Vite, vite

Vite! Whatever that means. Le Tour de Fromage est, comme Holmes l'habitude de dire à Watson sur le jeu, à pied. Laissez-nous prendre nos jupes et géré comme les blazes.

Beset by low energy, high humidity and some unexpected demands on my time, I logged 8.7 miles today in the face of a 10.1 target. Hardly what I would call picking up my (metaphorical) skirt and running like the blazes. So I owe the bank 1.37 miles. Average speed remained 13.7. I think it would have been higher, but I ran into some pedestrian traffic coming out of the park.

And tomorrow I'll need to squeeze out 12.2 miles before the cable guy gets here.

Actually, probably after he leaves. The reason? Because Time Warner calls you about three times with a computer to make sure you still want the appointment, pretending to be engaged in what they call customer service but really just hoping (if either a computer or a major corporation can hope) that you won't pick up and they won't have to come.

Later, as this process unfolds, you call back and say "where's the guy" and they say "you didn't answer when our computer called so your appointment was canceled" and you say some unpleasant stuff which, since they've heard it so many times before, does not, in the least bit, faze them. You then add "well when can he come back" and they say "not for a week."

At this point you note that you have already missed three days of the Tour de France and really couldn't bear to miss another seven. Unfortunately the measurement technology does not yet exist to quantify how little they care about that.

So I think I'll remain home tomorrow, glued to the phone. I'll buy both the Times and the Post and just make the best of it.

I'm also reading the new David Sedaris book. That might take up some time but it's not as good as people had led me to believe it would be. It's observational humor on par with a mid-level Seinfeld episode. Not nearly as good as the one where Kramer grabs the baby and tries to save it from the moyl. No, not nearly that good. But okay.

Like that line about pizza.
What line?
The one that goes, "Even bad pizza is pretty good."
Exactly. I mean, there's nothing wrong with a mid-level Seinfeld episode.
No there isn't.

I think Sedaris is about as funny as the episodes where Jerry's parents make guest appearances. But not as good as the one where either Kramer, George or Jerry (or some combination of the three) come upon a van in the park, open the door, and find Jerry's parents in flagrente delicto. Which, by the way, is Latin for "in the blazing offense" or, perhaps more simply, in flagrente, which means "while blazing."

And by the way, as addendum, which must be Latin for "something you put at the end" (but which might also refer to what too many servings of Nacho Cheese Doritos and onion dip will do to the size of your ass), can you believe the Google translate service doesn't include Latin?