BSBFB

When we were little, we didn’t have “Things.” Nothing much was a Thing. We just did stuff. We rode bicycles like madmen, and skied too fast, played hockey in the street, and every once in a while we’d go down to the sand pit where some guy sold fill dirt and gravel, and we’d slide down the hill on a castoff piece of plywood. When we got home, our elbows and shins looked like we’d had fourteen low-speed motorcycle crashes, but it was a blast.

Please note: It was a blast. It was not a Thing. Beware the Thing. Before you know it you’re wearing spangled spandex with advertising all over it. It ain’t dignified. 

The beauty of curating this blog is that nothing featured here and none of my comments have to make a lick of sense. No one has to accomplish anything. No time cards need be punched. There is no expectation of a worthwhile use of time, coming or going.

The numbers don’t have to add up. The plot doesn’t have to develop. Mankind does not have to feel the ennobling hand of the divine. Someone’s just got to roll down a hill really fast for no reason, then stop for some other reason, and we all go home happy.

May the road rise up to meet you — but good
May the wind be always at your back– no matter how much the world is spinning
May the sun shine warm upon your face — which is bleeding a bit
And the rains fall soft upon your fields — where you’re out, standing
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand — until he scores and spikes you once more.