Yesterday was one of my favorite television watching days of the year. It was Elvis' deathday (opposite of birthday), and that meant Elvis movie marathon! I woke early with a severe case of
the shits stomach flu and right there on the big screen was heaven for a day. You can imagine my surprise and joy! With brief intervals to relieve myself, trim the bushes (not a euphemism for anything -- just what it means: yardwork), eating and a quick trip to WalMart, I watched a day of Elvis doing what he does best -- being Elvis. He was Elvis in race cars, Elvis in Hawaii, Elvis in the Army, Elvis on water skis, Elvis at the World's Fair, Elvis cliff diving. He sang, he swayed his hips, he fought, he got the girl. I enjoyed every bit of it. Except those times when I was napping. The King was only 42 or 43 when he died. At the time I thought he was an Old Guy. Now I think he died pretty young. The always turning pages of the calendar gives one a little perspective, I guess.
I drank some beer, ate some pizza, smoked a cigar and played some cards with some good friends Saturday. We spent some time in their pool. While enjoying a fine Oliva cigar the ash dropped onto my leg. I brushed it away but told my buddy I got burnt. He laughed at me and called me a vulgar term usually associated with female genitalia and the common house cat. I have a blister on my knee. Second degree burns from an ash? I know.
Here we are on Monday, work beckons. I have customer meetings this week. I guess I should get prepared.
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