Annus Mediocris
So, another trip around the sun, completed. Quite a number of folk, natch, have been made carsick by the journey. Or Earthsick. Or sick and tired. Whatever.
One of 4.54 x 102
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The party I don’t want to be in charge of the gov’t now is. Standard operating procedure for police dept’s around this holy land, apparently, is to shoot to kill people who slug them, wrassle with them, or otherwise thumb their noses at any given officer’s infallible, imperious directives. People with guns still are pumping other people full of lead and sane firearms legislation remains as likely as Kim Kardashian’s posterior fading from public view.
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OTOH: Ebola did not kill us all. Same-sex marriage is now legal in another nine states. A number of states and municipalities have approved legislation raising their minimum wages to something approaching a livable level. President Obama so far has not been arrested or summarily executed for high crimes and misdemeanors by deranged militias, the psychotic fringe, or asshole-ish Right Wing talk radio personalities. The first two of presumably many states to come began allowing the sale, possession, and use of recreational marijuana. And North Korea graciously and mercifully has elected not to blow our nation into smithereens. Yet.
Take That, You Monkey In A Tropical Forest!
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So overall, not a bad year.
My mother died but her progeny and their progeny are breeding like hares these days so the Glab/Parello genome, however commingled, will continue. Me? Nah. My proudest accomplishment on this Earth is not having reproduced.
Sue & Joe Glab, October, 1960
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The Book Corner’s 2014 year in business was so good we’re stuffing cash into water pipes these days.
In May, I underwent a defibrillator implant procedure, performed by good ol’ Doc Strobel, Bloomington’s premier cardiac electrician. Now, should my left ventricle go haywire, my little subcutaneous machine will deliver an 800-volt mule kick to my chest, ensuring that I stay alive to abuse my body another day.
Zzzzzzt!
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In Sept., I visited good ol’ Doc McTigue, B’ton’s premier skin fixer, and learned that the barnacles sprouting on my shiny dome are not cancerous. Woohoo!
The Loved One, meanwhile, continues to thrive as the healthiest (and hottest) dame I know. ———————————————————– [information removed by request]. She promises to make pierogies sometime this week. I’m waiting.
When, Exactly?
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Bloom Magazine bestowed an imprimatur on this communications colossus in the form of a delightful short profile penned by WFIU jazz maven David Brent Johnson. Rumor has it that recent worldwide internet outages may have been caused by the flood of new visitors to the Electron Pencil as a result.
Oh, and the Pencil is still on semi-hiatus as I work on ghosting the memoir of one of Bloomington’s most renowned personalities. I’ll be back, more or less daily, before you can say Jeff Samardzija.
So much for my recap of this arbitrary demarcation we call a year. I hope your 2015 will be as good as mine.
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It Was — For Someone, Somewhere
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