Well, plan was we'd be down at Mother Blonde's cottage for Christmas eve, having dinner with her and Mrs M's brother and sister and their families. But Mrs M has the flu. She's buried under the covers in bed. So we're stuck here for tonight. Maybe tomorrow too. But no fear! Tonight I whipped up dinner for the Mannion guys and me. A whole turkey breast from the supermarket deli and sides from various cans, boxes, bags, and jars---mashed potatoes, stuffing, mixed vegetables, and cranberries. Turned out pretty good. For dessert we have apple pie. Store bought but it looks delicious.
Tomorrow afternoon, if Mrs M still isn't up for traveling, we're going to see Rogue One and then having dinner at Perkins.
A merry enough Christmas, all things considered. Hope yours is at least as merry! And Happy Hanukkah too!
Adapted from my Twitter and Facebook feeds and mined from the notebooks. September 14, 2016.
On Wednesday morning, July 27, I went into the hospital for long-needed surgery on my back. The operation appears to have done what I needed it to do, put me back on my feet, but the recovery’s taking a little longer than I expected.
July 27. 7:38 P.M. Apparently I'm alive folks!
July 28. 7:54 A.M. I haven't had coffee it 36 hours! Just ordered a whole pot from the hospital cafe. They say it'll take 45 minutes. That's inhuman!
July 28. 11:00 A.M. Physical therapist came by. Had me take a walk around the hospital floor. Did three laps. Spent the whole time talking about his junior high school age son’s golf game. Apparently the kid’s a phenom.
July 29. 3:42 a.m. The night nurses hate me.
July 29. 8:30 a.m. I'm such a goddamn big baby!
July 29. 7:54 P.M. Feeling much more upbeat tonight. Seems the last person to get the news I was having major surgery was me. Apparently what happened last night was I forgot where I was and tried to make a break for it. But I had a good day and have been up and walking around and they'll probably send me home tomorrow.
The nurses did tape this over my bed though.
July 30. 7:38 A.M. Hey, what's going on here? I'm still in the hospital!
July 30. 2:00 P.M. Cheryl, the day nurse is great. Cheerful, friendly, interested, concerned, encouraging, although her favorite words of encouragement are, “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
July 31. 10:50 A.M. Today's medical update: Most important thing, Mrs M showed up early bearing coffee, so clearly she's not holding this invalid thing against me.
Next: I may be sprung today but it's more likely going to be tomorrow because there's equipment that needs to be in place at home beforehand and it probably can't be delivered until tomorrow.
Finally: I still hurt but I'm definitely on the mend. I'm getting around. In fact, I feel best when I'm up and walking, so the danger is I'll wear myself out doing laps around the floor. Have to learn to pace myself.
July 31. 5:23 P.M. HOME! I'm home! Hospital kicked me out late this afternoon. And it's all legal and everything! No one's coming after me to drag me back! So we're celebrating tonight with pie!
August 1. 8:12 A.M. Hey! Where are the nurses to make a fuss over me? Why hasn't room service sent up my coffee yet? It's almost like I'm not in the hospital anymore!
August 2. Valium now or Valium in an hour?
August 3. Today's interesting medical fact: you aren't in a condition to drive when you're doped up on percocet and valium. Somebody should have warned me ahead of time so I could have made plans.
August 4. Today's planned two steps on the road to recovery: beginning the switch from Percocet to Tylenol and...shaving!
August 5. Beautiful morning here. How is it by you? Been out for a walk yet? I have. Yup. All the way up to the corner and back. Mrs M could hardly keep up. Gonna do it again in a little while. If I get up to speed, I might just keep walking until I reach Cape Cod.
August 6. 8:26 P.M. Well, today was just no darn fun.
August 7. 1:02 P.M. The Mannion guys and Mrs M have gone off to the movies. I don't mind being left behind. Sitting for two hours in the theater would probably be torture. So I'm here alone and ready to party! Of course, shape I'm in, a party means taking a Valium and a four hour nap. But still...wild man!
August 7. 10:27 P.M. Going through my Twitter and Facebook timelines and liking just about every post. I think this is because there's simply lots going on out there to like and not because I overdid it on the painkillers.
August 8. 9:48 A.M. Took a walk all by myself just now. Just me and my walker all the way up to the corner and back. Felt like a real hero. Now I feel like a nap.
