...No, not Orion; I'm pretty sure the Irishman is out of sight by now. I eat oatmeal for breakfast nearly every weekday morning; days I don't, I'm in a hurry and have granola instead. Usually eat right here at the computer, combining refueling with composing.
This morning, I'm out of oatmeal and the seal on the hippie-flakes bag had popped open sometime in the past, admitting the Imp Of Staleness. So I am enjoying a slab of ham on toast, with cheese and mustard. (Yum!)
It has been mentioned here and on Tam's blog that my two very elderly cats spend most of their time on my (vast) desk. The desk was designed to hold a large CRT monitor; when I switched from the coal-fired Old Reliable to a newfangled and larger flat-panel, it left a nice cat-sized spot on the former monitor shelf, behind the warm new monitor; the cats like to doze there. Oatmeal won't get their attention; granola in non-fat powdered milk, likewise. But a ham sammich? That's a cat-magnet! Ahh, yes, their natural prey: the smoked ham. On marbled rye.
More to come later; this morning, I'm off to the dentist, thanks to a filling that escaped Sunday. It's enough to shake one's faith in cyanoacrylate.
1. 'Cos, see, "O'Ryan...."
2. Oddly, this happened right after the first set of flat-screens survived long enough at work to be replaced in upgrading rather than because they'd failed. What a coincidence!
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
3 months ago