I didn't figure out until today that on Messenger you have to approve the messages you get from others or else you won't get any messages from them.
If you've got a particular ache or pain, you might try the cryotherapy at Pharm406.
I didn't play any golf this week. I'd better refocus for next week.
I only ate in restaurants twice this week. Quite unusual for me.
I got quite the response from an article on Thursday where I asked if folks would remarry. The answers were mostly from women. And I sort of get the feeling that the females of our species are a little sick of the males.
I saw a couple of interesting discussions of the origins of "3-7-77". Some pointed out that those numbers on all uniforms of our state troopers. Others say that vigilantes in Montana used to scratch those numbers on the doors of perceived bad guys that they wanted to leave their towns. Interesting stuff.
My picture is of the contents of our beloved "Cat Van." Back in the early days of my illustrious radio career, you could not find a more neglected vehicle than those owned by radio stations. My first station had a four-wheel drive, one-ton Ford. Not sure it ever got one oil change or wash. But we all were completely sure that it would start in the dead of winter so we could reach our transmitter site.
We had a yellow Chevette at another station. This one had a yellow light on top, which was great until one of our news guys got drunk while driving it and started trying to pull other drivers over. Oh ya. Fired.
And our trusty van is a workhorse. It has to be. And nowadays radio stations get treated better. Heck, we've even got aftermarket wheels!