Ernesto and horse poop

Happy Birthday, Shawn Seabold!!!!

back in ’93, misery
loved a good party hat

This weekend we will get thwacked by the remnants of Hurricane Ernesto, with up to six inches of rain possible. We badly need the rain, but I live in a basement apartment which has flooded in the past, so forecasts of torrential rain always make me squirm a bit.

I’ll be in Pennsylvania for the first half of the weekend, meeting up with my old friend Laura for dinner in Lancaster tonight, and meeting up with David and Angela in Lancaster County tomorrow afternoon. We’re supposed to bop around Intercourse, since poor David has never been there; however, with the heavy rain, who knows what will happen. Not that I’m completely adverse to spending the day weaving my way around rain puddles and piles of horse shit, but I don’t know how the others will feel about it. I’m also going to squeeze in a much-needed hair trim with my hometown stylist (my hair hasn’t been touched since she cut off 11 inches of it last December) and I’m going to pop into my favorite architectural antiques store in Manheim. On Saturday evening I’ll head home so I can spend Sunday working (if any freelance manuscripts arrive today, that is) and Monday vegging.

Side note: this morning on the Beltway I was driving beside a truck belonging to a recreational amusements company (billiards tables and the like), and on the side of the truck, where it should’ve said “pool tables,” it instead said “poo tables.” Because I’m a 12-year-old boy, I laughed raucously. It reminded me of a sign I stole from my London dorm’s dining hall. On the wall there had been a sign saying “Please do not sit on the tables,” but some snarky soul inserted a proofreading caret between the “s” and the “i” in “sit,” then put an “h” above it, so the sign became “Please do not shit on the tables.” It made me snicker so much, I stole the sign and kept it hanging on my dorm room wall for the rest of the year.



song heard most recently before posting: Mr. Roboto—Styx