Day: A Memorial

It occured to me today that, given my past as a retail slave, this is the first Memorial Day that I have actually had off since I was in grade school. Wacky. Not news that's going to set the world ablaze, no, but it gave me pause as I ate my delicious corn on the cob at a park-based picnic this afternoon. Which, by the way, was particularly pleasent (the picnic, I mean). New York has an abundance of grassy, tree-studded, relatively-junkie-free parks that one tends to forget about during the wetness of Autumn and the snow-coveredness of Winter, so it's like discovering a pirate's treasure chest when the late days of Spring roll around and there's all this actual vegetation and space to cavort in.

Good food, we had, and good friends for the casual chit-chat. Shade, blankets, sandwiches, all the good stuff.

Hope your Memorial Day was as satisfying as mine.

On a sad note, actor Paul Gleason, best known as the principal from The Breakfast Club, died this morning after a battle with a rare and particularly mean strain of cancer. He was funny in that movie and, by all accounts, was a very decent human being. So thanks, Cancer. Thanks a lot. You know, you can smack down Fred Phelps or Paris Hilton or George Steinbrenner any time you want.

Just sayin'.