On a good day, I cannot tolerate the porn mail I get in my junk email. On a bad day, I try to filter out these sites, or I blog about them. Actually, today is not a bad day. It’s beautiful outside but cold for Vegas in April. Is this a by-product of global warming or just . . . what? I’ve never been an expert on anything, much less the weather. I am, however, getting a slight thrill that in one paragraph I’ve mixed porn and the environment. Excuse me, but that takes skill.
Young officers are jumping on the “Fire Rumsfeld” bandwagon. Even The Donald pussyfooted around the subject. TomKat had their spawn, a sure sign the end is near. Ben and Jerry had to apologize to the Irish, the one nation it is hard to piss off (unless you are British). Closer to home, Psychic HR at my office is bragging that she is doing charity work on behalf of a 15-year old cancer patient in order to cheer him up, and she's bragging about this in front of him. And yes, my boss Chickpea is still lusting after the hobag in Support.
All over the world, from the Internet, to Ireland, to Rumsfeld and my office, people behaved badly.
All this reminds me of my grandma, because she tried to raise me right. Wow, either she did a terrible job or I’m a pathetic learner. Here’s a thought I would never have had ten years ago: maybe Grandma was not a good teacher. I don’t believe that, but seeing how bad most parents I know now are, I should consider the possibility. I’ve also considered the fact that even though I blog about people behaving badly, maybe no one behaves worse than I do. Oh hell, there is always the Gastineau Girls.
I’ll ponder this for the next 3 weeks while I take a blog break. My day job is sending me to Disney World for a cruel, cruel conference, then I’m off to Taipei, Hong Kong, and Shanghai. I’ll return mid-May, my hips a bit fatter, my mind fatigued, and the muscles between my shoulders a tight knot. My massage therapist will wonder what I've been doing and why I'm such a mess.
"I've been traveling," I'll tell her. "I'm stressed," I'll say. "It's my job. It's just life."
She'll sigh, thinking "how 'bout you just shut up?"
She'll dig her thumb into that spot between two resistant muscles behind my left shoulder blade.
"Take a deep breath," she'll tell me. Sad, bad music will play softly from her CD player, and the ducks playing in the man- made lake outside her office will quack. They are happy to be in the desert, a place ducks and water don't belong. I'll go home and check my email. "Horny Housewives" will be in my spam folder, waiting to be deleted.
What will the news be by then? I’m afraid to ask. Hopefully, it will be dull. The only thing I can count on is that between now and the time I return from Asia, I will encounter someone behaving badly. With a little luck, that someone will be me.
