"A man's lowest ebb may be his finest hour."-- Kris Kristofferson
I made something of an error which led to a false reaction with ever fortunate players of capital injection, and I'm owning up, which is why I keep most of my twitter email for lengthy periods: Ronald Chernesky merely liked a technical news tweet of mine on Amazon Echo not many mornings back, and I looked at his account in Philadelphia's lousy holiday pre-dawn light, not very hard, or studiously, and followed him. I erred, therefore, in making the assumption that he was trying to pick up my account, and may be held accountable for confusing him with my mild objection about what he was doing on my feed-- but my aging nose smells something, nevertheless, like the odor of smoked mackerel, and I have filed "future article with bewildered hostile source," away for future reference-- not immediately. Let the mild turbulence expend its energy, then move to balmy. I was, however, in the wrong, and will lower my tire speed on twitter in the future. Scouts' honor (predatory grin). When I want to be acknowledged by the security of his world, I do mean it.
In the interim, my body wants jelled candy. I was nearly ready to blow a wad on Amazon.
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