Which Reminds Me

Yes, I once worked for one week, a temp job through an agency, where I spent the entire time with my nose in the typewriter cranking out invoices while my supervisor sits there yakking on the telephone, mostly personal stuff, and making long chains of paper clips and other leisurely activities. So the next week I went looking for another job with some other agency because life is short and why do I have to sit there whipped like a chain slave when I was still young enough then to think of other options, because as you get older it is not so easy later to move around.

Which Reminds Me

My Dad's Uncle Ben married a Puerto Rican woman, his second wife, but they had no children. We never actually met her and I don't think that anyone else in our family feels any particular attachment to the idea of Porto Rico. I seem to remember that a missionary in El Salvador, Paul Finkenbinder was from Porto Rico originally but we are not related to Paul. He died a few years ago. What will we do with this Porto Rican boondoggle? I just have no idea. The Porto Rican women are trying to portray themselves as victims in the affair but that is just their personal drama, them not wanting to admit that they already have so many advantages over the other women of Latin America in terms of immigration, citizenship and living standards, and yet they want more more more.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, in a way it would seem to bring relief if we could just pull out a gun and shoot Bill right between the eyeballs, but then again nothing would be gained by me. At the end of the story I would be the only person to suffer due to all their backstage machinations in which I had no involvement, so obviously that plan won't work. Everything is broken but just killing off Bill with just one bullet shot is not an effective or logistical workable solution to this problem. I might as well just kill myself because everywhere I go these people will be there with nullification papers in hand to wipe me off the face of the earth. Yes, if only I had never been born.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, there's another reason to never go to New York, because I wouldn't to have those dreary Rocko Fellers running my life behind the scenes. I really couldn't care less about those Rocky snobs. Thus I am not missing anything important by dropping old Rocko off the map.

Which Reminds Me

It was not until quite recently, when I did my family research, that I learned that my Dad has a cousin who lives in Tracy, California. Oh, I didn't know that. I never knew these people existed or that they had any reason to be communicating with me. I still don't see what there is to say about that, if anything.

Which Reminds Me

That was a strangely overwrought dialogue that you wrote about Wendy and then tried to stuff all those angry words into my mouth when actually I wasn't thinking about her at all. You might be surprised how rarely I ever think of Wendy. I have many things on my mind other than Wendy and the dreary Hoskins brood to whom I actually no personal connection or acquaintanceship, although we see that she certainly does enjoy portraying herself as the heroine in this picture, even though we were not aware of their existence. Yes, one can easily imagine that there might be interesting nuggets of wording spread all over the place that might unlock some interesting dramas that we actually did not know anything about, but how we would ever get that without some requisite paperwork. At the very least a W-2 form would be in order. But I digress.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, my McClellan grandfather was a Scottish Presbyterian whose ancestor settled in Virginia from Scotland in the 1700s. Sometimes we think that we have made the progression forward to Western Civilization, a class in which I got all As by the way, and yet we forget that back east in the hollering hills of West Virginia, some things will just never change for peasant girls named Wendy. Marshall's novel dictates a branding of fraud and charlatan for that pair of con artists who tried to fool around with our minds. And yet, who knows? Probably on a moonlit night there are still people in those primitive hollers who still go to sip the liquid products of their moonshine stills, the technicalities of which have been long forgotten by most of us who have long since shed and cast aside these primitive functions of an earlier phase of human history.