More story
O.K. I've figured out who dies in the mystery story.
Here's the story, as per the comment section of an earlier post.
Actually I thought of writing a murder mystery.
Involving "Triangle man" the least employed member of some obscure orchestra.
But thanks to so some creative politicking, the highest paid.
When a murder is committed , he takes it upon himself to solve it.
Remember inspector Clouseau? (you try to spell it)
After he fouls up the case and virtually destroys the orchestra, he is, of course promoted and given a seat on the board.
I havn't decided who dies yet.
With any luck, I never will.
Unfortunately I've determined that the victim must be that loyal hard working volunteer in the education department.
Hellova nice guy.
A decent sort.
Just the type who always gets it in the back.
The innocent, somewhat naive schmuck type
Makes the crime more poignant.
So there's that.
Today is another of those days of siren like meteorological appeal.
An attractive brightness in the sky tempts me to ride.
But there are reasons, reasons.
It's a little late in the day for one thing, a 30 mile ride (which I'm beginning to see as a minimum) takes 3 hours of riding time plus sitting around at a coffee shop or restaurant time.
The temperature is O.K.
There are leaves to rake up.
We bought a new antenna for the TV and it still rests on a chair in the living room.
It would probably work better if we put it on the roof or something.
Gotta do that before the family comes over for Thanksgiving.
AND, Meredith has been forcing alcoholism on me by serving wine for dinner for the last 5 or so meals.
Besides talking me into going to Stellars for pizza and a Guinness.
One Guinness a week is really more like it for me.
If that.
Makes me sleepy.
Dopey.
Probably why I'm sleeping late this week.
That and the remnants of that cold I told you about.
And reading books into the inky depths of the stygian night.
I'll probably settle for raking leaves and hope that tomorrow will be another nice day.
Orphan Annie assures me that it will.
As does Scarlet O'Hara.
And Pollyanna.
Emily, of course does not worry about the weather.
Weather -
Is that thing with wet feathers -
That tracks mud on tour carpet.
Labels: Excuses, waterfalls
posted by Lane Savant at 11:17 AM
7 Comments:
Your carpet.
Hmmn, maybe somebody should die in my Musical.
Interesting.
Or have died.
P.S. My Captcha for this comment is "hytidi" which I find funny, but then again I'm about as strange as you so maybe it's just a normal word my mind twists the humor out of.
Yeah, I like some of those things.
They do seem like words sometimes.
I did a post on one once.
I seem to remember it was something like "sproinguli" or something.
After last night's SNL however, I'm not sure.
I wonder if you could make a song out of them.
Think I'll go look it up.
Wait here, I'll be back.
No...You be Bach...Albinoni.
dropijspoigjs.
Not as good as "hytidi"
A grand posting, sir. Your metaphors and wit stagger me this Sunday afternoon. I found poetry in your musings, which pleased me. It has been a dry spell for the Savant verbage to find its way over to FFTR. I love the playfulness of almost words and made-up words. As James Joyce and Vonnegut and Alexie do, creating a new or obscure or nonsense moment can be golden. Here are your thoughts with line breaks by minezelf.
Autumnal
PS: my word verifications are fun too. Today it is
"eadmyt"
Today is another of those days
of siren like meteorological appeal.
An attractive brightness in the sky
tempts me to ride.
But there are reasons, reasons.
It's a little late in the day for one thing,
a 30 mile ride (which I'm beginning
to see as a minimum) takes 3 hours of riding time
plus sitting around
at a coffee shop or restaurant time.
The temperature is O.K.
There are leaves to rake up.
We bought a new antenna for the TV
and it still rests on a chair in the living room.
It would probably work better
if we put it on the roof or something.
Gotta do that before
the family comes over for Thanksgiving.
AND, Meredith has been forcing alcoholism on me
by serving wine for dinner for the last 5 or so meals.
Besides talking me into going to Stellar's
for pizza and a Guinness.
One Guinness a week is really more like it for me.
If that.
Makes me sleepy.
Dopey.
Probably why I'm sleeping late this week.
That and the remnants of that cold I told you about.
And reading books into the inky depths of the stygian night.
I'll probably settle for raking leaves
and hope that tomorrow will be another nice day.
Orphan Annie assures me that it will.
As does Scarlet O'Hara.
And Pollyanna.
Emily, of course does not worry about the weather.
Weather -
Is that thing with wet feathers -
That tracks mud on your carpet.
Doug Palmer November 2008
Why the deuce did the cyber knomes put my postscript in as the first lines of your poem?
Go figger!
This WV is "kitici"
Glenn
Hallo, Lane!
Is the victim in your murder mystery a (current) volunteer or an ex-volunteer in the SSO "Education" Dept.?? This is a "life-and-death" matter for me!
Tschüß,
Anonomann
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