On missing International Oreo Day, HR Onboarding, "my team", Cinema Paradiso, and some other. I gets it done.

Driving along, in the thrall of my endless musing.  Monyca Belucci.  Cinema Paradiso, me in shirtsleeves, a few buttons undone, loafers, my bicycle.

A boy dreaming, already filling and endless list of queries, "things my wife won't do, or doesn't know how to do", and she could, like Cherylin Finn, tie the stem of a cherry using only a tongue, with her hands otherwise busily occupied doing HR spreadsheets and stuff.  Onboard, CRM, even editing the memes.

Cinema Paradiso, I mean.

"...get off the wood, you no good, here goes the neighborhood....  runnin' that yap to the net, ya bettah run a check..."

I was looking at Project Management software, and me, as it is, without a team, but always into Productivity.  The dirty little secret is that what was known as G Suite, already does all that, so why pay for a company email, then a separate suite, when it does it all...

something about an interface that anyone could understand....  and there are Gantt Chart templates in Google Sheets.

But I still don't have a team.

It was kickball, maybe, an interstitial, a contramanding sweetbread from the universe, dispersed, rained-down, generally played-out, and yearning for a little of the old indoors, for the universe to come to him like a congenial and lay it's eggs in his mouth;

he was somewhat out of touch, hung-up on the old, so much of that, and only for the time period he loved so much to be his very undoing, that greatest litany of victories, was at once around his neck, a millstone, in the kalends, his own epoch wound completely loose and so many that were caught underfoot--how many it was that could have their tongues paid for, and then relent and give up that deal to write a book, to tell, in the offing, and all for money, the subsequent failure and dismal absolution, yielding to one, then yielding to the other, "trying to get clean by doing something dirty", "making love like you're trying to break out", but a bedraggle, barkspangled, a pitched battle of something, that they would in the same way, bring their own peculiar brand of ruin.

The advertising cookies and all thought I was "onboarding" and even needing payroll and handbook resources, even not only to onboard a team, but an international team, such that payroll and clock-ins were provided in the software offerings.

Do Little Debbie Cakes have a wax-like preservative, sort of like the Moon Pies?

It was Oreo Day a week or two back; I had posted all about it on social media on my old Almanac page, but nothing this year.  Shoulda celebrated with the convenience store quick-grab package of 4-6 cookies.

But there is time yet.

Sherbet, Oreos, and the improbability, even with some knowledge of NCAA basketball, and few really have that, and fewer still really go deep in the stats, but if you had some insight, the odds reported by 1440 that it was something like 1 in 120 billion to have a right bracket.

Me working at the air pump, glancing back at Monyca Belucci's picturesque collarbones, her throat, a splashing of bussom, and my stigmatism, knowing I'd have to investigate with my hands, to put my hands where the eyes could not see, and work, an expert, a blind pianist maybe, feeling my way along, enfeeble by nature, by with that unction still to continue on.