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Main | Grieving over the loss of Willie's groomer »
This is my first post for my first blog. It could be the first of many or it could be my last, I don't know. I'm not even sure why I'm doing one because we've already got thousands on our Web site, with staffers and readers writing nonstop on every topic imaginable.
The woman who writes about breasts has the most entertaining blog, but I'm not sure how I can say that because I don't read it. Given the subject matter, I just assume it's entertaining. If I knew how to link you to her blog, I would, but I don't. Apparently I'll learn.
At 51, I am officially old and embracing all that oldness has to offer. That's right, I don't know how to link stories or download stuff or program someone's number in my cell phone, and I'm proud to admit it.
I still carry around a daytimer and write people's numbers in the phone-book part of it. I also have a daytimer just in case I feel like losing it again or having it stolen again.
It was stolen last year in the parking lot outside of Buca di Beppo, where my daughter was having her 16th birthday party. In broad daylight along a busy Dexter Avenue, some drug addict was desperate enough to shatter the passenger window so he could reach inside and grab my laptop bag, which contained my daytimer. A police officer told me he probably sold my laptop for $100 to a pawn shop. My daytimer, which was valuable to me, no doubt ended up in the trash.
At least he was a nice drug addict. He had to have been. He left my dog in the truck. For that I'd like to publicly thank him. He could have opened the door and said: "C'mon, boy, you'll have a hell of a lot more fun living your life on the run with me than hanging out with this loser," but he didn't. Willie the golden retriever was unscathed when I returned, sleeping amid shards of glass on the back seat.
I've often wondered what my dog was doing when the drug addict smashed the window. Did he leap to attention and snarl and attempt to defend my daytimer? Or did he wander over to the window and wag his tail and give the look that he gives to the drive-through baristas when he wants a scratch behind the ears and a milk bone? I'd bet the latter.
It's my first post and I'm already digressing. I hadn't planned to write about that. I was on my way to Buffalo for a Seahawks game and figured this would be a good way to kill time on the plane. So that's what I was doing, killing time when I'd rather be killing something else – the guy in 11D.
I had the misfortune of being the guy in 12D. The guy in 11D had this habit of lurching back and forth, and it caused my coffee to nearly spill on my tray table.
He also put his seatback all the way back a nanosecond after the wheels left the runway at Sea-Tac. I wanted to tell him, "Look, shorty, I'm 6-1 and kind of fat, and you already have all that legroom that you don't need in the exit row, so would ya mind?"
I didn't say that because I didn't want the guy in 11D to beat the hell out of me at 30,000 feet. But he could use a lesson in my seatback etiquette. This involves a three–step approach. The first time you hit the button, you push back just a little bit to alert the person behind you that, yes, you're encroaching on his space, but you're doing it in a courteous way.
Then you hang out in that position for 10 to 15 minutes before hitting the button again and going back a little more. Another 10 to 15 minutes later, you go all the way back, which was your intended destination all along. But if you're going to be a stranger in someone's lap for 3 ½ hours, it just seems more polite to do it incrementally, one body part at a time.
That's it for now. I've been told that posts are supposed to be short, and this one is already too long. Besides, there's turbulence and I have this problem with motion sickness and I've got to stop so I can concentrate on not throwing up. To those who have never had it, motion sickness is defined as your worst hangover times 10 and the topic of a future blog: "One Surefire Way to Embarrass One's Self and Spoil a Day on Your Honeymoon by Puking on a Hawaiian Helicopter Ride."
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Posted by Meek99 at 10/8/08 6:11 p.m.
can you help fire willingham and hire JIM MORA JUNIOR???
i'll read your blog if you can help.
Posted by Bwild at 10/8/08 10:55 p.m.
Jim,
you know me as a devout Husky and also a fellow Golden lover. I'm glad Willie is OK and the bum who broke into your truck didn't just let him out or take him!
Peace.
Posted by malamute at 10/13/08 6:10 a.m.
Gol dang these new fangled gadgets are sumpin' else, aren't they, Jim.
You can get rid of your old dusty clacker and use a computer machine to write your columns now. I know Arthur-I-tis is settin' in, but the keys on computer keyboards are so much easier to press, and less noisy too, so you won't need to keep your office door shut anymore. Oh, the boss wants you to keep it shut. Well, clean your shoes off after visiting the old campus over the weekend.
And keep your eye on the CURSE-or. That's a pun, Jim. You know, curse, instead of cursor. Forget it.
Hey, Jim, try not to use the escape key too much or the three-finger salute to bail your way out of a mess. Think your way out of trouble. I know, that's tough, but you can always call your grandson.
You can still hunt and peck, though. Whew! Huh, Jim!
You will no longer need Molly's help with your spelling and grammar either. I know. Shucks. But she has stuff to write, too, and deadlines to meet.
Good luck with your blog. You'll need it.
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Posted by HuskyBred at 10/8/08 5:41 p.m.
Can it be your last?