Hot Dogs and Writing

Where has the rain gone? In Portland, Oregon in April it should be raining. Heck, except for a brief bit of May and some one in a while teasers it always rains. Not now. The rain has gone off to hide someplace for some time. Dandelions are abundant. I had to mow them down. There was no excuse of rain to prevent me from doing that. I could use some rain as an excuse to not mow.

Met with the Southwest Gentlemans Association last night. They are a small group that is rooted in the Oregon Brew Crew. We meet once a month for beer and conversation. It seems May 20 will feature our first in-person meeting since last whenever it was before the Covid struck. We will all have our double shots, not of beer, and we will be ready to see each other and spend as much time talking about beer as book clubs spend talking about a book they have read in the prior month. What group do you belong to? Is it something that sticks to the ostensible topic? Or is it like Portland and the rain that we should have here?

Hot dogs – what do you put on yours? Is ketchup, as thought in Chicago, a blasphemy? I know I did that as a teenager. Now I do not even eat the things found in the store as “hot dogs” mostly lately it has been Field Roast Sausages or other stuff that tastes good on its own.

Here I am, doing the typewriter equivalent of scribbling. Just letting my fingers bleed across the keyboard. Another bit of Gertrude Stein, what is it called again? automatic writing? stream of consciousness? Spontaneous automatic writing? I thought there was a word for it. That would be handy now.

— MichaelRpdx

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