August 10. 9:13 A.M. Just got back from dropping Mrs M off at the bus depot. Later, I'll be taking Oliver to work. Yep. I can drive. I've quit taking the Percocet and Valium so if a cop stops me I'll pass the drug tests. So I'm mobile! Where should I go?
August 12. 8:26 A.M. First extended drive. 45 minute round trip taking Oliver up to work and...A bear! A bear! We saw a bear in the road!
August 13. 12 P.M. I was a goddamn superhero yesterday. And I'm paying for it today. So I think I've earned the right be a goddamn big baby for the rest of the afternoon.
August 13. 7:20 P.M. Laughter isn't the best medicine. Percocet is. But laughter's a close second, followed by pizza. Which is why tonight is Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt and pizza night here in Mannionville!
August 15. 8:58 A.M. All right. This recovery business has gone on long enough. The operation was two and a half weeks ago. I've been home from the hospital for two weeks. It's time for me to be all better and to get back to work busting broncos and fighting crime.
August 15. 10:43 P.M. Side-effect of Percocet they don't warn you about: an uncontrollable urge to whistle. I've been whistling "Don't Fence Me In" non-stop for the last half hour. My family hates me.
August 16. 12:30 P.M. This morning I was at the surgeon's for my first post-op follow up. Folks there were pleased with my progress. But to help the healing I was fitted with a "bone growth stimulator." I'm not sure how it works but the way it was explained to me sounded very scientific.
It *sounded* scientific but how would I know? For all I understood it, they might have been outfitting me with a magic wand.
At any rate, I'm supposed to belt the thing on and wear it for two hours every day. And, said the tech, at the end of six weeks...PRESTO!
My response to this news was a stoical, "SIX MORE WEEKS? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?"
I don't think I'm very good at this stoicism thing.
August 21. 10:19 P.M. Ok. I need to be all better in the morning so that's what I'm going to be. No more malingering.
August 24. 8:45 P.M. Being a good patient and wearing my bone growth stimulator which requires me to sit still for 2 hrs doing nothing. So basically it's like being sent for an adult time-out.
August 29. 10:07 A.M. Sears sent me an email this morning asking if I need help with my "appliance repair." They mean fixing our washing machine which I bought a new part for from them just before I went into the hospital. I do need the help. It's just a matter of putting in the part but I can't do that myself because of the bending, lifting, and twisting involved. And I was warned by my doctor. NO BLT! (That's bending, lifting, and twisting. You probably figured that out.) But if this morning's an indication, I'll be able to do it.
I DID YARD WORK!
Nothing heavy. Just some weeding and hedge trimming. Very little BLT. But I was on my feet and out moving about for a good 20 minutes with a minimum of pain and without collapsing.
I would still be at it, in fact, if it wasn't so hot and humid.
So, thanks anyway, Sears, but I think I got this.
September 9. 12:44 P.M. Ok, I think I’ve milked this recovery business for all the pity and attention it’s worth. When my surgeon and set things up back in May, he warned me that the recovery could take up to six weeks and I laughed a cavalier’s laugh. Two, maybe three weeks tops, I promised myself. It’s now been six weeks and two days. So I must be recovered. And actually I am feeling much better. But I’m also tired of feeling sorry for myself. And I’m feeling guilty about it too. It’s not just that I am feeling better enough that any complaints I still have sound to me like whining. And it’s not just that as we’ve been so sadly reminded by Father Blonde’s death that there are worse things or that I know there are people who’ve gone through more intensive surgeries and suffered longer and more difficult recoveries or that there are even more people with illnesses and conditions that no surgery can fix. While I was in the hospital, the daughter of some friends of ours, a little girl fifteen months old, went into the hospital too. She was being treated for leukemia. She’s now down in New York City at Sloan-Kettering undergoing a second round of treatment. Reports are she’s bearing it all with cheerfulness and patience. She’s a little heroine and an inspiration and object lesson to whiny and self-pitying adults like me to shut up.
September 14. 10:30 A.M. Back at B&N for the first time in the seven weeks since the surgery and my favorite barista remembered my Membership number!
