It's getting a little late to wish anyone Happy Labor Day, I suppose. The day's almost over. And the new year begins very soon.
I was thinking a minute ago that it's a shame we didn't do any invoking of heroes of Labor at our little picnic in the park today. Ah, well. We carry them with us just by having the day off. And I really do feel that I've had a few days off.
shmizla's departing for home at 4 a.m. Foster kitties are in their room for the night; this is likely the week they get spayed and put up for adoption. Me, I'm pretty zonked. Along with the rain that scuttled our croquet & bocce seems to have come a lingering somnolent dampness. You can taste the moisture in the cool night air. It gets a rise from your tongue if you mouthbreathe like the slack-jawed zonkee that is I.
Some of the phrases you'll find if you Google "a mouthbreathing" ( Collapse )
Unflattering, on the whole, one can hardly help noticing.
I loved The Pajama Game as a kid. Watched it whenever it came on the TV. The company picnic seemed so cool. And the union stuff. The small talk song, probably a throw-away in the (truly rich) musical, made it onto an eclectic mix cassette I used to play a lot when I was in college. I may well've have listened to that song 100 times. Feeling the sexy in the midst of the silly. Knowing what small talk is the opposite of.
That's Bonnie Raitt's dad, btw. Up there, with Doris.