Sloth, Maybe?

My mother is the middle child of three of my grandparent's children.  From youngest to oldest:  John, Pat, and Mary.  My uncle John and Aunt Mary died some years ago, leaving my mother.  Mom is just a few days away from her 90th birthday. To celebrate, my wife Susan and I brought her up to the scenic Mohonk Mountain House nestled in the Shawangunk (pronouned SHON-gum) Mountains in Ulster County, New York.  I have been told that the Shawangunk overlooks the borders of five states:  New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Massachusetts, and Connecticut.  Some vista! We arrived yesterday, Friday afternoon.  This is not the first time the three of us have been to Mohonk.  The first time we came to this grand hotel was in April of 2008 at the invitation of our friend, Joe Fitzpatrick.  Joe, or "Big Joe Fitz" as he is commonly known, arranged an event at Mohonk called "Blues on the Mountain."  Blues musicians from various parts of the country convened at Mohonk for a weeken

*Sigh* Perhaps, dear reader, you recall my episode by episode critiques of The Book of Boba Fett?   With each post, I desperately swept hither and yon trying to find some scene of value.  I can only recall one episode where Boba Fett exhibited any kind of agency - "The Tribes of Tatooine."  In every other episode he acts like a total doofus.  He is overshadowed by two characters from a different Star Wars series, The Mandalorian.   So in retrospect, Boba Fett - a Star Wars character who has intrigued many fans over the years - fails to live up to his full potential. But that was only the beginning. Up next, waiting in the wings, was the Moon Knight series.  He is a character from Marvel Comics who bowed onto television via Marvel Studios, another tentacle from the writhing face of the Elder God that is Disney.  Marc Spector, Marvel's answer to DC Comics' Dark Knight, is overshadowed by one of his bumbling DID alters, Stephen Grant*.  Where Moon Knight should be lea

  Americans love their junk.  It's not the junk that bothers me, it's the love. - George Santayana As a teenager, I prided myself on not buying every fashionable knickknack that appeared on the shelf at a clothing store.  I didn't blow away $60 for a pair of sneakers that would be threadbare in six months.  I purchased a brand of jeans (Levis) passable enough to not be mocked by my fashion conscious classmates.  Sure I was insulted and mocked for not being a proper materialistic drone, but I brushed it off.  I was not a victim of that pernicious bug known as (dreadful pipe organ hit in minor key) CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION. The closest I got to being a conspicuous consumer was as a collector of comic books-- oops, GRAPHIC NOVELS, sorry.  I was a slave to titles such as Grendel; Concrete, the Living Monolith; Area 88... it was an eclectic mix of various genres.  I was immersed in these beautiful pocket universes where I could get away from mundanity. The other kids in high sch