Welcome to WRITE ENOUGH!
I have before me projects three,
Before he was Super-Memory Man, Bob acquired other names based around the root word "Asa." "Asa" was how Bob's Pennsylvania accent rendered the phrase, "That is" or "That's" as in "Asa pretty good sketch." As a result, he became Robert Asa, Bob Asa, Bobby Asa, Bobby A, Mel Asa, and others that Bob would remember.
I've known Bob many a year, extending back to our L.A. Connection days. This evening, he'll appear on Nightline, in a story showcasing Bob's phenomenal memory. Heavy on sports info, Bob's memory contains so many Pittsburgh Steeler thoughts, the Steelers should pay him for warehousing their past. In any case, I won't forget to watch this evening as Bob puts that heavy duty mind through its paces.
Monday I'll visit the HMO-approved orthopedist. Here's hoping this fine medical fellow approves my MRI. I wanna know whaz'sup with my knees. Besides, swimming is becoming dangerous. My health club pool turned into a free-for-all yesterday. Are Friday's Savage Swim Days? I'm not sure. But between machine-like swimmers tearing up the lanes, big fat men bobbing aimlessly like rogue planets, very pregnant women attempting to organize the chaos, and teenagers determined to jack the chaos up to professional levels, I was grateful to escape the water unmarked.
Sunday morning, I'm taking a "swim test" with an organization set up to assist the older swimmer. I think they want to see how many laps I can do without swallowing half the pool. Then they make recommendations such as lessons or finding another sport. I could be looking at no running for months. So, it's time to find out what I can do and do it.
My neighbors have two forms of communication: loud, angry hectoring and unrestrained rage. Mother yells at child who yells at dog: Maslow's aggression displacement. As a result, the dog, a book-sized yappy beast, has become emotionally fragile. I lay down early this evening for a nap, but quit when the dog began a high-pitched, barking jag. Naturally, its neurotic owners weren't home. I considered various forms of quieting the animal: buying a small dog of the opposite sex, poison meat, singing to it. Eventually, the Dysfunctionals returned and the dog clammed up, knowing a drum-load of aggression would soon be emptied onto its wee furry head. It's really not the dog's fault. Mother yells at child who yells at dog who yaps away who upsets neighbor who silences dog with a trench shovel. But they'd just get another. 
And if I truncheon the neighbors, then I risk prison where I'd sit around all day without meaningful work. Like now. Maybe I'm under house arrest? Maybe this has already happened. Jurassic Park III is on television. Instead of Sam Neil and Tia Leoni, I imagine my neighbors and their dog trapped on an island of hungry prehistoric beasts. Then I imagine all the dinosaurs swimming away exasparated. But neighbors and dog remain on the island. I feel better.
'Twas suggested I post a few episodes of my work in a pleasant spot. I've chosen here. Sadly, not everything I've written has y...
