In our neighborhood we have a place, I guess it's a quick stop munch and lunch joint named for a team in the same division of the National League as Lee H's team. It's in the same place a rib joint I always meant to go to was in-and by realizing the past tense of the verb you've already guessed how often I made it in there. I'm resolved to do better this time around since I'm assuming the place makes cheesesteaks (based on the name? Yeah; I am relentlessly scientific when I so choose).
I've never seen the business open and suspect it never has but I noticed for the first time yesterday morning a rather large red sign hanging in the middle of the door that says "CLOSED" because, doh, it is. But my point is, it's never been open; so what's the deal with the sign? This is akin to Colonel Scheisskopf's memo that the parade for Sunday has been cancelled. Seriously? Seriously.
Long story short: we'll have to do lunch someplace else. But not across town where I was treated to the next generation of Muzak, which I did not know was a Connecticut based business until just now, that uses actual music by actual musicians, of sorts. Yesterday, it was people who were slaughtering Beatles' songs which should be an offense punishable by death. There are critics who insist Aretha Franklin's version of Eleanor Rigby is superior to the original, as an example. The technical descriptive for that level of critical discernment is moron.
I've been reminded already some 3.2 billion times that we're in the middle of a three day weekend and that I should act like it and try to enjoy it. Fair enough. It's Memorial Day in America. This is how it's supposed to be. Let's remember our fallen heroes in the Land of the Free.