One Million Likes...

  

Back of my family-size box of Cheerios.

That's it...

no ads,

no coupons,

no bullshit...

just happy.

I love this marketing team.

K.I.S.S.

Happy Surprises and Such



In my mailbox, yesterday, between the bills and promises of lower interest rates, I found a golden envelope. Not business-size, or standard-size… No, it was much smaller than that… pocket-size, perfect for keeping close to your heart, if you took the notion.

     The moment I saw the little golden envelope, I knew that it had traveled from a world of castles and topiaries and apartments above bakeries, where one wakes to birdsong and the smell of warm bread every single morning, and that it had come, quite possibly, in the pointed beak of a snowy egret, but more than likely had been passed from hand to hand into an airplane, flown across an ocean and a great deal of a continent, and then driven to my mailbox, in a Jeepish vehicle that magically steers on the right side. (Coincidence? I think not. It was, after all, golden.)

     I opened the envelope right then and there, and found inside two Eskimos, bundled in fur (as it was very cold both here and there), and a wish for a thousand happy surprises in the year to come.

     Seems I have nine hundred and ninety-nine happy surprises left and three hundred, and sixty-five days in which to spend them. Aren't I the lucky boy? 

     Thank you, Stephanie.

           

The Well-Fed Mouser



Pray tell, fat cat, sprawled on my bed, what is that scritch, scritch, scratching I hear in the attic, overhead? Do you think that maybe… do you think you might… get up to investigate before we run plum out of night? Or is that too much bother, with your belly so round? Is it easier to ignore such a mouselike sound? And wait for me to get up and in a huff say, “Crap! Don’t worry yourself! I’ll go set a trap!”     

The Upside of Upgrades

My new computer is a custom job, all crazy, kid-cool. Its face is about as sleek, I think, as a box with an on-off button could be: black with just a hint of chrome—very Bauhaus, though I’m guessing that’s not the appropriate term. You turn the corner and one side is almost perfectly clear, they say, so I can see that the fans, of which it has three, are running, although, I’m kind of thinking that it’s more so computer people can show of their handiwork to other computer people, who might actually know what computer bling looks like. For me it’s just another woodland diorama, with wire and soldered doo-dads for branches, in which I will forever be searching for a hidden tree frog. But how could I possibly care about all that cool stuff, when in the center of said clear panel, with two laser-cut, black metal swooshes, thin as paper, radiating from it as if it were the very wind source of a cat-five hurricane, is the chromiest chrome fan ever, which, when doing its business, lights up and turns the dark underside of my desk into a discothèque, worthy of a younger and thinner and Angel Flight-wearinger John Travolta? How can I? I ask. How? I can’t. I’m mesmerized. I’m hypnotized. My feets are on the floor. And… Oh dear god! Am I doing it?  Yes! Yes I am! I’m, ‘Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, Staying alive, Staying alive…’ Because that, after all, is how old cats roll. Cha-ching.  

Merry Christmas to Me...

 

One of six gifts. All of which I plan on opening. 

On a whim, I wished Siri… my phone… a Merry Christmas. “You could un-scrooge Scrooge,” she replied, as if I had been the only one on earth so considerate. “Merry Christmas to you too, Steven.”


It’s a wondrous world we live in, kids. Fill every inch of it with love.

Computer's Acting Up...

... so I figured I'd better wish ya'll a Merry Christmas before it croaked entirely.

                                                     Merry Christmas!