Goyim along, singin’ a song…

All my bags are packed, I’m ready to . . . resign myself to doing without the things I forgot, most likely.

So that’s it? One-point-five blog entries and he hangs it up? If only. No, I’m committed to this sorta-two-way communication with you, Faire Reader, but I’ll be out of town for a few days. Out of the country, actually.

Yes, they have wi-fi there; yes, I could technically post a blog entry from anywhere. But cut me some slack here: I just learned this trick a few days ago, and only with significant prompting from the web maven.

Anyway, I’m gonna be a bit busy chasing ambulances through the Holy Land on a Harley. Guess that technically makes me some kind of holy roller . . . actually, I just wanted to experience the torquey thrill of riding with a Jewish chapter of HOG (look it up on the interbikernet).

Faster than a Palestinian rocket, more kosher than a K-bike, it’s a bird on the plain, it’s . . . well, it’s another aulde pharte on a Harley, chasing dreams around, trying not to become one with the grill of a Tel Aviv taxi driver.

While I’m away, my sweet webmistress will tuck and tweak and tamper with this site, leaving it scrubbed to the same fresh, greenish chemical scent pressed into striped cakes of soap in the Irish foothills by appointment to her majesty.

Also, it being a ten-day excursion, my Great Dane puppy will increase his stature in the community by another two or three inches at the shoulder. It will be difficult to sleep in Israel without hearing the comforting creak and groan of his bones stretching at night — not to mention the outraged shrieks from children from whom chores are demanded (in Israel, apparently parents just threaten to move their families to the West Bank if the dishes aren’t done).

Sigh . . . yes, it’ll be a tough row to hoe.

But I’ll manage.

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