Saturday, December 1, 2007

Two Woopsies

A problem with blogs missed by most is the lack of an editor. King Seneca has blue-penciled some and gently questioned a nibble or three, despite his pronouncements otherwise. Maybe that's because I self-edit far better than most. That's not said out of pride, but from comparison to what I see him chopping and reassembling out of other hands at the Ticker. No matter what, however, dust motes do cross the illuminated view from time to time. Here are two.

I had my Ticker email shut down, at least temporarily. Like most print media, it's not rolling in cash, so it must make do with resources within reach, and that includes an email server easily overwhelmed, due to its technologically elder age of three years. Contact me at I'll get it directly, and this account can sort all the wheat and chaff that the Ticker account cannot. It also has some attached techie features I may yet partake of, when convenient. So maybe this wasn't a woopsie after all.

Woopsie #2:

I was walking Woofus, and Dix and I were chatting, when an elderly lady on her own constitutional asked me what kind of dog it is.

"It's one-third male," I said.

She blanched and giggled and covered her mouth, and Dix stifled herself.

The lady came back with, "I meant, what breed?"

I told her pureborn Australian Shepherd, then we moved on.

I thought she was referring to what really mattered about Woofus, and I insist I was right in my reply. Dix had to point out my frame of reference, and I got it. I looked embarrassed, out of respect for them.

Was I embarrassed? Well, until you get to know me, or your read the book, you'll know that I can't be embarrassed. Neither can I be humiliated or insulted.

Dix loved the line, and she wants to use it. I never considered myself a ghost writer, preferring to hang my own laundry on my own line. (She wears those?)

Still, I seem to have some success at it though it only pays in friendship, but that's the kind of reward I'm pleased to bank.

Hmm... this wasn't a woopsie, either. I'm told that's what makes me famous: Not realizing what I'm saying.

Hope it's a trend I can survive.

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