Waste not...

I had a dream this morning in which I had been hiking for days through a treacherous mountain range full of Mayan ruins. I believe I also happened to be Leonardo DiCaprio, but that is not too critical. I/Leo was fortunate to run accross another group of explores who A) knew the way down and B) had provisions. We came to rest and the head of their group ripped open numerous packs of Oscar Meyer bologna and distributing them among the travelers. We began devouring it by the handful. Just then many starving villagers appeared. The travelers ignored them, but I/Leo could not bear this injustice and vowed to go hungry if it meant I could feed even one starving child. I tossed my pack of bologna into the crowd.

Cut ahead dream style. We, the viewers, are standing in a cave where a youngster is proudly displaying some kind of peculiarly textured what? hide? on a rack. In front of it is a little rack of bottles filled with yellowish liquid. Apparently, the villagers have managed to extract olive oil from the bologna and then they have made it into a kind a jerky which they split among themselves and chew for two years.

When I woke I spent some time considering what exactly constitutes a nightmare and whether a drying rack of bologna jerky would be allowed to count. I decided that it would.

Not saying much

Things have come to a pretty pass when I'm actually more afraid of my blog (a word I still hate, for the record) than I am of the gym. Did I remember my password? No. No, I did not. Was I a wee bit ashamed? Sadly, yes. But here we are! Again! New leaves all around, say I. Let us turn them together. Ready? Go.

Last night I heard an ad on the radio soliciting support for a summer camp for terminally ill children. They said that this exciting summer escapade would create "memories that will last a lifetime." Which, when you're talking about terminally ill children isn't saying a whole hell of a lot. They may want to rethink that.