The Cheese

I enjoy these Saturday mornings, listening to music, drinking coffee, surveying the news of the world. No appointments, no demands, no obligations. Big and little things have happened. The big: the first tentative blast in the wall of a corrupt, deceitful White House. The little: I've misplaced my MOJO! We watched a silly DVD last night, "Flirting with Disaster," which seems like a prescription, or a prediction, or a predicament, and it was just the ticket. Sometimes laughter just sneaks up on you, and watching Mary Tyler Moore chasing George Segal around with a slab of stinky cheese, struck a chord somewhere inside. The laughter came in gales. It was a complete mess of a movie, and it seemed to reflect some kind of truth. Sometimes the truth is hard, cold, painful; sometimes the truth is gloriously and inexplicably, funny! How exactly does that work?