The Language of Cat-Monkeys

I didn't realize it was Horatio Alger until much, much later.


Someone I knew quite well (well enough to pick out my jackets and ties for big events like this) told me afterwards, in the car on the way home, one of those old fashioned ice packs on my head. You know, the ones with the fabric bag that holds the ice and a metal cap perched jauntily on top of the thing. Like it had aspirations, once, of being a chef's hat. Only it didn't listen to its father's admonitions to "sit up straight," and slowly, over time, its posture got worse and worse, until it could only become an ice pack, because all the chef's hat positions were taken by taller, straighter models.


I can't say I reacted to the news well, as the Horatio Alger I knew (and by 'knew' I mean I had to go look him up, because only the name was familiar, and I couldn't begin to place him on sheer feats of memory alone) died in 1899. And the particular one from this very night, well he packed a hell of a punch.



To be continued...?



disclaimer:

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27 Feb, 2008

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