Or is this entire blog a so-called tabula rasa?

Reminds me of rickety road and the cut-through to Carlman’s Pond where Knighty insisted the water under the frozen ice was made potable by the cold temps. Though it may have caused mental dysentery.

To wit …

I perseverated again about General Whitman booklets.

And reminded myself that no one likes a know-it-all. But some do.

As we cast aspersions on free press elsewhere, check out Mick Mulvany at CBS and Jen Psaki at MSNBC.

Saying things like, “I’m not going to negotiate that from this podium. I’m not going to get ahead of it at this time.”

Kick him when he’s up.

I had a colleague whose meddlesome ways are sanctioned.

Some spoke of “a” training or “onboarding” … next is reapplying for the job you already have.

But I’m “beyond excited.”

Dreamed I was with Beverly friends at a place that felt like Topsfield Fair, took a side road and ended up sorting out sweaters that all looked the same beige. Bad for OCD.

Dreamed I was awake.

Dreamed I caught a ride to Mississauga in an open-roofed truck from a man with coal for teeth when a giant storm hit.

I wonder as I stare in a friend’s toilet bowl, how do I argue for ocean access as an inviolable public right versus private property.

This post needs its own search tool.

So an entry was too long and out of style. Well fuck you. That’s the benefit of tabula rasa, right?

Joanne made a reference to the “iron maiden” in our garden, meaning the “oriental maiden,” a politically incorrect name the manufacturer and I gave to our nice statue. I snapped that “iron maiden” was an S&M term, which I picked up from a song.

Pillars of Leadership, Pillars of Reparative Justice … lots of pillars, but it’s tough to find a column.

The police dispatcher asked the person reporting the mass shooting in the Buffalo supermarket why she was whispering. We’re preparing a generation of confident loudmouths.

Looking in a direction I have forgotten or never knew from a room on Grenville Ave in Toronto. Another broken night I’m afraid. But Toronto has an enduring touch. Also, I have to admit I like this part of travel. Reminds me of looking out at the C line trolley in San Diego.

Personally, I love Miami, from the bronzed girls to the schlocky hotels and leisure spots. Never mind the Chinook helicopters combing the skies.

One thing that’s wonderful about retirement is seeing the latest big higher education news and thinking, who gives two shits.

Also reading a lot without worrying about ways to “use” what I read. Got lost in one story recently about the “mercy” rule, sometimes called the “slaughter” rule.

Is there any legitimate justification for tinted car windows?

Saw Soul Asylum at the local theater where I saw my first movie, “The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming.” They’re no Replacements, the Minneapolis brethren they are compared with. Leader’s dad jokes got deserved groans.

My aversion to analytics hobbles me even in volunteer life where the garden folks prefer describing bloom progress with number rankings rather than comments and the immigrant education folks preach against TMI. All tough for a wordy guy who claimed to be “thoughtful” but was actually “unfocused.”

As they say of peonies, pick your spot and prepare your hole well.

Teaching basic English reminds me of I bop, you bop, she bop and they bop …

Magical evening with family at “Barcelona,” not the city, the low-rise tapas joint on Mass Ave.

Considered the risky move of complementing the conductress on her new hairdo only to realize it’s not new, she just keeps it under her hat.

So chiseled.

I watch a show about a “gentleman thief”… a concept I never really thought about. But it takes me back to Robin Nichols. To which my oldest brother said Stealing Dimes. Me, I never stole. And was appalled when Smitty stole a yoyo.