Nagging lethargy, which can only be explained by a merciless vacuum of reality-defying weirdness, has reduced me to sitting on the couch, repeatedly enjoying an online video of baby possums eating fruit. In my defense, we have a cat named Possum who also enjoys this video.
Rather than listing every one of the most recent weird events, I’ll just say that several of them involve the US Postal Service, and the stupefying antics of those involved in the republican primaries.
I’ll describe one such event of head-shaking bewilderment: One of my favorite authors, Tom Robbins, in his recent book, Tibetan Peach Pie, A True Account of an Imaginative Life, divulges, on page 99, that as a child he referred to his rear end as his “rumptaratum.” I created an alternative expression to mollify my growing fear of the flabbergasting hijinks by a certain presidential hopeful: “Trumptaratum!” It’s like a mantra that keeps me from dwelling on a potentially frightening scenario. “Trumptaratum, Trumptaratum, Trumptaratum,” I mutter in response to the news, as I go about building a fire in the wood stove or making breakfast.
Pleased with my invention of this play on words, I finally took the time to share it with the members of a Tom Robbins fan page on Facebook. “Trumptaratum!” I exclaimed proudly, including a picture of said candidate.
I was promptly kicked off the fan page without so much as a chance to defend my post. I’ll be willing to bet myself a dirty sock, a can o’ beans, a conch shell and a painted stick that Tom Robbins himself would not have approved of such a knee-jerk ousting.
***Late Breaking News***
It was all some kind of terrible misunderstanding and the administrator is just as surprised as I was, so things are groovy again.
Meanwhile, how will I get myself off the couch and away from those adorable, munching possums?
I'll charge up my iPod and head up to our beloved Mt. Ashland. There’s hardly anything better than flying down the mountain to a really great song, catching air on the downbeats. If the weather is crappy and the chairlifts are on a wind hold due to 60 mph gusts, I’ll head for the gym instead.
If neither of things things work for you, I totally understand, so here's those sweet little possums for your enjoyment.
Happy Daylight Saving Time 2016!
Rather than listing every one of the most recent weird events, I’ll just say that several of them involve the US Postal Service, and the stupefying antics of those involved in the republican primaries.
I’ll describe one such event of head-shaking bewilderment: One of my favorite authors, Tom Robbins, in his recent book, Tibetan Peach Pie, A True Account of an Imaginative Life, divulges, on page 99, that as a child he referred to his rear end as his “rumptaratum.” I created an alternative expression to mollify my growing fear of the flabbergasting hijinks by a certain presidential hopeful: “Trumptaratum!” It’s like a mantra that keeps me from dwelling on a potentially frightening scenario. “Trumptaratum, Trumptaratum, Trumptaratum,” I mutter in response to the news, as I go about building a fire in the wood stove or making breakfast.
Pleased with my invention of this play on words, I finally took the time to share it with the members of a Tom Robbins fan page on Facebook. “Trumptaratum!” I exclaimed proudly, including a picture of said candidate.
I was promptly kicked off the fan page without so much as a chance to defend my post. I’ll be willing to bet myself a dirty sock, a can o’ beans, a conch shell and a painted stick that Tom Robbins himself would not have approved of such a knee-jerk ousting.
***Late Breaking News***
It was all some kind of terrible misunderstanding and the administrator is just as surprised as I was, so things are groovy again.
Meanwhile, how will I get myself off the couch and away from those adorable, munching possums?
I'll charge up my iPod and head up to our beloved Mt. Ashland. There’s hardly anything better than flying down the mountain to a really great song, catching air on the downbeats. If the weather is crappy and the chairlifts are on a wind hold due to 60 mph gusts, I’ll head for the gym instead.
If neither of things things work for you, I totally understand, so here's those sweet little possums for your enjoyment.
Happy Daylight Saving Time 2016!
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