this, that and the other

It was a dark and stormy night and the bridge, some bridge, any bridge may or not have been washed out as we watched the Sox game through the fifth inning between intermittent power outages. There was rain of course, we get that without the necessity of a storm, and thunder that clapped often enough to sound like applause. The gods must have been watching the deluge and going, “good show, good show, eh what” because the gods are, after all, British. Gus, our fearless ball of Cocker Spaniel, loves the thunder. He charges from the house growling and snarling in search of the beast who’s making all that racket. Gus likes nothing better than a good scrap with another dog which is the reason I mostly walk him on a leash. I’ve seen him fight. He’s not that tough. I turn him loose on thunder though. He gets to feel as if he’s run off the biggest dog of them all. You know, done his protect us job. I don’t speak much dog, even less Spanish dog, but I think Gus is saying as he charges around the yard, something on the order of, “Come back here you wimp, wherever you are.” Either that or “Oh cool, I get to run around in the rain.” Like I said, I don’t speak much dog.

So we watched the rain and we watched the dog and we watched the TV blink on and off – the phrase “Searching for satellite signal” appears on the screen in English, which is interesting – and we watched Schilling, Curt that is, be unable to keep his pitches down in the strike zone. I knew he was headed for trouble and in the fifth he found plenty of it, causing me to abandon the game and head for the upper regions of our manse and a seat at the computer. It turned out that Schilling was so bad the Yankees had knocked both he and our internet out. Damn... Yankees. It is still out this morning so I am unaware if a Sox comeback or collapse took place.

3:15 AM the next morning and quake number something high shakes us awake. "Did you feel that?" "Yeah it was a biggie." What does one do after that you ask. Go back to sleep we answer. Because, c'mon, its three in the morning. What else are we going to do? Oh yeah, well there is that. Don't know why I didn't think of it.

I am writing this the morning after that morning. Our internet (inter net. The net between the nets. Is that like a fishing term or what?) was out until last night. ("Where are you going?" ("OUT ! Just OUT" !) When it returned from whereever it went, slightly tipsy and talking funny, I determined immediately that the Sox had lost and that Bush was still in office, two depressing conclusions, so I went early to bed in order to early to rise and write this dribble.

And speaking of Bush, yesterday we drove the beast to David in order to have it inspected, this being a necessity for obtaining this year's registration. We were told that in order to pass the inspection we would have to replace the bushings on both front wheels. I told the mechanicos that I preferred clintonings and they replied that clintonings were no longer available. You can see from this how our freedom of choice is being gradually eroded. We were also told we needed an alignment which we agreed to, and now, I swear, the car pulls to the right. I'm tellin you these neocons are damn tricky.

We did have a nice lunch though. Having two hours to kill while Bush's covert operatives repaired our car to their satisfaction, we walked to Panama Bill"s, a gringo owned restaurant we like. After eating, we sat at their outdoor bar and watched Panama go by. It was nice. I had a cigar. We talked and drank a couple of beers.

After that it was home to watch American Idol toss off my favorite, Paris, (We get the show a week after you) while leaving that goofy Taylor guy who loks like some teenager's dad pretending to be a rock star. The guy can sing but moves like a guy, who, if you were a girl, you would dread to have come over and ask you to dance. Needless to say, Charly likes him. Ah, poor Paris. Don't know what she'll do now, but I can see her dressed as a french maid walking around my house singing and dusting things.

So there you have it, another episode in the lives of people who really have no episodes to write about, but do it anyway.



Doc