This pair of beachcombers are my in-laws, Joe and Jan Montgomery, known around these parts as Old Father and Old Mother Blonde, on one of their visits to us when we were down on Cape Cod on vacation. The picture was taken at Oyster Pond in Chatham in July of 2001. And, yes, that is how Old Father Blonde dressed for the beach, like he was out to play a round of golf early in the morning in mid-March. One time Navy man though he was, he never cared much for the ocean except as a part of the view. Mother Blonde liked to plunge into the surf just like her daughter and grandsons, but he never went near the water. He loved coming to Cape Cod though. He and Mother Blonde met down there in the 1950s. But it wasn’t just nostalgia that made him love the place. He loved the landscapes and seascapes. He loved taking the family out for ice cream and mini-golf. (Excellent golfer that he was, he always lost at mini-golf to Mother Blonde. Drove him crazy.) He loved the Lobster Claw restaurant in Orleans where he loved the swordfish. He loved just sitting on Uncle Merlin’s porch. But mostly what he loved was watching his grandsons have fun.
You’ve probably guessed where this is going.
Joe died the other day. It was sudden but not really a surprise. He was 84 and had been in failing health. But it was sudden. As Mrs M put it on her Facebook page, after over a decade of fighting his way through various assaults on his body by cancer, stroke, heart attack, and kidney failure, “his mighty heart finally gave out.” And his was a mighty heart. We’ll be celebrating that heart and his life on Saturday, the 27th, at Mother of Divine Providence Church in Mrs M's hometown, King of Prussia, PA. There’ll be calling hours at the church at noon---no wake. Joe wanted a minimum of fuss. That’s the way he was. He didn’t want to put anyone out on his behalf.---followed by a mass at 1 p.m.---which I expect his ghost will grumble through. If you happen to be in the area, you are welcome to join us. It won’t be a sad affair, I promise. Joe was one of those people who tended to put everyone in a cheerful mood and he’ll probably manage to do it somehow again on Saturday.
Mrs M is doing ok, considering. Ken and Oliver are heartbroken but they’re doing their best to be cheerful for their mother’s and grandmother’s sake and for Joe’s because they know he’d have wanted them to. I’m heartbroken too. He was a good man, a good father, a wonderful grandfather, and the best sort of father-in-law anyone could hope for. He made me feel like one of his own from the first time we met.
HOME! I’m home! Hospital kicked me out yesterday afternoon. And it’s all legal and everything. Nobody’s coming to drag me back. I still feel a little beat up, like somebody cut into my back with some sharp instruments, rooted around in there for three hours, scraped out some bone, drove in some screws, and stitched me up with little concern for how much it would smart afterwards, but otherwise my morale is ok and I can walk from the chair to the coffee maker in just a little under fifteen minutes. Blogging will continue in one form or another, but I’m having a little trouble focusing, thanks to the painkillers, so extended periods of coherent writing are probably not going to happen for a while yet, which means my review of Star Trek: Beyond, which we saw the weekend before I went under the knife, may have to wait a couple of days, but I’ll be back with a more detailed medical report tonight, I think. Meantime, thank you all for your concern, well-wishes, and support. It meant a lot to me and to Mrs M and Ken and Oliver.
If you’re curious about how I fared while in the hospital and want to read the daily testimony of my stoicism and heroic good nature, see my Facebook page.
Generally, I’m the soul of cheerfulness. In fact, that’s my reputation as blogger. “That Mannion fellow,” people say, “He’s the soul of cheerfulness, isn’t he? A regular ray of sunshine!” Readers tell me that’s why they come here, to have their days brightened, their hearts gladdened, and their spirits lifted by the unflagging good humor, congeniality, and whimsicality that prevail here at the Mannionville Pierside Fish House and Internet Cafe---All You Can Eat Buffet. Live Music Nightly. Try Our Homemade Turtle Stew.
And it’s true. I’m usually jolly and full of mirth.
But it’s also true, as people who know me well and in person will be quick and eager to let you know, I can get a bit grumpy sometimes. Grouchy. Irritable. Irascible. Querulous. Peevish. Short-tempered. Cranky. Crabby. Downright ornery, even.
In short, I can be a real mean and miserable son of bitch.
Some would go so far as to call me a hothead.
I AM NOT A HOTHEAD!
But I will admit I’m not always as pleasant company as I should be.
As it happens, some of my best posts are written when I’m at my most cantankerous.
More often, however, it’s the case that I don’t write anything, good or bad, when I’m in a less than genial mood. I can’t persuade myself it’s worth the time or the trouble. I’d rather go off by myself to nurse grudges, review past grievances, find new reasons for disappointment, resentment, and self-pity, and otherwise enjoy being at odds with life and the whole damn human race. And that’s what’s been going on here lately.
