Cleanliness is next to godliness.

Licking yourself cat-style is next to cleanliness.

Spitting on yourself is next to licking yourself.

Being spat on by another person is next to spitting on yourself.

Being spat on by hundreds of people is next to being spat on by another person.

Being dunked in a vat of cow saliva is next to being spat on by hundreds of people.

Hiring a lawyer to sue those who dunked you in a vat of cow saliva is next to being dunked in a vat of cow saliva.

Therefore: Even a lawyer is less than 7 steps removed from godliness.

- "Six Degrees Of Separation: The Philosophical Implications Pursued To A Shocking Conclusion"  by Marvelous Comics, Inc.
 

     (And speaking of personal notes....  My cat, Jester, is doing ok this week.  Kinda lethargic Monday and Tuesday, but full of energy last night - just ask his traumatized lobster toy.  This energy burst might have something to do with the fact that we doubled the dosage of his diabetes medication Tuesday night following a blood test which showed that his glucose level is still way too high.  Hope that works 'cause I really like having a cat around the house.  Jester's pretty-eyed stares, soft meows, and tendency to wrap himself around my ankles are not only enjoyable in and of themselves but have taken a lot of the pressure off my landlord to provide me with these things every few hours if he expects me to pay my rent on time.)

     (And speaking of embarrassing personal secrets....  I slipped up last night and actually sent an email to a friend in which I admitted to having engaged in online chatting in the past.  I know, I know - that chatting took place days and days ago when I was still an irresponsible youth, but I'm afraid that the press will blow things out of all proportion the moment I announce my candidacy for Pope or governor of Minnesota - whatever.  [It's so hard to predict my moods.]  Maybe if I hadn't mentioned in that email exactly what sort of chat I engaged in, but - sigh - I did, foolish youth that I still was when I wrote it last night.  You know the sort of chat I mean:  Major Appliance Room chat.  Where strangers from around the world gather for explicit descriptions of water-through-the-door refrigerators, how to unbalance your wringing wet undies for the best throbbing spin cycles, whether or not using air-only dryer settings as a teenager really allows you to tell your spouse that you never dried anyone else's clothes before your first married load.  I even gave away the nickname I used [CringeDry] and that of my Significant Other Chatter [FrigidClaire].  DOH!  Thank goodness I've done a lot of growing up in the last few hours and won't be repeating THAT mistake anytime soon!)

     (And speaking of inadvertently getting into trouble by writing on the Web....  Word has reached me this morning that there's been a rapid rise in the number of Japanese businessmen diagnosed as psychotic depressive.  The journalist who reported this thought it might have something to do with the profound economic changes now occurring in Japan, but I could read between the lines.  Clearly, it's only a matter of time before someone attempts to blame this journal for the decline in the mental health of all Asian fish peddlers, entrepreneurs, executives, and titans of industry [not to mention magnates].  Here is my defense: As near as I can tell from the incomprehensible feedback I get, only one visitor to this site has been an actual resident of Japan.  If that one visitor somehow managed to catch a bad case of psychotic depression from an entry of mine and then spread it to thousands of others all I can say is Japan really needs to boost its childhood immunization programs.  Or develop some sort of PC ignition-breathalyzer gizmo that will prevent its businessmen from trying to navigate the Web after having too much saki.  Or something.  Enough!  The whole affair is bring me down.  BRB: Gotta go cry....)

     (All of which reminds me of this other tidbit I read today....  Seems that the Washington Post has been investigating the absurd lengths to which various public people are going to stay out of trouble. For example: Rev. Billy Graham has refused to be alone in a room with any women besides his wife since the 1940s; Rep. Steve Largent insists on having a male staff member present whenever he meets with a woman; and John Ensign, running for Senate in Nevada, will not be alone in a car with a woman.  Goofy, eh?)

     (Which reminds me: I meant to post the following notice at the top of today's entry.  Better late than never - right?)
 

     (Which reminds me....  Everything really is connected to everything else, isn't it?  Godliness and cow saliva...  The selection of the next Pope and refrigerator fetishes....  Understaffed mental hospitals and the recent increase in my hit count....  Spooky, eh?)

     (Almost as spooky as UUPs....)

     (You know - Unidentified Usage of Parentheses....)

     (Which reminds me....  TTYL: Gotta go hide before the brackets land!!)
 

Last Saturday, Sept. 25, 1999, I wrote some rather rude things about corn cobs.  It has since been brought to my attention that these remains of vegetables past are in fact highly valuable members of our society utterly undeserving of the harsh comments I so ignorantly lavished upon them.  Corn cobs are actually naturally absorbent and abrasive and can be used to polish ball bearings and buttons, as bedding for mice in research labs, and in litter for household pets.  In fact, one of the largest buyers and sellers of corn cobs in the world is located a mere 100 miles to my north and pays $30, $40, even $50 per ton of corn cobs.  If you or someone you love has at least a ton of corn cobs lying around, please email me for details.  People with less than a ton of corn cobs are encouraged to just sit on them.