This month I discovered the 99 Cent Store chain. For my daytrip tomorrow, I have DVDs purchased, as one might surmise, for ninety nine cents each. One is the Cary Grant version of "His Girl Friday" while the other is a late 40s Bob Hope film. This may ameliorate the early morning/late night wear and tear of the necessary flights.
I hanker to make a phone post, to write poetry, to organize a chess tournament, to auction excess chess books off for charity, and to name my next guppy Darwin Yang. I beat Darwin Yang in a chess tournament last year, noticing that at eight he played almost as well as I did at 45. As I recall, I played in my usual style, boring him to death, winning a pawn, and then trading everything off in simple style.
Today's Dallas Morning News reported that he is now the second-highest ranked 9 year old chess player in the USA. So if ever I get another guppy tank, although I don't name fish, I'd name one Darwin Yang.
Somebody invaded my Feeder Guppy Rescue League discussion group with spam about how to get dates. Clearly, the misguided spamcreant had not heard the news--which is that guppy enthusiasts, like registered nurses, pentecostal clergy, Chapman Stick musicians, and all other members of caring professions, never lack for love. Certainly nothing is cuter than lying on one's sofa, watching television, while a little black dog head rests on one's leg.
When I imagine there's no Heaven, and no Hell below us, and above us mostly sky, I wonder if a brown sugar cinnamon pop tart might not taste good right about now. I want to try out my new astronomical binoculars. I want to write a post about the seven principles. I want to make a deviation for deviantart.com that brings people around in droves, calling my name (although Gurdon! Gurdon! has a rather effete sound to it now that I think about it). I want to buy a southern gospel hymnal which dates from before 1906 and is in the public domain, so that I can write folk songs with shape note melodies. I want to throw a tennis ball, and watch a dog grab it, and hear the ball or the dog or the sheer universe itself say "squeak!".