Between a week in Spain, with a one-day trip to Tangier, and the more recent events in los Estados Unidos, I've got material for a year. On the matter of silver linings, the 2016 presidential election and its aftermath should be a boon to the scholarly publishing industry for the rest of my productive lifetime.
-- which, according the Ratsnest [Facebook], ended yesterday, as I was caught up in the SNAFU of FB posting death messages on people's accounts:
Remembering [insert social media nom here] . . .
We hope people who love Jim will find comfort in the things others share to remember and celebrate his life.
That was news to my long-suffering wife, who thought I was somewhere in the house working. My 27-year-old son originally was puzzled and then found that some of his contacts were experiencing the same thing. I told him to keep his zombie friends offa my lawn.
Spain . . .
We were on the southern coast in the town of Torremolinos, near the city of Malaga. Right on the Mediterranean. Nice place. Cheap food. Wine is cheaper than water or Coca-Cola.
Reluctant capitalist that I am, I was pondering what would make me rich in Europe. Two franchises: cigarettes and hair gel. European males under the age of 35 don't know how to leave their hair alone. I am convinced that hair salons in Europe are papered with Skate Park Magazine, because that's what many European men's and boy's heads look like. Some little kids had hair styles that probably would have scarred me for life. Hell, I think I wept after leaving the barber's chair until I was about 12 years old. In my head: "But, Mom, I just want to be a hippie."
|Pick an angle, any angle. Maybe two.|
More to come.