Of course, Dwarfie might also be excommunicated...

While wandering the streets of Lucca, my companions and I stumbled across a crowd gathered on the steps of San Michele in Foro basilica. Turns out the local townsfolk were commemorating the annual feast day of St. Giovanni Leonardi.

Born in Lucca in 1541, ol' John seems to have more than earned his saintly stripes, caring for the sick and eventually succumbing to the influenza that swept Italy in 1609.

Leonardi was canonized in 1938 and a couple of years ago became a patron saint of pharmacists, having worked as an assistant to one. Which got me thinking, decades from now one of the ESIs, say Fourth Dwarf, could become the patron saint of bloggers. Of course, 6th Apostle may have something to say about this.



Top illustration: http://www.pjonline.com/

Tank Top Tuesday

Woodsy Web
Happy Hallowe'en

Fifths

As Aggie often reminds us, there is no fifth thing.

I think that it is charming that she sees, hears, and speaks no fifth.

But, for those who find this idiosyncrasy confusing, here are a few fifths for you to ponder:

• a fifth wheel

• a fifth of therapy
  

• a fifth of Beethoven

• a fifth of Ayabar

• a fifth reason to stop smoking

• a fifth less
  

• a fifth (see #5)

Our New Store - Elgin Street Meta Wear

Be cool with an ELgiN StreEt MetA WeAR TanK TOp

Pre-Posthumous Urban T**t (*) Zeitgeist Award

The observant among you will have noticed that I did not post Friday. I can explain: the dog ate my homework. Wait! I am the... oh, crap...

Actually, my reasons have to do with yesterday's state of high fuzzy-headedness. Thursday evening, whilst I was partaking of a postprandial aperitif, (often a blissful moment) the trouble began. Somewhere not unadjacent to the 'ol coyote den, a car with its antitheft alarum's sensors cranked to the max began to honk wildly at the transit of every squirrel - nay, every falling leaf. You know how many leafs are fallin' right now. It sounded like a freight train. Or a Buick.

I assumed some ass had parked and gone off to carouse on Elgin Street, and that all would be well in a few excruciating hours.

Wrong. All night, that horn fired off every five minutes. I then assumed that perhaps said ass had over-imbibed and taxied home. Still an ass, yet at least not endangering the public. But a quick stroll at eight-AM-ish Friday morning pinpointed the offending automobile - indeed a big honkin' new Buick - in a nearby residential driveway.

I contemplated this hyperactive excretion with an austere red eye. Well, two. As I did, a guy with an air of Steve Dallas about him stepped blithely from the porch with his Eddie Bean Insulated Travel Mug, Giant Squid Edition®, blipped the remote, climbed in, started up, and drove off.

I am grateful to Woodsy and Pandora for their thoughtful attempts to caffeinate my sleepless condition at a popular bean juice joint, later that day. They were well-intentioned and well-received.

Yet, maybe it's Seasonal Affective Disorder kicking in, but my ill humour remains. Steve: You are the lucky winner of coyote's Pre-Posthumous Urban T**t Zeitgeist (PPUTZ) Award. This means that I am bending my not-inconsiderable semimythical, totemic telekinetic powers to focus the universe's karma upon you. Kinda like a big psychic magnifying glass aiming the sun at your brain. Soon, your head will explode. All over your brand-new Buick's upholstery, I hope. Fair is fair.

* Toot. Twat. Take your pick...