I need a new hobby
Telephoned on February 19, 2006.
In search of a new hobby (a new “neurosis,” some of my neighbors derogatorily inflected upon it), I traveled high and low this week, near and far, north and south, east and—well, not west; the western side of my town—Westphalia—is full of Schmongeling Gnome breeding grounds, I’ve heard. But I went everywhere else and in every which way, sang every which song I could think of about finding new hobbies (there are three), and flung every piece of dryer lint I could find in every which direction.
I found nothing to speak of, nor anything to write home about, nor anything to infuse into my website here—oh, I found plenty of baubles and frivolities, plenty of dibdaubles and even some antimony, but it all amounted to nothing, none of it raising my curiosity or killing cats like that old proverbial saying proverbializes about. I plastered myself to the wall of the post office, had a fine dinner of ham and eggs (at the newly-opened eigencafé in McGillicuddy Plaza, the Ham & Eggs), and then went home, depressed and dejected, not having been impressed, but having been ejected… from the Ham & Eggs, for calling the cook a “yak-backed schnook” …ejected like an old Betamax cassette with a torn tape.