SLA

No, this is not a primer on the Symbionese Liberation Army. As many of you know, SLA stands for service level agreement. Big time corporate types, like my FC posse, bandy it about.

I had dinner at #2's house Saturday night. Fortunately he fortified me with vitamin V to help me stave off the onslaught from #1. Often SLAs are negotiated but this one was more like an ultimatum. But when #1 talks, DJ listens, especially when his hits are dropping precipitously.

Let me back up a bit. I had a one on one with #1 at the get together. I commented that I hadn't seen him checking my blog lately. He said something to the effect of “If you're not going to put the same effort into as I do...” Ouch! I know reading this crap is strenuous, but come on! So we “agreed” that I would post at least once a week. He even followed up with an email today to mention that my average since August had met the SLA, but also pointed out some serious gaps. At least we're still communicating. Bygones!

I was happy to see the health care bill pass the House, but I'm a little concerned how it will fare in the Senate. Lindsey Graham – aka jowly Dave Foley per Jason Linkins of HuffPo – called it DOA. And I'm not expecting any help from Joe Lieberman, the so-called Senator from Aetna. Linkins had this to add:

"Where were you when the House did this? Me, I was girding myself, with liquor, in advance of the moment when that saggy and unloved sack of malted bile, Joe Lieberman, ruins everything."

OK, I gotta save a little for the next post, which will be out within a week. Now its time to pour a glass of Rosenblum Harris Kratka Zin and chow down on the asparagus, red onion and fontina cheese frittata I cranked out earlier.