the crick in my neck

Ermmmm… head so heavy. Wrested from my couchful slumbers by the phone ’round 7pm: The wife’s on the cell. “On your way home from the city?,” I say. I fell asleep on the couch; guess it’s time to heat up some leftover lasagna and figure out what I’ll be writing. Ugh, but not before I work this kink out of my neck. Why I do I sleep on this little loveseat vs. stretching out on the full couch? Every time I get this sore neck, yet I never learn. Next time – big couch.

Next week we go to Florida. It’s a short trip, only about six days, one and a half of which are arguably lost to travel. I’m excited. Some friends of ours are coming along, and I’m pretty pumped about showing one of my modern-times California friends a little of the olden-times place where I grew up and came into my own. Not that I intend for the trip to be a tour or something, but, still… the prospect has me excited about getting to impart some “color” to the local scene for them. Now then, I started that thought not to talk about how I’m excited to go “home,” which I am, but to talk instead about what happens when I get back. See, the day after I get back I have to give the first of two presentations.

I haven’t given a real presentation, like to a decent sized audience that will ask challenging questions, in a good while. And, as almost always, I’m woefully underprepared. Dave, you may say, you still have a week and a half to get ready. Yes, yes I do. But, you see, this kinda of unprepared isn’t because I simply haven’t looked at or studied or practiced the material, it’s just that I’ve not assigned a whole heck of a lot of gravity to the thing in my mind. So, I’ve given it the cursory look, practiced a loose patter, dreamed up some witty bits to add here and there to keep the crowd awake… but it’s far from what I’d call “polished.” In fact, the material is still fluid, and I fully expect it to stay that way right up until the night before I go on stage.

I’ll invest some time readying myself and the material, to be safe… but to be honest the whole thing just isn’t doing a lot to rise to the top of my task list, you know what I’m saying? C’mon presentation, you gotta fight for my attentions, I’ve got a lot going on. If you want to be good, you’d push to the top of the list. But no, you just lay there expecting me to breathe life into you. You’ll get it, but it’ll be weak.

On the way to lunch the other day, as the small group of about-to-be diners walked through the parking lot to our vehicles, ready to burn close to five bones per gallon to fill our physiological need to eat, I happened to look down and found $40 in folded twenties in a vacant spot. In one motion I bent to scoop up the money as I exclaimed, “Oh my God I am rich.” (Delivered in deadpan homage to the “Oh my God I am the winner” line from Sandler’s Billy Madison, like I do with so many other “Oh my God am I am…” starts.) I stood there for a moment, looking around me, half expecting someone walking nearby to be checking their pockets before turning around. I waited, and waited, and finally decided that the Lord had ordained I receive that money. I like finding money. When we got to lunch, I spent the $40 buying the meals of those in my car – flexing a little philanthropy in case karma was watching (I even put the dollar change into the tip jar, at Jeff’s behest). Easy come, easy go.


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