I went back to get my head examined. The eyes, to be specific. The opto-doc admitted that she had dialed back my prescription, and I got some medical-mumbo about why they do this when the near distance prescription is altered in relation to the medium-portion fizzbin jeranculator, but I still couldn't help say "sorry, I'm just an old country writer without much book-learnin' in the way of city folks and their spectacles, but why, if I wasn't having trouble with my medium and far distance viewin', would you lessen the strength?"

And then came some more stuff that didn't make sense. There was almost a bored resentment that I'd come back and asked for a do-over - and indeed, this time I got twice the number of better-worse cards, as well some hand-held things that were better-worse, and finally she had to admit that she was in error, although that word was of course not spoken.

On the way out of the mall I passed through Penneys, and decided to see if they were having a shirt sale. Of course they were. They're always having a shirt sale. But this was something new: Buy one, and get another for 1 cent. This is brilliant. Besides trading on the brand name, it imbues the free shirt with actual value. You buy one, you get another free - well, a two-fer, or half off. But it's different when you're actually paying money for that second shirt, and it's just a penny. Such a deal. I went to the counter and said:

"These two shirts are part of the deal where it's 20% more than last week's sale price which was 40% less than it was during the sale when you bought one and got the other for half price. This tie is half off the arbitrary price it had last month and this shirt is 10% off the discounted price, which you charged for 48 hours the day after Christmas."

I really enjoy your column, the clerk said.

We do this about once every three months.

Then I went home and wrote about the Oscars, for GOD'S SAKE, which I never do, because I never watch. But at work they asked if I wanted to be part of the Oscar coverage, and 99 out of 100 times when asked I will say yes, because I want to be the guy who says "Step right up and call me Speedy," and bangs out Content on demand. Filed by 8, picked up Daughter from Church Hi-League, swung by Starbucks and then I've no idea where the rest of the evening dribbled away except I designed a website and cleaned the toilets and ended up a 12:40 AM thinking "Walking Dead, or that brilliant show about the Russian occupation of Norway? Death and skull-stabbing, or steely anxious scenes in steely blue-white buildings where an impotent people chafe against their new overlords?" No question.

Remember that Trump thing? Nah. I'll move it all over to the Screedblog. Link at the bottom.

Airport was one my favorite movies growing up. Airport is one my favorite movies now, half for what it is and half for the world it describes. I didn't have any context for anyone, so Dean Martin was of course a pilot, not Dean Martin playing a pilot. The tense descent - with no dialogue but airspeed and altitude - is the Right Stuff, civilian style. The air traffic controllers are all business. Down through the soup, no visibility. Until they see the lights of the runway, there's no music - and this was a movie with a great score. I also like the fact that they're probably coming down over my house. (Not really; the airport wasn't Minneapolis in the story, but it was filmed here.)

My favorite character - everyone's favorite character - was Joe Patroni. As you no doubt heard, George Kennedy died Monday.

Made my realize I should call my dad and see how he's doing. He was out delivering a barrel of oil, and had trouble getting the Tommy Lift down - said he snapped something on his leg and couldn't walk for a few days, but it's fine now. Uh - how did you get the barrel on the Tommy Lift? Oh that's no problem.

He's a few months shy of fargin' NINETY.

Odds & Ends, the above-the-fold feature that started out for reasons I can't remember and somehow became an obligation like everything else presents . . .

What happens when a church goes out of business?

Bits and pieces end up in antique stores. Don't you wonder why these things weren't given to parishoners? Sometimes they're removed because a church is renovating, but the days of modernizing old churches has passed - soemthing like this is almost a relic in its own way.

People are always pointing at important things in old paintings; less so in carvings.

Another relic:

I'm not partial to the Flintstones. When I was a kid I did not understand the giant side of beef - you know, the one that tips over their car at the drive-in. I might have thought it was funny that they had the same things we did, except in Stone form, but it never grabbed me like the Jetsons and Jonny Quest. And Barney was an idiot.

It's still 1930s ads month. Hold on, no - it's the 2nd 1930s Ads Month.

Momma Bear looks like she has a few nips after the kids are down for the month:

So civlized! Such panoramic views. No lunger in the back seats coughing up blood; no rumy drinking from a sack. No crying babies or drifters with BO. Why, you can't beat it. And look at where it will take you:

Be startled!

STOP OFFENDING

It's not enought to avoid offiending when there is a lovelier way to do it.

If you were offending, it's because you weren't dainty. Are you sure of your daintiness? YOU CANNOT BE.

You may have protected against underarm odor, but what about "armhole odor"?

Ask your doctor, who keeps them in a chilled box:

If you have to say GREASELESS, you make people suspect that grease might be desireable.

		What's this for? Digestive-tract blowout pills. But they're gentle. No more JOLTING cathartics, and don't you love the phrase "All at once"? Man, when that thing went off, you'd better be near something with a handle and a porcelain tank of water.   Works over night so you wake up fresh as the dawn? So there's a few minutes warning, then.

This week's facial-pustule story:

Well, you're pretty, too. It's those festering nodules. Let's see the whole story in cartoon form:

The men are frank and forthright and almost amused - man, her flesh! Turned your stomach!

Turns out Yeast is DEATH ON PIMPLES.

		Hickies? I guess the name has changed meaning over the years.

Will that suffice? It will? Then we're good.

Screedblog here if thou so desireth.