You may have noticed there’s been a decided drop off in the number of posts over the last few weeks, and if you have, what have you been doing, counting? Really? You’ve got nothing better to do? Well, too bad. I haven’t felt like writing and haven’t had much to say anyway. Got a complaint? Take it up with the manager.
Mrs M is enjoying her new job and thriving as a New York City professional. She even likes her commute. Her company is a good and civilized place to work and offers many perks. But they didn't give her a cell phone or a laptop and she needs both to do her job. No heaven on earth, right. She's using her own cell but she's been sharing laptops with the Mannion guys and me. Tomorrow, though, the company's sending her to Washington D.C. and she can't take any of our laptops with her.
Thanks to readers’ generosity and a gift card from Mom and Pop Mannion, though, we went out to Best Buy this morning and now she’s the proud owner of a brand new this:
Ok, I’ll keep at it too, for a while longer anyway. Not that I was seriously considering walking away from my keyboard.
As a company, we are getting back to blogging. It’s the only truly new media in the age of the web. It is ours. Blogging is the essential act of journalism in an interactive and conversational age. Our bloggers surface buried information, whether it’s in an orphaned paragraph in a newspaper article, or in the government archives. And we can give the story further energy by tapping readers for information, for the next installment of the story, and the next round of debate.
Took this last Wednesday after I dropped Mrs M off at the ferry in Newburgh. The ferry took her to the train station. The train took her to Grand Central where she caught the subway. The subway took her to Union Square. From Union Square she walked to her building where she rode the elevator up to her office.
Car to ferry to train to subway to elevator. Hour and a half. A bit of a commute but…
It’s a job!
A new job!
Mrs M has a new job!
A new good job!
After nearly a year of heartbreak and frustration, she is now an assistant managing editor at a legal news service in the Village.
It made for a happy Thanksgiving. And a Happy Birthday, which was a couple weeks ago.
So that’s the good news I’ve been promising. Thank you to all of you who’ve been pulling for her and checking in to see how she’s been doing.
We hope you all had nice Thanksgivings too with good news to share with good friends who’ve been pulling for you too. Count all of us Mannions among them.
So, Monday was the Tenth Anniversary of the Grand Opening of The Mannionville Feed and Grain Emporium, Psychic Readings, and Famous Actors Acting Studio.
Or yesterday was.
Thing is, I don’t remember the exact date when I told the apprentices to take down the shutters and hang the Open for Business sign in the window. I’d always had it my head that it was September 14, 2004, but it turns out I published my first two posts the day before. But those were tests to see how the blog would look and not only do I not count them, I didn’t even remember them until I checked the archives today. The post I’d remembered as my first post posted on the 15th! The post that went up on the 14th, the first of many rants against George W. Bush, I’d remembered as having been my third or fourth post. It was a full-fledged post not a test, but I don’t like it! It was a typical piece of Bush Bashing of the time, psychoanalyzing W’s character and trying to prove he was a bad, bad man, instead of focusing on his mistakes and screw-ups and just showing how he was a bad, bad President.
I don’t want to commemorate that one.
But then the question is: Do I celebrate the day I built the blog, the 13th, the day I published my first real post, the 14th, or the day I posted the first post I liked well-enough to think I might be onto something with this blogging business, the 15th?
And then there’s this.
After I built the blog, having finally given in to the urgings of old pal and ur-blogger Nancy Nall (Nance was already a popular presence on what was still called with awe and affection the World Wide Web back when blogs were called, well, a lot of things except blogs), I didn’t want to let anyone know I’d started the darn thing until I had at least a week’s worth of posts ready to go. Checking the archives, I found that either I got impatient and told Nance the front doors were open or Nance decided I was shilly-shallying and linked to me, sending her readers my way, without waiting for the all clear on September 17th or 18th. Either way, either date, the 18th’s when I got my first comment. Which I suppose would make this my first sale…er…post, A World of Gods and Monsters.
After long and careful thought, I’ve come to a conclusion.
The exact date doesn’t matter.
Sometime this week I started or will be starting my 11th year of this, and I’ve got a few things to say about that in posts that’ll go up over the next couple of days, including a great big long list of thank yous to the many bloggers who gave me a boost at the start and have kept me going ever since. But I’m starting with this, a thank you to all of who read the blog!
Folks who know me offline can tell you that what I’m about to type is one of the highest praises I can give. They’ll also tell you I really talk this way.
