Color of the day…Glacier Gray.

It’s an oatmeal morning; brown sugar, butter, milk, oatmeal, stick-to-yer-ribs morning. The sky is Pantone P 179-2-C gray. Not a color of any year, not even last year. Wet. Cold. The calendar says it’s Human Rights Day. Tell Putin.

Enough of that. This could be the best day ever. Or just okay; I’ll take that. On my first walk of the day, I pass a parked pickup at the tractor fixit place; a deer in the bed. In the metal building another deer is strung up and two men, one of whom I know, are skinning it. Bounty of the season. Freezers full of venison this and that. Cost of gas, ammo, license etc figured in to fight inflation. I wave, walk on remembering the taste; sausage, deer chili, gamy tough cuts, stepdad insisting how good it is. The chili was okay.  When I return, there’s a Chewy carton and a mystery box for F. The dogs are happy; treats from the driver or not.

So starts the day. How’s your day? Good, I hope. Maybe you’ll find something of interest in the following melange (gallimaufry to you, Skip) of tips, facts, links, books.

Some of us remember The Gray Day The Music Died.

It’s a safe bet that none of us have the concert poster of that day that just went for $447,000 at auction. It might be the only one ever discovered. Think of that. Think of the guy in charge of posting these; he had a big sack of them, some of which probably got tossed. This one had been stuck to a phone pole in Minnesota; a maintenance man found it on the ground, put it in a closet, forgot it for 50 years. (Link)

Speaking of finding great stuff:

I really liked this story because of what they did with the art. Short version; Keith Haring lived in this house as a boy, painted one of his quickie, later to become iconic people on the wall near a light switch in his bedroom, years passed, they moved, the Garner family that bought the house and moved in thought the wall drawing was familiar. They didn’t paint over it. Whew. (Link)

And Fran Lebowitz interviewed by Questlove. You’re welcome.

There’s a commercial for Scotch but it’s okay, then, in the first couple of minutes FL defines New Yorkers and discusses leafblowers (not a NYC sound) that she encountered outside in “quieter places.” QL and FL, wow. Worth watching. Maybe fifteen, sixteen minutes. (Link) I love Fran Lebowitz and for Questlove’s first interview, it’s a solid five stars. And a bonus interview: me by Roz Morris. Hey, it’s my blog, I can do this.

Remember Anna Delvey/Sorokin? Con artist, Netflix series, house arrest? That Anna.

Her “art” sells for a lot. I’m going to say it’s because of her celebrity, no sour grapes here; she worked hard for it. And, at least she wasn’t Caril Fugate, pulling the trigger on innocent farm people with psycho partner Charlie Starkweather, but she did commit financial mayhem between Manhattan and Marrakesh. Fugate, by the way, is another story, one that I was going to write some years ago and pitch Esquire with. She’s still living—maybe I’ll do it yet. Clyde’s Bonnie, Manson’s “family” and Charlie’s Caril were possibly affected by hybristophilia, a condition of attraction to outlaws (to oversimplify), an angle I was going to follow in the Fugate piece. Anyway, Anna says she’s living well under house arrest, “better than most.” You go girl, but don’t ask to borrow my platinum/titanium Amex card. (I don’t even have a zircon one anyway.) (Link)

 Gas station chargers; as good as gas station food, gas station aviators?

Some “Review Geek” is above me; things like building your own PC or how to blockchain your VPN put a glazed expression on my face and tickle my ‘delete’ gland. But the geek often comes closer to earthtalk and those articles are worth a read. Here’s why you’d be better off spending your dough on a pine tree air freshener or a pair of reflector aviator shades that might last a week. At least they won’t damage your phone’s battery or leave you stranded. (Link)

And that’s about it.

Except for a “buy this book” and a stolen Garrison Keillor joke. The book is Chickens One Day, Feathers The Next, nonfiction by me. And if you’ve already bought it, thank you! If you’ve read it, please leave a review. Dog walks into a bar. Says to the bartender, “Got a drink for a talking dog?” Bartender says “Sure. Rest room is down that hall, first door to your right.”

 Happy December. xo G