I crawled out of bed late this morning--say around six or so--and talked with Greg for a bit. We watched another installment of the curling competition at the Olympics; as far as I'm concerned it's an incomprehensible game that involves sliding rocks across the ice into something that looks vaguely like a target. It's nowhere near as boring as baseball to watch, even if somewhat baffling.
After I saw Greg off to work I took Zephyr for a walk up the street and fed the fishes. There was ice on top of their tanks and I had to break a hole in each to get the food to them. Since it's cold I suppose they won't eat much, but still--well, I don't know.
The cold is supposed to get worse; we're talking at least one day where the low will be say fifteen degrees and the high freezing. I'm not looking forward to any of it.
And then I came home to fight with the dishwasher, now entering its tenth year of being on its last legs. I thought at first maybe the pump had died, but it was only a clogged drain.
And that I guess brings me to here.
HEPCAT HERMAN HUPFELD - “When Yuba Plays the Rhumba on the Tuba” - * In the era before calling a business involved “Press one for English, press two para Espanol,” and before there was a Taco Bell on every street corn...
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