Oh, You Were Gone?

In case you hadn't noticed, I've been absent for a few weeks. I intended to post the following before I disappeared, but ran out of time. So pretend you read this a couple weeks ago. Thank you for your cooperation.

Cat food is always on the agenda of the quarterly meeting. Not at work, but at home. Yes, I have a quarterly meeting at home to review the operations and finances of the F’er Estate. One of the key events during the meeting, besides the cocktail weenie reception immediately following, is the presentation of my Excel workbook with our investments in which I detail how much money I’ve lost us in the previous three months on exciting opportunities such as pork bellies and Velcro band-aids. Which leads to the discussion of cat food.

But I didn’t know you have a cat.

We don’t. But at the current rate we’re going to have to switch from fresh veggies and filets to Fancy Feast if I’m going to achieve my goal of early retirement. (And by filets, I mean Filet O’ Fishes instead of filet mignons in case the theater of your mind was picturing the F’ers at opposite ends of a table the length of a bowling lane in a grand dining room being served by a personal butler and maid.) The Mrs. had a problem with this new strategy despite the line of new flavors such as Flaked Ocean Whitefish which I presented. This led to a great debate which was resolved by agreeing to an international vacation as energy and food costs skyrocket and the country teeters on the brink of recession.

About the same time as the F’er quarterly meeting, Forbes magazine sends out their quarterly supplement called Forbes Life. The irony of receiving this issue at this time provides me with hours of entertainment, because as a reader of their fine publication Forbes assumes that I also have more than cat food money in my accounts and need ideas on how to spend it all. In the most recent issue, Forbes Life recommended a personal submarine for the price of $1.7 million. This made the AMC Pacer I’ve had my eye on seem pretty reasonable, even though the Pacer won’t take you underwater. Unless you’re a really poor driver. But you don’t want to be driving in Lake Michigan anyway.

Forbes Life also detailed how to see Greece on $50,000 a day. Suddenly, the budget I set up for vacation didn’t seem so bad. True, I won’t have my own personal yacht, but I like my itinerary better. A week with no phones, no internets, no email, no television, no radio, no traffic, no cars, no exams, no textbooks, no hospitals, no doctors, no meetings, no train schedules, no Starbucks, no tabloids, no spam, no advertising, no skateboards, no elections, no superdelegates, no summer blockbusters… just a little shack in the middle of nowhere. My own little Unabomber personal vacation, without the nasty explosives. (Note to the FBI: I’m not working on any manifestos out there, just going to be doing a little hiking, so you don’t need to open a file on me. I’m rather harmless, even when I wear my intimidating looking black longshoreman hat.)

In another twist of irony, The Man scheduled a meeting for work on the day I return. So instead of easing back into American life, I’m flying directly into McCarren International Airport. For anyone unfamiliar with it, that is in Las Vegas.

I’ll probably be curled up in my room with a can of cat food shielding my eyes from the frightful neon excesses and other sensory overload.

If I don’t come back, I’m sure you’ll understand. If that’s the case, I’ll try to make it to the internet café over in Mount Pilot to send an update once in a while.