Mar 31, 2001
To follow up on the visiting friend that seemed so sad. He phoned and sounded less sad. Spring has arrived in Dublin and he is teaching a septuagenarian Italian lady English every afternoon. She talks a lot and maintains: "It is not the first love that you remember, it is the last." Something to be kept in mind. Her last love involved wrestling with the lover's colostomy bag, but this didn't seem to detract from the experience. The formerly sad friend remarked on how this woman, not young, was struggling - alone - to remain mentally and physically fit against the tide of age. How his afternoons and her talk, which was becoming repetitive, was like a poorly edited Beckett play. I think that the old Italian lady planted in my formerly sad friend's mind to get himself a young lady, which might be just what he needs.
We talked also of the various diseases being endured by European animals with hooves. Of how it was so contrary to the notion of spring to be surrounded by giant barbecues of beef that nobody would consume. Of the obvious comparisons to Bibilical passages containing pestilence and blight ensuing from immoral behaviour by the citizens, and of Shakespeare, where such national events were portents of evil times and political or monarchical evil doing.
Financial advertising is making me ill.
Yes, my sock drawer is more organized than my finances. Considerably so, and the socks themselves are a delight to behold.
No, I have not rolled my 401K over to The Rock. Something they recommend when you change jobs. I'm not sure I know exactly what a 401K is and the ad does not have a provision for those taking voluntary early retirement with the finances of an infant (without a trust fund.)
The copy that seems to most induce that heady nausea and feeling of complete ineptitude in me is: "Admit it, you're rich." I'm trying to admit that I am something at the other end of the spectrum. "Admit it, you're a financial disaster."
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To follow up on the visiting friend that seemed so sad. He phoned and sounded less sad. Spring has arrived in Dublin and he is teaching a septuagenarian Italian lady English every afternoon. She talks a lot and maintains: "It is not the first love that you remember, it is the last." Something to be kept in mind. Her last love involved wrestling with the lover's colostomy bag, but this didn't seem to detract from the experience. The formerly sad friend remarked on how this woman, not young, was struggling - alone - to remain mentally and physically fit against the tide of age. How his afternoons and her talk, which was becoming repetitive, was like a poorly edited Beckett play. I think that the old Italian lady planted in my formerly sad friend's mind to get himself a young lady, which might be just what he needs.
We talked also of the various diseases being endured by European animals with hooves. Of how it was so contrary to the notion of spring to be surrounded by giant barbecues of beef that nobody would consume. Of the obvious comparisons to Bibilical passages containing pestilence and blight ensuing from immoral behaviour by the citizens, and of Shakespeare, where such national events were portents of evil times and political or monarchical evil doing.
Financial advertising is making me ill.
Yes, my sock drawer is more organized than my finances. Considerably so, and the socks themselves are a delight to behold.
No, I have not rolled my 401K over to The Rock. Something they recommend when you change jobs. I'm not sure I know exactly what a 401K is and the ad does not have a provision for those taking voluntary early retirement with the finances of an infant (without a trust fund.)
The copy that seems to most induce that heady nausea and feeling of complete ineptitude in me is: "Admit it, you're rich." I'm trying to admit that I am something at the other end of the spectrum. "Admit it, you're a financial disaster."
- rachael 3-31-2001 7:13 pm