Edward G. Robinson
born-Edward Goldenberg
December 12, 1893

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Eddie, in his ticklish robe,

made his way among the people.

They put their hands into their pockets

and the hands searched like rats in a bag

for a trinket

for a gleaming bit of gold

(not all of it but just a little for the collection.

“The future comes once a day--regular,

whilst idles come and go”.)

Eddie G. in his ticklish robe,

passed the plate

while his boys stoked the fire.

They melted jewelry

and it gave off an odor

that the whole crowd tasted

in the backs of their throats

when Eddie poured it into

the sandy mold.

Then they partied

waiting for the boss to come.

They danced between the cardboard horizon

and the papier-mâché boulders.

They waited for the sun to set

and for the delivery of the Word.

It would come like a pizza delivery-

late and cold

and the news would be old

and for dessert

they would eat

their words

and Eddie G.

and his ticklish sons

would go on

to get promotions.

HardTimes-a Crock (Truck) of Shit?

So, I was on my way home yesterday from my therapy... (that is the health club I go to to exercise my shoulder, numb my brain and lose weight. In fact my shoulder hurts worse, my brain is clear like it hasn't been in years and I am losing weight. My sister and brothers gave me the membership as a belated 60th b'day present. The best gift I have ever gotten!). Instinct demanded that I detour into the grim looking dirt and gravel parking lot in an industrial area on Dogwood Road on the way back to my house. I have passed the Pizziola Septic Cleaning service parking lot zillions of times but on this day I pulled into their lot and climbed halfway up the metal stair to the second floor office. A guy across the street whistled and I came back down and met him in the parking lot. He turned out to be the owner. I told him I needed to have my septic cleaned but I was not working right at the moment. He appreciated my desire to properly maintain my critical systems and told me he would do the job and give me a $20 discount. Doesn't seem like much but $20 on a $220 bill is about a 10% discount and, as the "Wizard of Omaha" preaches, 10% is 10% whether its on a $220 septic cleaning bill or a million $ bank bail out bill...it's all in the percentages! Mr. "Pizziola" followed me home and checked out the hatch over the cleanout (my own cool, culvert-pipe access, with the pressure treated cover. Eazy access and no digging!) and told me the truck would be over in a few minutes!

He was true to his word. It was only a half hour before the smelly white "Pizziola" truck came up the drive and started sucking a few years of crap outta the custom hatch and into the big tank of the truck. The operator was a nice guy. He smiled a lot and did his best to keep stuff from dripping when he put the hoses away and I gave him a $5 bill for his effort.

I was extra happy that I had yielded to the intuition to get this job done-regardless of the fact that money is tight. You see, the septic tank, it turned out, was full right to the top and another month or even another week might have seen the septic fields filling up and then (G-d forbid!) shit backing up into the house.

Lesson: Even in a depression you can't ignore your basic systems. Shit coming back into the house would be really depressing. As would a broken boiler, a leaky roof or a leaking hot water heater.