"I am urban, educated--" Richard Dreyfuss, to his less well preserved romantic lead Marsha Mason, many odd years ago, with far less age spots
Head a trifle low. Spastic isn't feeling well, with unfamiliar stomach upset, perhaps the popcorn, a weakness for Trader Joe's white corn bacon flavor. Maybe I should eat plain bread for a day or two. I am fortunate not to have many problems with spasms and swallowing, but tend to allow cravings to guide me once in awhile, and wind up paying the piper. I asked the TJ crew if they use press agents, and then got a bit simpy. "Would you make a job for me?" What kind of self-pitying inquiry is that, mind? I know better and don't know why I utilized such a strategism, and you might imagine Toomey's people might find the dowager's attempted participation in his reelection a double-edged sword. We shall see. I have some ideas for his operatives, but I have to stabilize and get some laundry done before I pay his regional location a visit, and hold my brutal honesty about my character flaws in check.
Why rally around Pat Toomey? In part it is the fact his staff stroked my ego on first contact, by telephoning me. It reminded me that I'm not without the power of conviction despite how long it's been since I was salaried, not that they helped me with Presby, and only did the standard thing, sending me forms I've yet to send back. I hate HUD, however, and if I wanted national office I'd defund the Dept. of Housing and Urban Development in the blink of an eye. All HUD does is elevate cronyism to a bureaucratic art.
I stopped everything to pay attention to ABC's Madoff, and my subtext was how long Dreyfuss and his channeled mania has been in my face. Can anyone teleport Altoid's?
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