Today’s Theme Music

Today’s song was a staple of our neighborhood air group. Energetic, enthusiastic, and easy to learn – important for nine-year-old air musicians – we loved getting up on our chairs in a basement with our air-guitars and air-mics, beating our air-drums, and performing “Good Lovin’.” I struggled with the group’s name; I always wanted to call them the Little Rascals, but that was a different group.

Here’s the Young Rascal’s recording of “Good Lovin’,” from nineteen sixty-five. Wow, fifty-two years ago. It aged well, don’t you think?





Airline Seats

Airlines in the U.S. want to reduce our seats and pack more into aircraft. The FAA didn’t have a problem with it, but Patricia Millet and two other Federal judges told the FAA that it needs to look into physics of packing more people into the same space.

Frankly, I don’t think the airlines will be satisfied until we’re packed in there on benches, trying to sneak a cheek to sit.

Soul Mate

The first night, we met, crashing into one another as we entered a bar. Classic, right? She bought me an IPA to atone for the accident, even though I claimed responsibility. After paying and smiling, she disappeared into a clutch of friends. I drank the beer and had a cheeseburger and fries. Sometimes, I glimpsed her on the other side of the club. She was usually laughing and surrounded by admirers. I wished I’d gotten her name.

On the second night, I found her sitting at the bar, watching the door. I’d been hoping to see her. Saying, “Hi,” I walked up to her. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. I felt like I’d smoked a lid after that.

Gushing with an energetic joy of life, she told me her father was a state senator on her third night, and on the fourth night, after we went to my room and did the nasty, she revealed she was adopted, and I told her my life story.

“My father molested me,” she told me on the fifth night. “That’s why I was taken away from him and put into foster homes. I was lucky to be adopted, but my new father molested me, too.” Her spirit amazed me. She was indefatigable.

I was told she had no brothers or sisters on the sixth night, and on the seventh night, she explained that she was a millionaire’s daughter. She was in hiding because she’d witnessed some crimes, and Donald Trump had come to her father’s house once, and groped her. “I didn’t mind,” she said, shrugging. “He was rich and sexy.”

We talked about 9/11 on the eighth night. “I was already supposed to be at work,” she said, tears dripping down her face. “For a company meeting. But it felt like a hand held me down and a voice whispered in my ear. “Don’t go,” it said. “Stay home. Be safe.” So I did. All my co-workers died.” I comforted her through the night.

“I love you,” she whispered on the ninth night. “I love you, too,” I whispered back. We kissed, long and deeply, the way you do when you’ve found your soul mate.

I asked her to marry me on our tenth night. Hugging me, she slobbered me with kisses and tears, and answered, “Yes, yes, yes.” We made love and slept together for the first time. Then we stayed in bed the next day, ordering room service for our meals.

On the eleventh night, she slipped out to get clean clothes. I never saw her again.

On the twelfth night, a woman knocked on the door and asked me if her sister was there. I spent the twelfth and thirteenth nights looking for her, and then, heartbroken, I went home to my wife and children.

God, I miss her.


DirectFURR (Carfinition): A cat responsible for overseeing activities for specific functions, such as greeting guests.

In Use: “This fluffy cat has never missed a day of work during her time as the directFURR of Guest Relations at the Algonquin Hotel in New York City. After seven years of service, she is retiring and handing over her job to her new protégé.

Meet Matilda III!”

Matilda III


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