A Pop in the Sack

The clever among may have already noticed that things are not as they used to be here at Central Standard. It's time for a change. Plus, Blogger is popping out all these neat little gadgets that one can only use if one has a new-fangled template, so, again, it's time for a change.

Please note the sad demise of the "Dramatis Personae." That may return, but it was in need of an overhaul. The list of characters was growing and I was not adding them on. Shame on me. For now, those of you who need a score card will just have to make your own. Check this out for tips on creating one's own home-made scorecard.

Also note that we've added some decorative elements, as well as a few new and improved links and such.

Now, on to the matter at hand. I was lying in bed last night, tossing and turning, when an idea for a great post struck me; however, just as with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, I was interrupted during the composition of my work. (In the spirit of full disclosure, the following differences between my story and Coleridge's can be noted; to wit: a) I was not actually writing anything...I was more in the pre-pre-writing stage...it was dark, and I was in bed...I had no paper or pen, no laptop, no quill and scroll, no etch-a-sketch, nor even that grayish plastic with the dark wax under it that makes the writing magically disappear when you pull the plastic off of the wax; b) I was not in the throes of an opium hallucination...I was not in the throes of any hallucination, at all...I don't think...I did have a beer with dinner; c) I was not interrupted by a knock at the door, I was interrupted by (cue Metallica riff) the entrance of the sandman. Now that we have that straight....) I can't really recall the gist of the idea I had, except that it had something to do with the fact that Monkey and I are firmly entrenched in a "pop" and "sack" area. Yeah, you all know what I'm talking about.

Well, for those of you who don't: Up here they are surely in the habit of calling any carbonated beverage "pop." And, they offer to put your purchases in a "sack." And, they sure don't say, "Sure don't," as far as I can tell at this early point in my research.

Also, when I am putting my street on, saying things like, "E'rbody better watch out in her, 'cause I sure don't want y'all to get upset when I start Vince Carterin' all up in her," they look at me like they can't understand a word I am saying. They also look at me like they think that there is no possible way I could even begin to "start Vince Carterin' all up in her." And, of course, they would be right. (Again, in the spirit of full disclosure, I have never said anything remotely like what I just typed, for several reasons: a) I am not that talented a ball player that I can talk smack to anyone but eight year olds (short eight year olds); b) that sort of talk is disrespectful to people who talk like that. It's akin to making fun of Asians by pulling your eyes half closed and yelling, "I rike-a flied lice, puh-rease!" Or maybe it's not, I don't know. But I like to make a habit of saying things before I have actually thought them through. That way, I always have something to say...and someone to talk to (or argue with, depending on how you see that particular reality).)

I feel like I am rambling big time, so I am going to cut it short. Jesus, maybe I was in an opium dream last night...maybe it still is last night. What's goin' on up in her?