Wednesday, October 12, 2005
'Tis I, Chops!
For well over a decade the editors, nay the world, has mourned the Monz' self-imposed exile from the world of creative writing. True, from time to time he has graced the world with glimpses of that abandoned world of the literati, screenerati, and rockerati (Monz has both undergraduate and graduate degrees in the fine arts, not to mention the extensive and impressive ouvre of the Smiling Rock Monz Jazz Trio), such as when he cast his creative writing pearls before the Wisconsin Book Festival board of judges swine, only to witness the kind of homerism that the White Sox could have used from the umps last night.
So we cannot help ourselves to rerun one of our all-time favorite Monz posts.But Monz does not rerun one of his favorite lunches! "Today's lunch is a homemade turkbuffchicktavhamonnutbread sandwich with lowfat cheese and horseradish sauce, + apple, last of the bananas and a Breakstones Cottage doubles with pineapple. Yum."
The editors will be hibernating tomorrow in atonement for the multitude of sins. Like this one: this morning as the health editor was heading into the office, he saw a sign in the window of a drug store which read "FLU SHOTS THIS MORNING." The health editor walked in and after a brief wait was informed that the shots were only for "high risk" individuals who met a certain criteria. As fate would have it, the health editor met one of these criteria, but only as a technicality (parent or legal guardian of someone on an aspirin regimine -- the health editor shares guardianship over such an individual). Torn, the health editor explains all of this to the intake person. "Oh, that's ok, you qualify, we're not going to run out today." But the health editor is still having qualms because if something like last year happens and some geezer dies as a result of not getting their flu shot then karma is going to klock him with at least a bad end-of-season-after-the-shot-has-wore-off bout of flu, followed by a visit by Inspector R------ A---, now with the FBI, asking why the health editor gave misleading testimony to a quasi-agent of the Center for Disease Control. The health editor turns, then turns again, hands over $25 and rolls up his sleeve.
For well over a decade the editors, nay the world, has mourned the Monz' self-imposed exile from the world of creative writing. True, from time to time he has graced the world with glimpses of that abandoned world of the literati, screenerati, and rockerati (Monz has both undergraduate and graduate degrees in the fine arts, not to mention the extensive and impressive ouvre of the Smiling Rock Monz Jazz Trio), such as when he cast his creative writing pearls before the Wisconsin Book Festival board of judges swine, only to witness the kind of homerism that the White Sox could have used from the umps last night.
So we cannot help ourselves to rerun one of our all-time favorite Monz posts.But Monz does not rerun one of his favorite lunches! "Today's lunch is a homemade turkbuffchicktavhamonnutbread sandwich with lowfat cheese and horseradish sauce, + apple, last of the bananas and a Breakstones Cottage doubles with pineapple. Yum."
The editors will be hibernating tomorrow in atonement for the multitude of sins. Like this one: this morning as the health editor was heading into the office, he saw a sign in the window of a drug store which read "FLU SHOTS THIS MORNING." The health editor walked in and after a brief wait was informed that the shots were only for "high risk" individuals who met a certain criteria. As fate would have it, the health editor met one of these criteria, but only as a technicality (parent or legal guardian of someone on an aspirin regimine -- the health editor shares guardianship over such an individual). Torn, the health editor explains all of this to the intake person. "Oh, that's ok, you qualify, we're not going to run out today." But the health editor is still having qualms because if something like last year happens and some geezer dies as a result of not getting their flu shot then karma is going to klock him with at least a bad end-of-season-after-the-shot-has-wore-off bout of flu, followed by a visit by Inspector R------ A---, now with the FBI, asking why the health editor gave misleading testimony to a quasi-agent of the Center for Disease Control. The health editor turns, then turns again, hands over $25 and rolls up his sleeve.
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