Lunch At the Golf Course.
This is a very long one. I have been on and off all day and it only 4:42PM. There are hours and hours to fill yet. Such is the life of a flanêur. I need to change the name of this blog. I do not think of it as a blog but I know that most of you do.
On the internet, nobody knows that you are a dog. I am sitting in the back garden at the moment watching Whitey, the last hen. It is nice out today, in case you are curious. I do not know what I am going to talk about today but I do know that the most reproduced cartoon in The New Yorker magazine’s history has my first sentence as its punchline.
Which photo is real?
…or…
You may never know. They look the same to me.
I am going to ask for the Bow Wow Wow station tonight at Aunt Tiki’s. I like candy when it is wrapped in a sweater.
Maybe we can compare the Bow Wow Wow version with the Shaun Cassidy version of I Want Candy. I prefer Annabella Lwin. If you do not know who I am talking about, do not worry. It is unimportant. My head is full of useless facts from my youth, of no relevance to this generation. Everything is wallpaper to them.
Sweetboy and I had a long talk about the origin of the phrase “You’re living the life of Riley.” Neither he nor I live that life. We are burdened by the cares of the world as much as everyone is. I happened to know the origin of the phrase. My head is full of useless facts—this one was from two generations before my time.
I am on the clock right now, as I write this. It is nice to see you.
I forget what I was going to talk about. I know. I can look at the title as well as you. can, but, it is an occupational hazard when you zigzag all over a city. The situations change in quantum fashion. Is this moment a particle or a wave? It is both.
I am going to start over after the paywall. I am going to talk about Mrs. King’s and my golf course culinary adventure,