CNN reports a man was rescued from his New York apartment after spending two days trapped under a mountain of books.
"'I didn't think I was gonna get out,' Moore told the New York Post, adding that he called for help repeatedly."
Don't let it happen to you. Set the books free.
What to do with those freakin' fruitcakes? Shuffle 'em off to Buffalo, into the eagerly waiting maw of the International Federation of Competitive Eating.
Just thought I'd pass it along in case you were, like, wondering.
When we left me last, I was about to mount an assault on the local merchants. The strategy was simple: Attack with overwhelming force, secure the critical targets, get out fast and sustain minimal damage. I was armed with credit cards, a budget and lists. I had maps of sales and schedules of store hours. I had a route that cut mileage. I had elbow pads.
I had not, however, figured on the Salvation Army and the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells -- the banging and the clanging of the bells. By noon they had taken Main Street, the grocery store, the mall, even the Post Office. They guarded every door, dealing earsplitting, nerve-jangling pain to friend and foe alike. Attempts to distract them with pocket change didn't even slow them down. I had no defense. I found no refuge. I ran like a Frenchman. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.
Plan B: Internet stores. God bless 'em, every one. Hunkered down in my bedroom bunker, I could command anything, common or exotic, to appear on my doorstep -- or even better, on the gift-ees' doorsteps, complete with giftwrap. Amazon.com, especially, was totally excellent. Prices were lower than local stores. Shipping was free. Shopped in my jamies. NO bellringers. Next year, this will definitely be Plan A.
Time to line up the credit cards for their annual marathon. Fortunately, I've kept them on a regular workout routine all year, so they should be primed for it. Yeah, yeah, yeah.... everyone says, "It's the thought that counts." Honey, if you fall for that one you are in for one cold January.
And yes, I know I could whip up cheap hand-made gifts, but I don't know anybody who would actually want them. Besides, that's time I'd rather waste right here, talking to myself.
Do you like words? Just for their own sake, I mean. I do.
Isn't it amazing that a simple sound can convey an emotion, paint a portrait, illuminate a thought? And writing is downright magical, if you think about it. Mere patterns of ink on a page transport us to other worlds, bring us to tears, elevate us to greatness, even teach us to format a hard drive. (OK, that last one may be pushing it. But you get the idea.)
I noticed one today that set me off: "wretched." As in, "Whatever will your wretched sister-in-law say?" You can actually see her, can't you? Her posture, her arrogance, her overdone hair. I'm sure she smokes, and she's absolutely vicious. Don't you love it? Wretched. Nice one.
If you're reading this, you're in serious need of a life. Here-have some of mine. I wasn't using it anyway.
