Cranky Large Medium reading, 1 July

Go away.

What is it that holds you here? Certainly not my riveting good looks! I mean, surely I'm attractive, but not so much that you'd be deaf to my pleas for solitude. You must have some purpose behind your lollygagging about, here. Ah, of course, you came here for a reading. And, after I give you one, you will leave, correct? That makes this almost bearable. So, here you are, so you can go:

You are artsy-fartsy and effete, and ought to follow the music and go far away. Please. You are a clotheshorse, obsessive-compulsive in your work, a chameleon in the office, and good at social niceties when they might benefit you. You will succeed through your cutthroat ambition and desire to be the leader of the pack.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. But at least you are the leader of your little pack of one, and you can vroom vroom up and down the hills if you so choose. That's better than these people have, since on this date in history, they're strictly under the hill: Totila, Charles Watson-Wentworth, John Fulton Reynolds, Juan Perón, Charles Goodyear, William Lawrence Bragg, Nikolay Basov, Oliver Plunkett, Jemima Wilkinson, R. Buckminster Fuller, Isaac Casaubon, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Eliel Saarinen, Marc'Antonio Ingegneri, Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, Erik Satie, Rushton Moreve, Philip Charles Lithman aka Snakefinger, Guy Mitchell, Luther Vandross, Michael Landon, Robert Mitchum, Walter Matthau, Marlon Brando, Margaux Hemingway, Sylvia Sidney, Wesley Mouzon, Allan Pinkerton, Robert Weston Smith aka Wolfman Jack, Forrest Mars Sr.,

and Herbie Mann.

The spirit is singing, but the flesh is tone-deaf.
Happy birthday, anyway.