Last night’s rededication of the Statue of Liberty was a bit too much of a stage show for me. Then again, I didn’t go to the demonstration protesting the Supreme Court sodomy ruling, either, even though I learned about it from a notice someone put up on our lobby’s bulletin board last night.
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At dinner at the Grand Canyon, Dad asked me why I was staring at him. “You’re grayer,” I said, not telling him that he reminded me a little of Dustin Hoffman in Death of a Salesman. “I got old,” Dad said. “At my next birthday – I can hardly believe it – I’ll be 69 years old.” Dad remarked that the block we were on had been his territory when he worked for that private investigating firm while he was still in high school.
She gets really upset when I ask her to mop the floors that have her new puppy’s shit smeared all over. And I mean ALL OVER. Posts Facebook statuses like “I should really stop being so nice” when I address these problems politely.