Happy New Year, Jerk Downstairs

Well if I could put in MY two senses, common and in, I would say that Mr. Personality downstairs needs to make a resolution to cuss more so that the rest of us would then have a constant drone of the F word resembling the sound of a Mississippi paddlewheel boat. Think of it. Break out the pralines and the juleps; get Mr. Jemmin's banjo.

Nothing elegant about this wad's infernal language, just F, plain and unadorned. Can't be Irish, Polish, or Jewish, three nationalities that know how to embroider a sentence with profanity to be admired. A constant string of F's would be easier to tune out, ambient noise I think it's called. He cuts loose any hour in a scream of primitive pain and hurls unlucky objects against the wall. There is a real electric guitar that He Can't Play but doodles in chords and sounds produced by turning buttons. Loud. And here I am complaining again.

Now, if you say Om, good things are supposed to occur. What in cosmic existence is supposed to happen with this other word of words? Maybe if you say it enough, they mail you a free GED and a job application, both of which would be a step up for this one.

In other news, yours truly has made the best dough to put under a midnight shrimp and garlic pizza, baking now. It was the luckiest of luck to live next to Concetta C. in another life, who taught me how to make Sicilian pizza, which comes out more like a focaccia. Lots of olive oil, let the dough rest while stretching it to fit the pan, more olive oil on top and bake at a low temp for over an hour. Because of the ingredients on top, it will come out earlier than that, or we will have shrimp biscuits which really wouldn't be bad either.

See you later.