Wrap Up

I am watching the end of summer with a mixed feeling of anticipation and befuddlement. I wonder: Where have the days gone? How come I do not have more items crossed off my TO DO list? Why am I still fat?

The anticipation is about a new grandson who is expected within the next few weeks, and the onset of my favorite season - when Monday nights are again occupied by Football Games on TV, when you can feel the crisp clean air of Autumn, when I can go back to the beach.

I love the ocean, but I hardly ever go to the beach in the summer. Neither of us enjoy basking in the sun. As a chronic sunburn victim, I am too sensitive to expose myself to the ravages of sunbathing, and my wife is too vain to allow her alabaster complexion to turn to dessicated leather. We call ourselves EPA's (Exceptionally Pale Americans). Our idea of a good day at the beach is an overcast windy fall day, where we can have the beach to ourselves, stroll the shore and gain the soothing benefits of whitecapped rollers pounding on the sand, washing away all the stress and angst of life....

The Bush administration has not produced a job boom in my neighborhood yet. So, I have officially joined the ranks of the early-retired. Although the SS money is a pittance, at least I can again afford to buy good scotch on my own, (instead of charging it to my wife's credit card).

Still, I keep looking for that perfect job. (ie, Good salary, short commute, non-asshole workplace, interesting work.) I hope something happens soon because i must confess that I am becoming less interested in the problems of business with each passing day.

Normally, I would use the recent Labor Day observance as another excuse to howl against greedy, clueless, ego-centric Management. This year, I am barely able to raise my sleepy head and growl about the slow economy.

At this rate, I will soon end-up a pensioner poet: unpublished, in need of a haircut, and wandering the streets and alleys looking for a good metaphor. Or, a decent pub.