The everlasting recompensatory statute of ali b’masa was passed today. Finally passed in this ever pre-set world of over compensation and bar standarization.
Oh how the hills were emboldened. Alive. Sent over every state. Halleluja.
Michael and Rhoda Boda-Schorr welcomed their new son Gabriel into this world. Oh how did they! Gabriel blew dat trumpet horn late yesterday afternoon with darkness comin’. Brother lent a helpin’ hand and sister helped for trim dat boat. Mazel tov to the whole family – Hallelujah!
And finally, this. News leaking out from the bottom of a refrigerator was stopped. Oh stopped indeed with a crimping off of water supply to the automatic ice maker. Sales on good old fashioned ice cub trays spiked, though not those old aluminum kind with the handle that you flip in order to shift all the little rudders. Remember those!?
The new trash can turns out to be the very same smoker’s tool that once adorned my parent’s room, ripe with the smell of molding pipe tobacco. Oh the sharp tang did stain my heart.
And then there was Dr. Stampers fetus in formaldehyde — oh what a jar of wonder THAT was. Forever burned into my brain, the image of that ghoulish greenish whitish little fellow has gone a long way to improving my patience with the pro-lifers out there. Indeed, rights advocate though I am, they DO have a point.
And as for Miss Pancione, what could I do? These are the only pants I own.
And the other guy? I forget his name. He told me that he didn’t teach. Teaching implies learning. He merely presents — why did he admit that to me? Tenure is a strange and unusual thing, as supportive of honesty as it is destructive to productivity. And is it worth the trade off? Perhaps it is after all.
Finding our way to the middle, only to discover that the middle is the very most flawed of positions. No, no. Find that precariously balanced mishmash of all extremes and you’re well on your way to a very real search for truth.
And enough of all these fetuses, bastardized negro spirituals and enacted enactments. It’s time to mark a check on the to-do list of life. And be — as it were — done.
