I was going to write something penetrating and/or witty tonight, but itís just too hot. The effort isnít in me. I barely got through the payroll today, so this entry isnít the only thing Iím shirking. If the Boss knew how lethargic I was, he might feel shortchanged. As anyone reading this might, with every right.
No, really, I even had a sort of an outline of what I wanted to say. I had a list of people who have died recently, people that I considered famous. I was going to speculate on how many readers even know who these dead celebrities were, and then go off on some tangent. Who knows where that would have led me, but it wasnít meant to be. Too hot to think with such gravity.
Ha! That was almost a pun, but Iím just not up to polishing it so that it shines. Let it stay a dull pun. Itís a little bit like a curve ball that the pitcher doesnít quite finish. It might just float across the plate and get blasted into next week. Or the week after.
Here you go. Iíll give you the names, and you can write your own entry. Harry Von Zell. Hank Stram. Frances Langford. All famous, all dead. In case you didnít know. Iím guessing I wrote them in ascending order of recognition. Probably more people remember Blanche Bickerson than George Burnsí announcer (and the fellow who once introduced Herbert Hoover as ďHoobert Heever,Ē and if you donít know who Herbert Hoover was, this makes even less sense).
Oh, what a wonderful essay that would have been, if I had been able to get it together. Too bad it was so hot today. (Whatís my excuse the rest of the time?)