Yetanotherday, Jesterary 13, 40 A.B.

     I've been thinking that I really don't have anything to write about here tonight and therefore shouldn't be trying to write it.  This is silly, of course.  There's always something to write about on even the apparently dullest of days.  It's just a matter of seeing the significance of the commonplace and the usual.  Or being perceptive enough to see the uniqueness that lurks in every single minute.
     Guess I might as well put these beliefs to the test.

     It snowed here today.  Big flakes producing an old-fashioned white-out at times.  The imperfections of the landscape disappeared once again beneath a blanket of 6-sided messengers from Old Man Winter. 
     The odd thing is how unusual this once common occurrence has been this season.  The latest reports on Global Warming hint at a time to come when days like this might be the stuff of fading legend.  That there's even a remote chance of January's snow becoming extinct in Ohio makes me sad.  How many jobs are worth the loss of snow angels and frosted trees?  How many more SUVs will it take to bribe people into signing away the climate bestowed upon them by generations of kinder, gentler animal species?
     There are those who say that milder winters will actually be a boon.  Lower heating bills.  Longer growing seasons.  More opportunities to play golf and go to the beach.  I just don't get it.  It's all too much like hearing people looking forward to the speeding train they're on going off a bridge that's out just so they can experience the momentary thrill of weightlessness during the fall. 
     There's the possibility of a runaway greenhouse effect leaving us as hot as Venus, after all.
     There's good reason to believe that countless species will be unable to evolve fast enough to adapt to these rapidly changing conditions.
     If there's a counter-argument to be made, it better start off with something better than "GM's right to sell cars must not be infringed" if it expects to lay claim to my attention.

     In other news of this "typical" day...
     Jester continues to do fine on his diabetes medication.  His disposition continues to get sweeter every day without major organ damage.  
     That wouldn't have to be the case.  
     Someday it won't be.  
     Thank goodness that day wasn't today.

     As for my wife's chin lump: If it was an ectopic pregnancy as Dr. Anthony suggested, her chin had the good sense to re-absorb it before things got out of hand.  
     Or out of face.
     Whatever the proper medical term might be.

     I made chocolate chip cookies tonight.  Yum! 
     "Yum!" even though I deliberately left out the teaspoon of vanilla the recipe called for because certain unidentified brown things were found floating in it.  
     Does vanilla really go bad?  
     This is new in my experience.  Maybe it was just getting better with age?  
     No matter.  I left it out and substituted almond and brandy flavorings.  The cookies turned out as good as always. 
     I shall alert the news media first thing in the morning.

     Got two books in the mail today.  From Daedalus Books.  Ordered online on Sunday and they said it would be 7-10 days before I got them.  They actually came in four.  How nice.
     What were the books?  Dare I say?  OK - just this once.  A glimpse into my reading tastes.  Don't expect it to happen again.
     First was "Fins de Siècle: How Centuries End (1400-2000)."   Pretty self-explanatory, no?
     Then there was "The Memory of the Modern."  A book which details the history of memory.  Not every time and culture remembers the same things, you know.  Nor do they chose to remember things in the same way.  Lots of statues of Civil War generals.  No statues of Norman Schwarzkoph.  That sort of thing and much, much more.  Hard to say since I haven't read all them thar pages yet.  
     If I had I might understand why there seems to be an entire chapter dedicated to the tango.

     As if I needed any more indication that what people chose to remember - or notice in the first place - is kinda goofy, I was haunted today by a few recent facts that seem to have received very little attention.
     First, aspirin kills over 14,000 Americans every year.  Fatal strokes, hemorrhages, stomach ulcers - all happening and being attributed to aspirin every day.  Over 38 a day, in fact.  Why isn't this front page news?  Once again I am mystified by the fact that far less common causes of premature death are given far more attention.
     Second, more people were executed in the U.S. in 1999 than in any year since 1954.  No, I don't know how many of the condemned picked aspirin as their method of choice.  The question rather misses the point.  Which is: Why have so many lesser stories received far more coverage?  Whether you're for the death penalty or against it, it seems to me the fact that the states probably killed more people last year than in any other year of your life is of far greater significance than whether or not Hillary might run for the Senate.  Or the best home for Elian Gonzalez.  Or dozens of other things we hear about again and again.

     Anyway, what I'm trying to say is: It was just another day here, and I have nothing much to say about it.
     Now that I've said it, I guess I'll go to bed.

     Oh, except for this.
     Someone recently pointed out to me that I don't include much personal information in this journal.  
     I suppose that's true but I'm not about to admit it for sure.  
     I mean, would you trust people who have nothing better to do than read blather like this with your personal information?
     Be that as it may, I realize I probably do need to trust people more than I do, so, in honor of the person who first pointed my unusual reticence out to me, I'd just like to say this:
     I stand 5'9" tall in my stocking feet.
     Want to know how tall I stand in your stocking feet?  Send a pair of your stockings, socks, or hose to me at P.O. Box 8121, Lima, OH  45805-0121.
     See?  Even on just another day like today I'm still just a sweet, cooperative pussycat at heart.
     Especially when I just might still get the footwear Santa forgot to bring.


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To Quit Reading Altogether


(©Now by Dan Birtcher as he sits 4'3" tall in his stocking feet)