Folded thought of the day:

We've been experiencing a few minor difficulties in sending 
the Daily Reminder, resulting in some of you not receiving 
a given day's Reminder until one or two days later.  We're 
doing our best to remedy this situation but your continued 
patience is appreciated.  

Rest assured that your Reminders are "in the mail."  They're 
just taking their sweet time.  

Given this situation, it's a bit difficult to write to you.  
Being that it's Thursday afternoon as I type these words and 
it might be Saturday before you read them.  I guess I'll 
just refrain from making any references to current events.  

Time is relative anyway, what the heck?  So, how about that 
moon landing?  That was pretty neat.  I bet Vince Whitman 
never saw that coming.  But Walt had his eye on things.  
And Elvis got drafted today.  And Cassius Clay changed his 
name and took Don King on a holiday to DisneyWorld.  And 
they both took turns painting the town red with Leonardo. 

Mini-skirts seem to be all the rage on the streets of New 
York this summer.  My girl joined the ERA and announced 
her intention to enter the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island.  
She's such a trendsetter and patriot.  Sewing all the 
mouths shut along the boardwalk.  

I bought one of those new-fangled hula-hoops at the 5 and 
dime down the street.  35 cents.  The kids in the neighborhood 
love playing with them before running home to kill various 
alien creatures and bad guys with their new Nintendo systems.  

That Sputnik sure had us worried the other night.  Between 
that and Luke Perry's return to "Beverly Hill, 90210" I'm 
not sure if this is a world I feel comfortable bringing 
children in to.  I read Eisenhower might pick Dan Quayle 
for his running mate.  Enough to drive a thinking man to 
a third party candidate... who's running on the Whig ticket?  

Joe Dimaggio got hit by a Sammy Sosa homer.  While he and 
Marilyn were digging the whole Seattle Scene.  Hosting 
parties with Kurt and Courtney and Frank and Dean.  And 
Sammy just kept those hits coming.  Junior mints being 
what they were.  And the Mets are out of the running, 
resting on their Laurel and Hardys.  With Buster Keaton 
kicking that Chaplain all over town.  Anything for a 
laugh these days.  Nothing sacred since those Crusaders 
went to Guyana and forgot their punch line.  

Jimmy Dean got in his car and turned up everywhere.  
With his leather jacket soaked in tears and oil.  Black 
as the sunrise the day they took their time.  Remember 
that?  It seems like yesterday, but then again, so does 
tomorrow.  At least that's what they keep telling me 
in those group therapy sessions.  Dr. Freud's looking 
a bit weary these days.  Puffing away his presence.  
Playing those smoke and mirror games.  And the rowdy 
boys are tearing up the hallway.  Staking their claim.  
Moving their headquarters from Watts to the Pacific 
Northwest.  Terrorizing the latte drinkers and 
Eddie Bauer well-wishers.  With cigarettes dangling 
and fires burning.

Billie Holiday is headlining the Peace Concert upstate.  
Taking stock of her position.  On the big board.  
And she won't be taking no guff from those goateed 
mosh-pitters with evil grins and bad intentions. 
One word from her and they'll be singing the blues.  
Cause the Mississippi River Boys are taking care 
of security -- riding into town on their surf 
boards.  Harmonizing to beat the band.  

The strike got settled and the bowling team went 
their way.  They donated their trophy to charity and 
got their names in the paper -- you could read 
them right off their shirts.  

And the Daily Editor got caught wishing upon a 
star.  But they let him off with a warning and a 
push in a general direction home.  Word of his 
arrival is pending...


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