The other day, I turned on my television and there was nothing there. And I don’t mean that it was only showing the usual re-runs of “Survivor: The Golden Girls Edition.”
When the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter collides with Mars, it leaves a big mess, usually just the day after the cleaning people have come. And it generally means it’s time to check your newspaper horoscope.
(In case you’re wondering, or you now get all your news from friends on Facebook and have never heard of Crimea, the horoscope usually can be found in the newspaper right next to the bmujel, or jumble. That in turn is right next to the Sudoku, which is the Crimean term for kale chips.)
There’s a very good chance now that I’m not going to win Warren Buffett’s $1 billion.
And I had such good plans for it — Twizzlers for everybody, lamb chops when they’re not buy-one, get-one free, change my oil every two months, not every three. Maybe buy hardbacks instead of paperbacks. Replace torn underwear, even if historically lucky, with new. Get the full bottle of wine, not the half, when we go out to dinner.
There is, of course, only one thing worse than actually filling out your tax forms. That’s finding all the stuff that will allow you to actually fill out all your tax forms.
I am part of a singularly discriminated against minority group. I have been left behind.
I am a lefty.
The stock market staged an impressive comeback yesterday, bouncing back from the impressive downturn it took the day before.
At the close of trading, the S&P 500 had added two letters, making it the S&A&P, and offering buy-one, get-one free deals on creamed canned corn. The index got a boost from reports that reports were on the upswing and that the Federal Reserve was predicting that the labor market would be open late tonight so you can stop there on your way home.
OMG, BTW, ICYMI you can LOL at this POW.
Yeah, I don’t have any idea what any of that means either.
While I’m generally proficient with real words, words that have syllables and, you know, meaning, in a world where communications are limited to 140 characters or a thumb or two, I am out of it — or OOI.
And I know I’m not the only one — NTOO.
I have a lot of miles on me, and that’s not even taking into account how the knees are pretty much shot and the back regularly gets stiff after bowling. Actually, it gets stiff before bowling, too.
Anyway, what I mean is I have platinum miles on me, diamond miles, gold miles and even some rollover medallion qualification miles, although I’m not sure if that’s longer or shorter than a kilometer.
OK, let me tell you who’s going to win the Super Bowl.
I’m able to do this because I have spent a great deal of time analyzing the two teams, measuring their run-to-pass ratio, checking out their blocking schemes and finding out if anyone on the defense is nicknamed Elmer.
The key to the game will be which team moves out of the 3-4 defense and into the 4-3 and thus can complete the subtraction without going into the minus numbers and screwing up the calculators on their phones. That team will then have more defenders in the box, fewer people at the movies for the 7 o’clock show and can be home before dinner.
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My wife, participating in a long-standing family tradition, recently broke her wrist ice skating. Which leads, of course, to the inevitable and understandable question, what kind of long-standing family tradition includes fractures? Aren’t most long-standing family traditions just supposed to include cuts, bruises, root canals or the occasional trip to the emergency room?
Since we don’t like to do anything by ourselves anymore, there are now apps for almost everything.
(By the way, for those of you who are not technologically conversant, apps are short for my friend Marty Appel, who invented the Macintosh and also was an early adopter of the Granny Smith.)
Number 1 on my to-do list for the new year is to stop making to-do lists.
The problem with my to-do lists has been that I generally put things on them that I am very unlikely, in point of fact, to actually do. These items require effort and follow-through and occasionally looking at the list to remember what is on them.
‘Twas the night before the night before Christmas,
when all through the house,
not a vector was stirring, not even the optical mouse.
The stockings were hung by the Kindle Fire with care
in case our new Nooks really needed repair.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of Xboxes danced in their heads.