Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

More Fun Than I've Had All Day!

Made even funner by the seredipitous occasion of seeing George McMillan on the street right before I got to the restaurant. Now, for those who don't know Mr. McMillan, he is quite the mover, as well as a shaker, and in addition to occasionally running for governor also does event planning and is director of City Stages. And has quite a distinctive patois which I am quite fond of mocking from time to time. It has the rapidity of a hurried New Yorker, but with the Old South Monied Lawyer inflections and cadence--"Hihowyou! Mahname'sJoe-udgeMACmillun! Wegonnahave a simplyWUNDahfulshow thisye'ah! Gonnahave Joe-udgeClinton an'PEEfunk, an'Th'SquullNutZippahs..."

On and on. It's a fun voice to do, and one of the things I used to get to mess with My Friend Pam about when she worked here. So, the moment she walked in, I started pestering her with, "Guess who I just saw! Guess! Guess!" And when she couldn't possibly guess, I launched in to full Joe-udge. Which she thought was funny.

Such fun--we talked about mutual acquaintances who are annoying; and about a particular fellow we know very well who thinks himself quite the big fish in the small pond of Birmingham, who was seen at the local Y wearing a Speedo--he is a large, burly man, given to fits of great arrogance--an arrogance made more arroganter by the fact that he would actually wear something like that and think it acceptable to other humans; her boys--one graduating college, one starting; my recent sharp-edged self-mutilation--boy, that story keeps getting better and better; her getting an offer for a full-time history-teaching gig; the old workplace; various gossipy things not fit for such a fine publication as this; all the while shoveling food in our mouths.

Hard to beat a lunch like that.

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