I’ve been putting this off for a long while because Mrs M has been hoping she’d have good news to report instead. That good news would be that she got a new job. I’m sure she’ll be reporting it at some point but in the meantime it’s time to get the bad news out of the way.
Mrs M lost her job.
She was laid off just in time for the holidays. A Bain-like hedge fund bought the company that owned her newspaper and and a bunch of other newspapers and is doing the Bain-like thing of looting their new acquisitions in order to be able to report “cost-savings” that will pump up the stock price etc etc. You know how it works. Mrs M was let go along with nearly two dozen others, including the entire photography department, because who needs an editor or photographers when you’re running a newspaper?
As you can imagine, and as too many of you know from your own experience first hand, this has really knocked the stuffing out of Mrs M.
Mrs M has loved the newspaper biz for as long as I’ve known her. She has taken great and well-earned pride in her work and her accomplishments on the job. To be told after over 25 years in professional journalism, as an award-winning reporter and then as a highly regarded editor who for the past 10 years has put together and overseen a staff of reporters who routinely rake in the awards every year that You aren’t worth keeping around is a terrible blow even when you know you’re being told it by people to whom no one is worth keeping around.
Many of her friends and family won’t have heard this news until now. Mrs M and I are sorry for not telling you sooner. But she’s been feeling too low to talk about it and she’s been embarrassed, which she shouldn’t be. The only mistake she made was staying on the job and doing it so well she kept getting promoted without declining to paid more as she moved up the ladder.
Anyway, morale has been a little low around here but we’re muddling along. The Mannion guys have been great. Things will work out eventually. But it would be a big help if you all would keep your eye out for Mrs M.
If you hear of any openings in journalism, communications, or public relations for an experienced, energetic, successful manager and communicator with a record of hiring and mentoring a diverse array of talents, please drop me a line.
I’ll keep you posted as things develop. To those of you who have heard the news and checked in to check up on her, Mrs M says thank you very much. She loves you all.
My long pedantic review of Joss Whedon's Much Ado About Nothing is written but not typed. It just hurt too much to sit at the computer yesterday. But I feel better this morning and am typing as fast as I can to get it posted before noon. Here's a teaser:
In Whedon's version, the men arrive home from their "war" in black
limos wearing their immaculate "uniforms"---tailored dark business
suits. No one rushes out to greet them, because, seriously, who's happy
to see a bunch of suits arrive on their doorstep? Never bodes well.
You know, I think that tow truck driver was making a lot of that up. I’m not saying he was lying. Just that some of what he told us during the hour when our car was riding on the back of his rig and we were riding with him the eighty-odd miles to the garage near Uncle Merlin’s fell into the category of tall tales, fish stories, and stretchers.
I believe he’s built his own stock car to race from the frame up and out. I’m not sure about his building three of them that won state championships. And the retired scientist who signed on as a silent partner in his hauling business who committed suicide before the business really took off so the tow truck driver had to go back to working extra shifts for the garage seems a little too good to be true. The scariest story he told us I hope he was making up---about going to the scenes of two DUI wrecks in a week and finding that the driver of both cars was the same drunk teenager, that one…
Oh. No. This isn’t the same tow truck driver who pulled us off the Jersey Turnpike when we broke down on our way to see the blonde’s folks the weekend before last.
This guy came to get us when our broke down Sunday, the day before yesterday, when our car broke down on Route 84 in Connecticut as we were on our way to visit Uncle Merlin.
Exact same thing happened both times. Car’s rolling along fine. Suddenly engine light comes on. Engine dies. Car won’t start again.
This makes me believe that it didn’t get fixed when it was in New Jersey.
As you can imagine, I’m not in the best of moods over this. Doesn’t help my mood that my back is killing me.
But Uncle Merlin swears by the mechanics who are looking at it now. And he’s given me some exercises to do to help my back. So maybe by this afternoon both the car and my back will be ready to go again.
I’ll let you know as soon as I know.
Updated with what I know: Picked up the car. New fuel filter. It runs. Got us where we needed to get to tonight.
The big news though is that God really is out to get me. See His comment.
Thanks to all of you who’ve helped out over the last week.
On the upside, the wedding we came down here for was very nice and Old Father Blonde enjoyed his birthday party. And Mother Blonde’s car is running fine after I took it in to Sears Auto yesterday morning for a couple of minor repairs.
