qotd, passionate inwardness and poop
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shameless self-promotion, 370 in a series

Just got back from a fine weekend in the big, bad* city where I had the opportunity to say "Thank You, Mood," to sleep in the smallest hotel room I've ever experienced** and to see a play with David Schwimmer in it***. 

While I sort out all of the stuff that accumulated on my desk over the last 48 hours, here's my latest column in the local almost-daily.


* NYC isn't really all that big (in area) nor is it bad. I love it and would love to be wealthy enough to have an apartment there so that I could swan down when the mood struck. That is not my life, however. Still, the life I have is a pretty good one.

** There was enough room for bunk beds (I took the top one), a wee bathroom and wee-er desk. Think Amtrack sleeper car - but not rockin gback and forth and with toiletries. (It's this place. Lovely and all we needed, mind.)

*** I'll tell ya about that later. 


It was Podular.

My underwear *drawer* is still safe. The laundry, not so much. (But mine has not damaged any shoes. *Shoe laces* are fair game. (Which does make it really hard to use the shoes and moots the point.) And I still maintain that underwear and laces are cheaper than shoes.)

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