The story is a car crash I can't help but look at. Lurking would be unfair. By definition, my just being here gets some of the ick on me and cancels out any self -righteousness. If I were playing that angle, I'd just tell somebody who isn't here (probably a woman who isn't a basketball fan, or maybe my sister who is) that men can be as catty as women.
But it's a tragedy, and that means everybody loses. Everybody. And that includes me. And, yeah, you. Zero free passes.
Suggesting Cooley injects some fun into the proceedings. It also ups the rabbit hole factor, and I have a day if moving heavy furniture into a relocation cube ahead of me.
Yesterday, I looked from post 31 to 84. I'm claiming my presence right now and hoping I can keep my word and step away. I promise I'll admit if & when I return.
Here's a screenshot of my Google Photos scroll that collages my Morgantown pass-through last November, en route from OCNJ to LouKY. Not quite the stuff of bucket lists, just a receipt to claim my seat.
Come to think of it, maybe the motel I stayed in was here, and I was lured by Joni Mitchell's voice as an earworm-slash-siren song.
A tragedy. Don't even try to spin it differently.
I think the 9 is an upside down Motel 6 something or other...