“Piffle and tripe and balderdash!”
roared Lord MacCormack, his purple sash
rucked up beneath his ample chin,
as he pounded his desk again and again.
“Codswollop, blarney and twaddlerot!”
the good Lord raged, his temper hot,
his anger roused by news reports
of politics and sex and sports.
“Bosh, bunk, claptrap, bull and fudge!”
MacCormack the day’s events soundly judged,
while flinging his papers across the room,
and gesturing angrily into the gloom.
(His manservant, Roger, knew this was the cue
to roll in the cart, with the buns and the stew).
So the new cat managed to make it through the weekend without overly aggravating the two old cats, or vice versa. One of the older cats is already sleeping with the new one, very accepting. We were surprised: she’s normally very twitchy and high strung. The other of the old cats (the one that was sick a coupla months ago), though, has been a real crank: lots of hissing and growling so far, although generally no swatting or scratching. She doesn’t want to hurt the new cat, she just doesn’t want to have the new cat near her. One thing they’ve all agreed upon so far, though: laundry day is the bomb. (From left to right: Rosie [the new cat], Lyla [the nice old cat], Amy [in the laundry basket, and grouchy]).
Went down yesterday to Long Island for the annual black tie gala for Good Samaritan Hospital, one of Marcia’s clients. A great event, the fifth one we’ve been to, very posh, they feed us well, the venues tend to be spectacular (this year and last year at an estate on St. John’s University’s Suffolk County campus, with fireworks over the grounds before dinner, live music, filet mignon, spiffy high end tuxes and evening dresses [cleavage appears to be very in this season, just for the record], a fountain that overflowed with chocolate, awesome lobster ravioli appetizers, etc.), plus some good chatting and schmoozing and the like. I move well in that world and enjoy it on occasion, although I’m glad that I just get to visit it every now and then these days, as opposed to being innundated in it all the time as was the case in some prior jobs. I’m feeling fried today, like I’ve got a hangover without having had anything to drink: it was loud at the party as the band played, so I was shouting to talk to people and have the kind of sore throat/headache combo platter that you get when you do that too long. Like after an evening of smoking, except without the cigarettes. I think a couple of strenuous workdays, a drive down (through the dregs of Hurricane Ivan), a party, and a drive back have just kinda collectively wiped me. I might write later tonigh, or I might catch up tomorrow. See how I feel later.
. . . but it’s a good tired, since I’m just back from the C+CC Welcome Back Picnic, which went very, very well. I added live music to the mix for the first time in the event’s 25 year plus history, with two sets by the excellent and inspired Carbondale Shafts of Oneonta. They were a hit, and people stay longer, and eat more, when there’s good live music going on than they do when they have to fill the silence themselves. We had a great crew of volunteers tonight, making set-up and break-up go smoothly and efficiently. All in all, very successful and satisfying: we fed a lot of students, we had a lot of first timers come, and we got to hear some great music. And now my brain is ready to relax, not write poetry, so I’ll go into make-up mode tomorrow. It may be Women of Spam time.