Today's Journal

I’m disappointed. I came back from my morning swim and there was no change in my social media status.  I used to call it socialist media, but nobody thought that was funny.  Hey, I’m a utility player hoping to bat .250

The morning swim was not as bracing as I had expected.  It was 45 degrees as I drove to the posh club, - I stopped for gas and gleefully saved $1.10 with my Safeway points - but I had to settle for the indoor pool along with the other geriatrics.  At least I got a lane, but bath water temperature was not what I was looking for

The wife and I cleaned up the garage yesterday.  #2 had given us some sturdy shelving that we had to assemble.  We put our heads together and managed to figure it out, though neither of us have engineering degrees.  We put the old plastic shelves out front with a FREE sign.  They are still there, but today may be the day.  When I got back from the club today, I saw our neighbor just put their shelving out with a FREE sign.  Damn copycats.

The wife and I rewarded ourselves with dinner at Rangoon Ruby in Belmont.  We’ve been to the one in San Carlos several times.  Their northward expansion includes Belmont and Burlingame.  The food was excellent.  The only gripe was that wifey ordered a glass of Malbec and got a weak pour. 

This past Friday we had a Mexico reunion with the families of #1 and The Hotelier.  The Hotelier brought Herradura and the first commercial margarita mix that I have actually enjoyed. #1 supplied the chow from Pancho Villa in San Mateo.  #1 will soon be readying his abode to receive a ridiculous amount of rental income as the family will be jetting off for a three-year stint in Singapore.  #1 is a big cheese at a prominent company.  I do plan to soon take up the Exec’s suggestion to that #1 should now be called The Exec.  But then what do I call The Exec?

One name that might fit is gimpy, as he just had a knee replacement.  He had eye surgery last year.  We’re going over there for cocktails this evening, so I plan to ask him when his next procedure is.

My future doctor, son of Wig, turned 30 yesterday.  I told The Wig that the boy was in the prime of his life and that The Wig was a geezer.  I did not get a response.  I should not be so cavalier with my friends, especially those as sensitive as my Binghamton bud.

I’m hoping that the time is far off, but I have decided that I want my last rites administered by Father John Misty.