The Isolated Blurt Thread XXXVIII: Suffering Sappho!

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I sometimes forget you is livin' the countrified lifestyle, what with you bein' so urbane and all.
 


Ah, yes. The old quadrathon: two sets of singles followed by a 3.8 mile run followed by a bike ride finishing with a swim.

The water is still a tad chilly. After you dive in, you damn well better keep moving.

I do love summer.



 
I like to swim. Well, I like to get in the water. In a hot tub. On a cruise ship. Yeah, that's what a like.
 
Capicola, mortadella, salami, cheddar, cabbage, hot peppers and mustard all wrapped in a soft flour tortilla. It was delish.
 
I like to swim. Well, I like to get in the water. In a hot tub. On a cruise ship. Yeah, that's what a like.


It's become a matter of principal— I gotta get in the pool to inaugurate a new season.


I'd love a goddamn smoke right now. Yup, there's nothing I'd like better at the moment than a long, deep drag.




 


Christ I hate using a goddamn mouse with Excel. It's soooooo fucking slow.


Back in the day, Lotus 1-2-3 operated with slash commands and infinite stacking. Between that and a numeric keypad, I could build and modify spreadsheets in the blink of an eye. I could set a keyboard on fire.


The recent versions of Excel are another example of dumbing down to make it accessible to hoopleheads and dimbulbs.


Similarly, Word expanded the market by making it possible for people who never learned to spell, write or punctuate appear to be educated.






 
I too miss the days of cranking the steam engine and dialing the operator to place a phone call.
 
There's a local woman, an ex-attorney, who went to prison for bank fraud. She got out a few months ago and walks her dogs past my office every morning. Prison life agreed with her; she's pretty hot.
 
Hoity toity marred by raucous laughter.

Just how I like it.
 



Goddamnit, I'm a full minute slow.

WTF?

I cannot tell if I'm running a fast or slow pace while I'm at it— and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend money on an overpriced, fancy runner's watch.

Hell, I'd just as soon not know. It works both ways. There are days when I'm pleasantly surprised by how fast I've run and there are other days when I never realized how slow my pace was. So it goes.




 


I let her use the machine.

So now I'm getting a bunch of advertisements for hotels in Bucharest. The marketeers are deluding themselves with fantasies of internet-enabled targeted marketing. They're no smarter than they were prior to its advent.

The advertisers are every bit as much in the dark as they ever were. It's snake oil.


 

Vermont, ground zero for trust-funded faux farmers...
...and neo-hippies.





I got held up in Woodstock while waiting for the Memorial Day parade to finish disrupting traffic; at least it provided an opportunity to see if anything had changed. It hasn't.

It's hard to believe that a mid-week, all-day, student discount lift ticket at Killington was (are you sitting down?) 50¢.

 
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