Days until I am done working here. Not 25 consecutive days, but 25 work days. There are plenty of other days during which I can flake off to my heart's content. (I thank Jason for the use of the phrase "flake off"; he is the first person I knew who used it to mean, generally, "head to the hills, hike, canoe and/or go fishing". In my world it means roughly the same thing, without the fishing but add some swimming.)

I'm going to flake off for two days with Sarah and Bernie. It'll be good. Weather won't cooperate, but we're Washingtonians. We know from uncooperative weather. (And look - the Yiddish slips right in.)

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I just made some decisions about future flaking off. Therapeutic living, I call it. I'm going to take an extra day so Cajun and I can lead a ragtag bunch up to Wreck Beach later in August. And I'm taking an extra day and a half off for my birthday. I have two tickets to Holly Cole at Jazz Alley on September 4th, and I'm hoping CopMan will accept my invitation. (It's on me, MKB, so don't overthink it.)

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It's a grey afternoon, prelude to a grey five days. I hope it gets cool enough to wear jeans and a sweater. I long for that autumnal crispness at night. For now, I guess I'll just head to the tubs, soak a bit, and then do some laundry. It's all peaches and cream, really.

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Listen to Emitt Rhodes. Just listen. Read his story at Wikipedia. Better yet, read it on his own website. Fascinating.