stupid, “conversational” questions

It all started with one of those stupid, “conversational” questions, “Where do you stand on the Cuban scene?” “The cigars? I love them. Oh, you mean that kid?” It’s a complete [choose your own expletive] Media circus. Or here — they already have half the script written. I don’t stand anywhere on this. Leave the kid alone. And I was having such a nice day before those links found me. Motoring around the lake, I was noticing that the shade of a willow tree is always cooler than, say, the shade of a pecan tree. No less inviting, that pecan tree, but the willow is definitely two or five degrees cooler. Just my wondrous observation. I’m sure there’s a scientific reason for this fact, but it’s an observed phenomenon, now. Took a bit of work, and we’re having an unseasonably warm days, almost a 100 the last few days. I spent too much time in the desert, though, as I don’t even consider putting on the AC until it gets over 100. Cruising around the web, I found a digital camera for my Visor, and at a low price, too. I sent the almighty “goddess of everything Palm [Über Geek Extrodinaire] fredlet a quick note to talk me out of buying one. Lot of good that did. She conceded that the resolution wasn’t THAT good, and it was more of beta version than the real thing, and she was be extremely jealous if I got one. I believe she did offer to save me the trouble of working with it, if I would just have mine shipped to her address. She’ll get the bugs out and then I could get it from her. Oh no, but the night got stranger. Last night, I had dinner with Sagittarius client, and we were dining at the old Guero’s location, now called Curra’s [that means I’m old Austin, if I can remember eating there when it Guero’s], and the people watching was pretty amazing. I spent part of our meal trying to figure out what the Perl code on some guy’s T-shirt said. {purple hair on that one} Pretty geeky — me, not the shirt. And that was only Monday.

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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