Hanging In There
Ju-u-u-u-ust wondering: What if a noted B-town expatriate who is now an ex-expatriate wanted his old job back here?
And what if that old job, mirabile dictu, is still open from the time that ex-expat left this glorious metrop.?
What might happen?
Would the governing board of the local cultural institution communicate through winks and nudges that, although the ex-expat would have to go through the formality of the application and interview process that all other seekers of that plum-ish job have endured, he might as well start hanging his awards back up on his old office walls? Those board members who will vote on the job vacancy wouldn’t be letting the other applicants hang like chads?
Or would they?
Who Doesn’t Love Dalmatians?
More, More, More
Staying on the local scene, yet another of our ink-stained wretches, Joy Shayne Laughter, tells me poet/Superman Tony Brewer actually has published three books now. I neglected to mention yesterday his first book, The Great American Scapegoat.
Hurts So Good
Alright, this is really whacked, so bear with me. Ever since I emerged from my blissful, childlike slumber at the age of 11 in 1967 and became a Cubs fan, I have endured precisely 3869 of their regular season losses. In addition, my heart was broken a total of 19 times in those rare years the Cubs qualified for post-season play.
That’s right, my beloved Cubs have proven themselves inferior nearly 4000 times since I hitched my emotional wagon to them.
And you wonder why I occasionally show signs of bitterness and hopelessness.
Fat Man Was a Firecracker
And, in case you were wondering, it is now Day 3 of what has been variously described as a “pinprick,” a “slimdown,” “not a big deal,” “nothing to worry about,” and countless other borderline criminal euphemisms.
Yes, the Shutdown. Some 800,000 federal employees are out of work for the time being. Many, no doubt, are wondering how they might keep up with such trivialities as utility bills, rent, mortgage payements, and keeping the larder stocked but, y’know, that’s not a big deal.
In other news, Tea Party-ists have signed a letter to the residents of Nagasaki, Japan telling them to quit bringing up the events of August 9, 1945, because, after all, it was only one airplane dropping one bomb. Jeez, people, get over it!
I am proud as punch to be an ink-stained wretch, and identified as such on the street. Look for the jaunty writerly chapeau!