Nostradamus Is Not Going to San Antonio

Yeah, that'll teach you to hit the 'I'm feeling lucky' button in the Google Search bar, won't it? Not feeling it now so much, eh? Don't blame me, I'm a walk-on in the play without a line of any kind. I had just entered the frozen things aisle in the supermarket with the salad bar where I make my next day's lunch on a day-late errand and there they were.

I think they were mother and daughter or perhaps some kind of a competitive very slow dancing same-sex pair auditioning for the remake of They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (in which case, I blew my chance at a pony ride for my birthday). They were doing a good job of blocking the aisle while remaining oblivious to everyone around them. In these parts, that's not anything new.

It was the taller of the two who offered the observation about Nostradamus though I must confess to NOT being familiar with this particular prophecy if that was, indeed, what she meant (or even said; it's what I heard her say. Could be two different things, I suppose). A quick check of the catalog would suggest it's not here, but feel free to browse for yourself. I had frozen chopped onions to buy. I was supposed to buy them Tuesday afternoon but got mugged by events at work and by the time I gnawed through the ropes tying me to my desk, all thoughts of onions, chopped or otherwise, were gone.

Heck, I was pleased I remembered to get the salad, though I'm not sure how crazy I am about honeydew melon pieces in with the green peppers and the grape tomatoes. My wife was not especially impressed with my Amazing Randi powers of recall (I went with the rope trick because I think I'm in love with pitbull103's comment. No, make that I know I'm in love), particularly since I didn't demonstrate those powers very well (closer to 'not even at all').

I thought about calling Southwest, since I figure if Nostradamus is flying with anyone (at least on Tuesdays and Wednesdays), it's them, what with their hot deal on baggage flying free, nous parlons une affaire très douce! I'm always impressed with how anything in French, even when it's written, seems to have veneer of a sneer. Like Camembert, like Brigitte Bardot, like French Toast. Comme deux sur trois. See what I mean? And what a great read on a classic Pretenders tune, yow!

I thought I saw a vaguely ecumenical moment, so I cleaned my glasses and located the Vatican's website in hopes of accomplishing some itinerary coordination, but instead of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, I ended up with Beard, Gibbons and Hill and they had other travel worries. San Antonio is on its own-e-own, again.

-bill kenny