who practices the art of the pebble in the pond, I control the wave function with measured rhythms attuned to the cycles of life around me, real and/or imagined.

[snoooooooze]  Oops, sorry!  Just took myself too seriously.

Back to humour.

A tern for the wurst.

Reminds of a book from my youth, “Jest in Pun” by Bill Keane.

Voltaire: God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.  The art of medicine consists in amusing the patient while nature cures the diseases.

Many campaign promises are sound. Just sound! (The International Save the Pun Foundation)

Ed Hexter: That was ZEN — this is TAO.

Me: Where did they put the battery thief?  In a duracell!

G’night, folks, before I slip off this slopery fall.

And finally, congrats to Dana on her new position as a CA (contract assassin?).