There is a Typo Goddess
And her name is Teh
And it is said that She bewitched the minor deity known as Autocorrect
Because we tappitytaptappers could no longer inadvertently evoke Her name
And so it is that now
We’re not the free-spirited folk we we’re
And Autocorrect does not live up to it’s name
Should rather be cauld Altercorrect
Or Autocorrupt
Or AutoBeAshamedOfIt’self
Ah we’ll
Say law vee
Half a nice day yaw
Though Nozzles, even in the senescent, are capable of dispensing two kinds of fluids, Gasoline and Diesel Fuel, our remarks will be confined to the dispensation of Gasoline.
Over decades, the hydraulic force involved in the dispensation of Gasoline tends to diminish. Where once there was fire-hose pressure allowing the flow of Gasoline to fill a tank quickly, there is now a variable somewhat dependent on the Gasoline supply but never of the power of yore. At its worst performance the Nozzle yields its fill with great reluctance, sometimes requiring up to a minute or so even to begin. At the same time, the configuration of the nozzle tip has been altered through extended use and misuse to preclude an even, laminar flow. Indeed, the turbidity of the escaping Gasoline often results in what can only be described as semi-spray. This often results in the dispensing area, if not the Owner himself, smelling faintly, or not so faintly, of Gasoline.
Prevention of this nonhygienic outcome may be achieved in several ways. A funnel may be employed; the Nozzle may be brought closer to the tank via leaning or squatting; or the Owner may dispense his Gasoline in the back yard, if he has one.
The topic of Leakage, while of paramount importance, is beyond the scope of this discussion.
While not yet afflicted with dementia
I do have my episodes
I have left home for work with mismatched shoes
One black semigloss anti slip work shoe
The other New Balance white pseudo leather trainers
And today I’ve left for work beltless for the 2nd day in a row
That’s Out of Uniform for a restaurant host and could get me written up
Though yesterday the manager regarded it as no big deal
At my work as a host at an airport restaurant I sometimes
(As when wiping down a table and knocking down a salt shaker with a BONK!)
Get embarrassed
And that may trigger full-body Tourette’s syndrome
And that, my friends, ain’t pretty
I may say “Thank you, sir” to a departing guest in the same manner Kevin Bacon said “Thank you, sir, may I have another?” in the classic college comedy ANIMAL HOUSE
And then I may mutter “Makin’ Bacon” under my breath
And realizing I’m muttering out loud I may get more embarrassed
And may inexplicably clap my hands to the sides of my buttocks
While my head jerks around like a velociraptor’s
Throw in a little eye-twitch and you’ve got Son of Quasimodo manning the restaurant podium at America’s Friendliest Airport
My niece Lisa, learning I’d become a restaurant host, and knowing I am an introvert, said, “Wow, I’ll bet that takes you out of your comfort zone . . .”
Indeed it does
I go out of my comfort zone and into a psychodrama
Title: “The Noodle”
Written by Franz Kafka
Directed by Mel Brooks
January is finally in the rear-view mirror. Here’s hoping February is better. However . . .
Here’s a sketch I did during the final hour of my employment at Sedona Winds. I look dispirited. However, here’s how my Facebook update read:
“Last day of work for Sedona Winds included a lot of hugs from residents and staff, some incredulity that I was leaving, and a kajillion wish-me-wells. An award-winning photographer gave me a beautiful signed photo of a segment of our red-rock surrounds, and a sweet lady from upstairs gave me a couple of homemade gluten-free cookies and a couple of storebought gluten-saturated confections. I learned a lot about latter life from these folks and I will miss them mightily.”
Then I went home and to bed, and behold, my left leg started acting as if it had burst a cyst on the side of the knee. Stiffness/worsening pain. By morning I could hardly walk. However, it felt better when I walked around some. Things were looking up. However . . .
I finished packing and my now former Sweetheart, Denise, drove me to Phoenix. The move is emotional as well as physical. Denise and I are parting ways. However, we hold good thoughts for a better future. However . . .
The leg is getting worse. I walked a lot, but it loosened only a little, and stiffened again as soon as I sat down. However . . .
I now have a Limp joke.
How can you not limp and yet walk with a pronounced Limp [O Zen Master]?
Walk briskly and say the word “Limp” every other step. You are now walking with a pronounced Limp.
[WAAAA waaaah . . .]
A couple of years ago I was heavily into concocting and submitting four-word film reviews to the website of the same name. I made some online friends and had a blast, but something equivalent to a shift of the Earth’s axis happened when I got divorced, and I lost touch. Bless Benj Clews and his creation for keeping all the reviews intact; I’ve just been back and they’re still there. Above is the first page, with the most-voted reviews of mine floating to the top.
It was once my habit and joy to caption photos offered as such. I did, no exagge ration, at least six thousand captions in a group called IRONY in a now-defunct social site called Eons. This weekend I went down Memory Lane, metaphorically speaking, with a cheap phone-camera and a posting on Facebook. My caption for this photo was, “When Denise and I went walking this morning we saw two ants on their way to the movies…”
One with Clay, Image and Text 