The downside is our car died on the drive down. On the New Jersey Turnpike. It was running fine then the Check Engine light came on and that was all she wrote. All the work we’ve put in it over the last month and we missed something. Gremlins must have been hiding and waiting. Car’s sitting now at a Pep Boys in North Brunswyck where it has either been looked at by a mechanic named Raul who is not working today so he wasn’t there to tell me what’s wrong or whoever I talked to invented a mechanic named Raul who is conveniently not there to be asked how things are going when things haven’t been going.
First thing Monday morning, though, I was promised, Raul will call to tell me…
At any rate, we were able to get here thanks to my sister-in-law who came to our rescue and who will drive us back up there when the car’s fixed.
But as you can imagine I’ve been a bit distracted the last couple of days and that distraction will continue a couple more days. So blogging may be even lighter than usual.
When this is over, though, I will write a funny post about it.
I need to repost or create a permanent sidebar link to my too long-ago stated policy on comments. But for now:
1. Comments are moderated, mainly as a defense against spam, but also so I can keep a lid on trolling, flaming, thread hijacking, and just plain meanness. Sometimes I will edit for length, but that’s rare. Often I will add a link to a post you quoted or an article or book or movie you referenced. And regularly I will edit out profanity because my mother reads this blog. But not as much as I used to because she’s gotten hipper over the years or more resigned.
2. Pseudonyms are fine. But if you think you’re going to comment in the future, please pick one you really like and stick with it. This lets other readers get to know you and where you’re coming from, which makes it less likely they will take offense at something you didn’t intend to be offensive and more likely they’ll get it when you’re joking. It’s also a way of taking responsibility for what you write.
3. I don’t need to know your name but I would appreciate it if you included a working email address. Email addresses are never, ever made public. The reason I’d prefer you to use working one is that I may need to contact you to clarify something you put in a comment. It’s also another way of taking responsibility for your comments.
4. If you use a Typepad, Facebook, or other service’s profile, please give yourself at least a pseudonym and make sure there’s actually a way to contact you through it. And again, please use the same one every time. Be a person, in other words.
5. Please, always feel free to puff your own blog if you have one. Include your URL in the window provided. If you’ve written on the topic at hand yourself, tell us and provide the link.
6. Notice and try to remember the names/handles of other commenters. I’m lucky in having a number of regular commenters who have stuck with the blog for years and years. They make this a more interesting and smarter place to hang out. They’re good folks and when you get to know them I’m sure you’ll like them. The point is, though, if you make a habit of reading LanceMannion.com you’re going to bump into a lot of the same people again and again and just as in the analog world it’s a good policy to remember that people have lives of their own and their rhymes and their reasons. Treat them accordingly, that is, as individuals.
7. Proceed from the assumption that others have read what you’ve read and have thought about the things you’ve thought about and care about the things you care about, it just might have slipped their minds at the moment or they came to other conclusions or that they have other things worrying them.
8. Be civil, be polite, be understanding. Remember that most people cannot hear the sound of their own writing in their heads and make allowances. Remember that most comments are written on the fly by people who don’t have time to craft a little essay. Assume whatever makes you mad is the result of a mistake on the commenter’s part or on your own. People get things wrong and it’s ok to point it out, but keep in mind they don’t mean to be wrong, they don’t like to be wrong, and they’re usually not happy to find out that they’re wrong. In short, be kind and be gentle and be graceful.
9. You should feel free to tell me when I’m all wet, but there’s no reason for you to take it personally that I liked a movie you hated or hated a book you loved or that I don’t think the world is going to hell in a handcart for the exact same reasons you think it is. Everything I write here is just my opinion, so what do you care? I’m like Zaphod Beeblebrox. I’m just some guy, you know?
10. If you’re going to enjoy this blog you should know who Zaphod Beeblebrox is. Also, Sam Vimes, Gussie Fink-Nottle, Kilgore Trout, Newman Noggs, Sebastian Moran, and Stephanie Plum. And that the Duke of Oxford did not write Hamlet or any of the other plays.
11. Please read the whole post before commenting and try not to skim. I know time’s an issue and the intertubes encourage it, but I put a lot of time and thought and effort and care into my writing and I get really ticked off when I’m accused of saying something I didn’t say or told I should have made a point I did in fact make.
Welcome to all new readers! Thanks for stopping by. And thanks to all of you for reading the blog.