Little Things Mean A Lot

It’s funny what you miss and what you don’t.

(I could’ve seemed intelligent and grammatically correct by writing “what one misses and what one doesn’t,” but hell, I’m already writing in first person so what’s it matter? Nowumsayin?)

For instance – imagine Warner Wolf saying “in an upset!” – I haven’t seen The Weather Channel in weeks, maybe months, since DirecTV refused to blink! in a dispute in which its wise analysts ingeniously concluded what I was willing to spend. Miraculously, they were right. Weather Nation is fine because it plays elevator music and never stops moving around lovely maps, mostly American, while men in suits and women in dresses prattle on about fronts, masses, wind chills, heat indices, lake effects, forest fires, Alberta clippers, blue northers, Santa Anna winds, black ice, and Davy, Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier.

No longer must I want the extended forecast in Lackawanna and have to settle for Alaskan ice rescues to run their respective spine-tingling courses.

So, no, I don’t miss The Weather Channel and rather enjoy the prattle and elevator music while I am doing something to aid the survival of humankind like writing this.

Let’s move on up to Upstate New York, not to be confused with down to Down Under, which, as we all know, is in an entirely different hemisphere, but, you folks in Buffalo, we’re forecasting at least four inches of lake-effect snow, which is an effect of having a nearby lake …

I enjoy the humor of Weather Nation. My impersonations of Jim Cantore and Mike Seidel are slowly withering away, though.

The job I had for sixteen and a half years? Hah! It was such a drag. Mainly I miss the state park in Phoenix, the seafood in the Keys, and the nice lady at the hotel desk in Anniston. The events? They’re on TV. That plus I don’t have to fly.

I think I’d be reasonably happy if I had some kind of other job. I’m sure I’d be as good as the next guy at checking IDs.

So, no, I don’t miss employment that much. The lunch buffet at the motel out on the interstate that is either being torn down or was recently attacked by Central American revolutionaries?

That I miss. The lunch. Not the Sandinistas.


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