Rip-oso

Fool and Juggler--in riposo.

° And not on account of Ferragosto.
° Megalomane, my 2 year old HP thoroughbred (fast and big and strong), is in R(equiescat) I(n) P(ace)-oso. Yes, he lost his thread and died.
° At least, Microsoft said he lost his thread. Don’t see how, I know I don’t have it.
° And Symantec swears a Trojan silkworm didn’t devour his thread; but you know what the fake Lorelei Lee said to the French judge, “But your Honour, I never swear.”)
° And HP has moved to India, and wisely and timeously so.

° So, Megalomane died. And the computer geek resurrected him, at the cost of all my recent files.
° And I spent a day restoring all the files and programs and settings.
° And then he died again.
° So I resurrected him by appealing to the Recovery Wizard that dwells across the Great Partition. And just before Megalomane dies again, I did think I would post this summary notice.

° As we prepare to celebrate the great Summer Festival of la Guadalupe, we find that my beloved Piers is in high cotton, with every expectation of next year’s crop being even higher. So there’s my retirement all provided for.
° We find my little gypsy Coz hoeing that very long row called wedded bliss.
° We find the little Lad pursuing his B.A. in Art, minor in Starvation. And yet I do not think he will starve.
° We find Sandy mired down in the molasses of wealth.
° We find Lettye bleeding from her heart like the Pelican, niente da fare.
° We find Julja having done the one thing the French do better than be Rational, but I’m too polite to call its name.
° And Leggero is off to Charleston, for good, in senso doppio.

° Megalomane’s last movie, before he began to make those clicketyclack sounds of incipient cybermadness, was Room with a View.

Truth! Beauty! Love!

If there is Truth, we hominids are too mentally deficient to apprehend it; if there is Beauty, it lies in the eye of the beholder; and if there is Love, it’s worthless in comparison with Lust, with Liking, or with Parental Duty.

° My most recent movie, that made me cry and salt up the inside of my glasses, was Gone with the Wind, on the arthouse bigscreen. For I’m a lot like Scarlett, all Southerners are, even Tonio Scalia. And I wasn’t crying at the end, because I know Scarlett got what she wanted and what she needed and what she was capable of appreciating.
° Namely, she got a Cat and its Kitten to rear (Ashley and Beau), she got Tara (and the money to maintain it), she got a hobby (eating beignets and costillas), and she got rid of that codpiece of a Rhett.
° Who went off to Charleston, for good.--Giac, lo Sciocco di foolandjuggler