The Wagon

The Wagon

If your Little Red Wagon no longer is new, and soon-to-be-spare-parts are hanging down, then you have a Saggin' Wagon.

If those soon-to-be-spare-parts touch the ground, then you have a Saggin' Draggin' Wagon.

If you are still proud of your decrepit old wagon, then you have a Braggin' Saggin' Draggin' Wagon.

If you carry bottles in your wagon, then you have a Braggin' Saggin' Draggin' Flagon Wagon.

If the stuff in the bottles makes you sick, then you have a Braggin' Saggin' Draggin' Gaggin' Flagon Wagon.

If being sick slows you down, then you have a Laggin' Braggin' Saggin' Draggin' Gaggin' Flagon Wagon.

If your wagon squeaks because it needs oil, then you have a Naggin' Laggin' Braggin' Saggin' Draggin' Gaggin' Flagon Wagon.

If your wagon wobbles, then you have a Waggin' Naggin' Laggin' Braggin' Saggin' Draggin' Gaggin' Flagon Wagon.

The Veep

The Veep

When I was last flying back home, I had one of those conversations that seem to only take place within the cramped confines of an airline coach seat and the forced intimacy that seems to result.

My seat companion nodded to me cordially as I squeezed past him to my window seat, so we exchanged the ceremonial greetings and self-introductions common to the traveling business public.

It turned out that he worked for a large automotive company. When I asked what he did there, he replied, with not a little justifiable pride, "I'm an executive Vice President in the Jeep Division."

"Oh," I said, "so you're a Jeep Veep!"

"Y-e-e-s-s," he drawled unenthusiastically, as if such informality were foreign to his experience.

"Well, then," I asked, "Why are you flying back here in coach?"

"The company does not feel," he recited solemnly, "That the utilitarian image of 'the Jeep', which we have gone to some lengths to acquire, is properly embellished by flying First Class -- that is, it would have an appearance that belies our corporate culture."

"Oh," I said again, "So you're a cheap Jeep Veep?"

Though it appeared he might not take my repartee for the harmless jibe I'd intended, he eventually replied, evenly enough, "Well, I must say, that a little economy never hurt anyone, and that, moreover, a little harmless deprivation is good for the soul."

"Oh," I said, as if a light-bulb had gone on, "So you're a deep cheap Jeep Veep!"

There was definitely a chill in the air, now, and he turned away, as far as one can turn away in a coach seat, and said, "I hope you'll excuse me, I must rest, now."

"Of course," I said, "Peace and Quiet for the sleepy deep cheap Jeep Veep!"

"Do you mind?" he retorted sharply, "I wouldn't want to have to call for the attendant."

"I don't mind," I said, "And I would certainly want to accommodate the sleepy and creepy deep cheap Jeep Veep." I have to admit that I was bothering him on purpose, now, close to an outright guffaw.

"I need my rest!" he announced, sounding closer to desperation than before, "I can't have any mistakes at work because I'm tired. . ."

"Of course, of course," I soothed him, "Peace and quiet for the sleepy and creepy, slap-happy, deep cheap Jeep Veep."

"Look you," he growled, "I'm good at my job, and I don't need . . ."

"Certainly, not," I agreed, "Not a sleepy and creepy, slap-happy and crappy, deep, cheap Jeep Veep, such as yourself!"

"You bastard," he moaned, as he collapsed onto his fold-out tray.

I rang for the attendant, myself. "I think," I told her, "that the weepy, sleepy and creepy, slap-happy and crappy, deep cheap Jeep Veep, needs assistance." And she led him away, wracking sobs and all, to where I do not not know. But I had enough room to stretch out for the rest of the flight.

New Clothes

Henry David Thoreau once said: "Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes."

I gleaned this quote from a commentary on Casual Fridays by Jim Hightower, a populist politician here in Texas, former Secretary of Agriculture, as I recall, wherein he discusses the hand-wringing that goes on about what's properly 'casual' and 'professional' for such occasions, including the various men's clothing store ads that fuel such anxieties.

But what it reminded me of, was how my wife couldn't play tennis until she had purchased sportswear to wear while she played. It boggled me how much shopping this required, but I admit that she did look very cute in her new Tennis Togs. So cute, in fact, that I didn't get upset when she giggled after she whiffed a serve.

But anyway, back to Thoreau, whom my Teenager denigrated as an imbecilic hypocrite, despite my best efforts at defense: "He may be eccentric, or even insane, but he's the most sincere person in belle lettres! And, of course, if you've got sincerity, you can fake everything else."

I was glad to note that, at my previous employer, a New England based proprietorship, founded on the principles of Emerson and Thoreau (I infer), it was not required that we buy new clothes to start any new project (unless travel to Boston is involved, of course), but when the project is over, we almost always get a Golfshirt or a sweatshirt commemorating the event. This, I am sure, is exactly what Thoreau thought we ought to do.

An Elemental Categorical Syllogism

An elemental categorical syllogism. . .

Two items of interest in the news lately which I have stitched together: A while back, there was news that scientists believe they can show that some male hair loss can be attributed to an excess of the female hormone estrogen. The clinical proof of this concept at this point consists of the evidence that bald mice given "estrogen blockers" will grow hair. Soon after, I heard news that other scientists believe that estrogen is an essential ingredient for intelligence, the clinical evidence for this being a test with two control groups of alzheimer patients, one of which was given escalated doses of estrogen, the other, a placebo. The group given the estrogen tested positive immediately with mental skill improvements, where the placebo group did not. I believe the inferences possible from these basic facts are egregiously inescapable. For those of you unfortunates suffering from an unhealthy imbalance of testosterone to estrogen, I can only offer my own sincere condolances, and the cold comfort of your bathroom mirror.

Elementary, eh Watson?

Spong Fong

Spong-Fong

(The scraps found among Spelvin's papers included not only original writings but ledgers full of newspaper clippings with cryptic mathematical signs, boxes, and arrows. One can only speculate at the deletorious effects of such positive reinforcement of his worst tendencies from ostensibly responsible news outlets.)

Senators William B. Spong of Virginia and Hiram Fong of Hawaii sponsored a bill recommending the mass ringing of church bells to welcome the arrival in Hong Kong of the U.S. Table Tennis Team after its tour of Communist China. The bill failed to pass, cheating the Senate out of passing the Spong-Fong Hong Kong Ping Pong Ding Dong Bell Bill.

Russian Percussian Discussion

Resentment

Resentiment

"Don't send me any more letters," she said on the telephone.

"But I already re-sent it," I pled, "when it came back unopened."

"I tore it up," she said.

"But I just sent it today -- what letter did you tear up?"

"The letter I got before, I didn't like the way it smelled."

"But I thought women liked that stuff, it's a scent you said you liked ... when that letter came back unopened, I rescented it and re-sent it."

"No, I resented it," she affirmed, "so I tore it up."

"But I apologized, and took back every word I said," I pled.

"Some things can't be rescinded. So don't send me any more letters."

"But I already re-sent my recent note, rescinding the re-scented note you resented ..."

"I'll tear it up, too, then," she said