I was looking for a used lamp at the Goodwill on Lake Oconee Parkway when I overheard a man say he writes columns for a Greensboro newspaper.
I’m assuming it’s that other paper.
I hope he’s eating his vegetables because column writing is taxing.
We publish three syndicated columnists and occasional guest columnists each week to offer a variety of viewpoints.
According to Wikipedia, the word syndicate has its roots in the Greek word syndikos, which means “caretaker of an issue.”
I’m not much of a caretaker, especially of issues.
So, I just pretend to be a columnist when the rhetoric everywhere else gets too red or blue, and bitterness and fear creep in.
Like now ...
Half the country is applauding Elon Musk and The Little Rascals as they look for buy-oneget- one-free deals in Washington D.C., while the other half is screaming bloody murder about a constitutional crisis, which sounds to me like something that happens in the bathroom.
I’m trying to figure out why the two washing machines in the community laundry room where I live disagree on what constitutes 28 minutes.
You would think that if you pushed the start button on two washing machines simultaneously, they would finish simultaneously.
Not in this laundry room.
Sometimes, one may finish two or three minutes behind the other while I stare at it.
My skull must be full of wet wash rags because I occasionally catch myself counting to 60 to see if the machine knows what a minute is. This despite the fact that I have a fancy cell phone with a stopwatch on it.
But I digress.
Some of you may be concerned about Trump’s plan to turn the Gaza Strip into an Asian version of Reynolds Lake Oconee, but I worry more about making sure the bottom and top racks of my dishwasher fill up at the same time. With water rates in the lake area, you don’t want to turn the contraption on until it’s slap full.
Which is different than just “full.” For context, T. Michael Stone may be full of crap, but New York Senator Chuck Schumer is “slap” full of crap.
I know a lot of you are upset about the price and availability of eggs.
A hard-boiled newspaperman I know is especially angry about it because eggs are a big part of his new weight loss plan. His diet has rendered him as light as a feather, but he’s actually just a shell of his former self.
I buy eggs in bags of six, already shelled and boiled. Such eggs will last a month or two if you don’t open the bag, but as soon as you do, the clock starts ticking. You’ve got eggzactly five days to eat all six before they spoil.
Since dietary restraints limit my egg consumption to one per day, the math is pretty clear.
When I open that bag, I have to be ready to eat an egg every day. Egg six then turns green. Some say you can eat green eggs with ham, but I do not like green eggs and ham.
Not on a boat, or with a goat, in the rain, or on a train.* Culinary coercion is my definition of tyranny, brother.
Get on it, 47!
By Thanksgiving, I want to see a dozen eggs for a dollar. If you can do that, I’ll make some deviled eggs and call them “Donalded” eggs.
Then I’ll sprinkle a bit of paprika on them in your honor.
Before I close, let me recommend a video to help those suffering from Trump Derangement Syndrome.
Go to YouTube and search for “Propeller Plane Deep Sound for Sleeping/B-17.”
When you wake up, your sense of humor may have returned.
I actually made up an insulting poem directed at Trump that appeared at the end of the first draft of this column, but I decided I didn’t want to attract Elon’s attention. I mean, there is a slim chance the TDS people are right.
BTW: I found a lamp for $1.99 at the Veterans Thrift Store in Eatonton.
I haven’t rubbed it yet.
I need to decide which politicians I will wish away first.
Selah.
*Borrowed from Dr. Seuss, of course.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
- Reinhold Niebuhr