The two most important days of your life are the day you are born ... and the day you find out why.
— Mark Twain
Evidently Mark Twain said this, but 15 minutes of snorkeling around the internet did not yield me a proper citation. Yes, I remain skeptical. I will continue to look but if I don't write right now, I will just fall into bed.
That Twain quote seemed of a piece with the Garcia Marquez from yesterday somehow, although I haven't pieced them together yet.
I just read that Joe Paterno died. What the ....? He was involved in criminal activity and that was on beyond terrible, but still, I feel badly that he left this world at such a crappy moment. On the other hand, he probably wanted out of the nightmare his life had become.
And speaking of WTF ... the Republicans in South Carolina voted for Gingrich? Are they smoking, one and all? And I am not thinking about tobacco here. Is South Carolina the land of philandering asshats and they are showing their solidarity for Newt's broad-mindedness/double standard? I don't get it.
And then there's Etta James, who, of course, rocked the house and then some. You'd think every one all along listened to her all the time and that she was everyone's favorite, right up there with Miss Aretha. And yet, I cannot remember a person with whom I discuss and listen to music saying a word about her. Fortunately, I have a lot of her music. John, Melinda, and I had a little Etta wake last night.
So, Saturday night bread rising. Cats are patiently waiting for me to go to bed. Emmylou is made for snow, but when I put her on the fire escape, she didn't seem to like it very much.
No puns on my name please. I hate being called Sal and Salmagundi won't make it any better.