Sunday Morning Rumblings

I don’t have a particular topic in mind, and while it occurs to me that I could open up my links to news pages and scour the daily dose of mayhem, gloom, and marketing for the latest tragedy/outrage/scourge/feel-good moment of the day, so that I might feed my hungry inner commentator, I sometimes feel that the media–like well-intentioned advice–is best left ignored.  There’s something to the old “ignorance is bliss” chestnut.

Dedicated readers, after waiting all weekend, crowd around screen to drink from my cup of wisdom.

Dedicated readers, after waiting all weekend, crowd around screen to drink from my cup of wisdom.

Before I go further, here’s a picture I’m including because, let’s face it, people don’t click on, let alone read, blog posts that don’t have any pictures.  (Ignorance tempered by cynicism should be mistaken for wit.)

The real reason I haven’t posted this weekend is that Peter Freuchen, the subject of my previous post, is so awesome a figure, and the photo of him and his wife so magnificently iconic, that I have been reluctant to create a new piece that would–that does–push him down the feed.  That’s the kind of photo that might actually justify closing a blog with a sigh and a “I can’t do any better than this.  It’s over.”  But not to worry, I’ll trudge on.

Has that ever happened to any of you–you like a post so much you don’t want to post “on top” of it and make it slide down from the top of the blog.

It’s been a mixed bag weekend.  The Steelers got hammered by the Ravens (which, admittedly, is better than getting hammered by teams I don’t respect, but still)–yet I missed most of the game in favor of dinner with friends.  The local high school won in dramatic, overwhelming fashion, and my Alma mater got pummeled despite being nationally ranked before than game.  Pitt won, tipping scales towards the positive.

ForSalePics1035My 3-year old lawnmower broke and requires a real pain in the ass repair–I can do it, but I have to remove the mowing deck and drill a hole–and while that sounds straight forward enough, it’s hours of fun.  Sigh.  The good news: my wife bought me a really sweet vintage cub cadet from a guy up the street, for a great price.  It’s built like a tank and the engine purrs like new.  I started it three times.  Fourth time: nothing. There’s a minor electrical hitch somewhere, or maybe the starter died.  Talk about “Are you kidding me” moments!  Even needing a repair, it’s a great deal on a great machine, but enough is enough.

warlockOn the plus side, my neighbor gave me a big, beautiful  beer for no other reason than he’s a good guy, and my daughter went out for Chinese food with her boyfriend.  The latter might not sound like a big deal, but you want to know what I found in the refrigerator at midnight last night.  Opps!–I stumbled and that General Tso’s accidentally fell in my stomach.  I hate when that happens.

the general

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About JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.
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