I've been putting this off for months. Some time ago I read a review in The New Yorker of a book called "The Thief of Time," a collection of essays on the subject of procrastination. I have also put off buying the book because it costs $65, but I did enjoy the review.
Whatever happened to "singing telegrams?" If you are too young to remember the guys in Western Union caps who rang the bell and burst into a chorus of "Happy Birthday To You" as soon as the door was opened, well, you're lucky.
I am on a crusade to resurrect actor James Mason (1909 - 1984). I don't mean the man himself, of course, but the body of his work. With his classic good looks, a voice like black velvet and superb acting ability, he should have been as popular and well known as his younger contemporary, Richard Burton.
Luckily, my small SkyWest airplane broke through the thick black clouds over Oklahoma City and touched down at Will Rogers World Airport before those same clouds unleashed a torrent of wind, thunder, lightening and hailstones the size of marbles.