Eccentric Flower:199809/empty milestones

eight september ninety eight eleven a m

empty milestones

So, let's see.

That McGuire fellow tied Maris' record last night for home runs. I could not care less. I think it's a shame that someone's life suddenly is forced to become structured around breaking a meaningless record from years ago. It's like these people who are trying to get into the Guinness book. Don't they have lives? Is their craving for celebrity that strong?

A friend of mine is twenty-seven today. She wrote me a very brief email: "I'm a cube!" She won't get to be a Platonic solid again until she's sixty-four (when, of course, she is eligible to rent a cottage on the Isle of Wight).

Aussie wrote me about this weekend's Stay Tuned, saying basically that I was giving the populace too much credit for intelligence about pronouncing French names. Probably. This is one of those cases, Aussie, where the Louisiana border makes a difference. We didn't need the big "A + Bear" rebus signs to know how to pronounce Hebert (although have them we did - that chain was over here too - and they were a lot of fun, agreed).

And the Firesign Theatre folks are putting out a new radio play for the first time in many years.(Shoes For Industry, which appeared a few years back, was more of a "best of" collection.) I have the article, for the three people who are interested in the details. You know who you are.

I haven't forgotten that I said I'd mention some other things. The day is long. It's only eleven, and the West Coast hasn't even gotten to work yet.

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