Super Bowl is gone and racing to become a forgotten event. Even though the Giants won it wasn’t the extreme event they play it up to be. Anyway, now I wait for baseball season and April. Exhibition games are God’s way of telling you summer’s coming and it’s time to get in shape for the beach or whatever you’re supposed to do.

There’s a new use for all those empty stores in your local mall. Create an “urban” center for the suburbs. The ‘burbs were built to get all the upwardly mobile folks out of the city. Now the refuge they sought is fraught with the problems they ran away from. Anyway, we don’t need another outfitter store.

My overinflated writer’s ego took a well-deserved hit. A story that flowed out f my head and into the computer, on a reread is full of more holes than a lace curtain. It sucks. The upside is I started to rework it on index cards. It got a little out of hand, but in a good way. The one thing I couldn’t do was visualize the terrain the story was taking place. Now I see it. My protagonist is going to have a tough time but it’ll be worth it.

Happy Birthday:

Babe Ruth, a paragon of excess and baseball proficiency; Bob Marley, a voice for the downtrodden, advocate of mellowing out and the model for hundreds of white boys with bad hair choices; Arthur Ashe, tennis pro and the public face of AIDS by mischance; Eva Braun, what kind of dating service did she have?

PS: 30 bales of pot washed up on a beach in California. Being that it made the wire service means the cops got it. Anybody with a sane mind would keep quiet and light one up for Bob Marley.

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