I loves me my country roads:)

When I was a kid, and Long Island wasn't entirely paved over, there was a taxidermist on Hempstead Turnpike across the street from what was probably still called Salisbury Park back then. I always assumed it was a place that helped people with their tax returns, and it was a bit unsettling to find out what it really was.

Today, that misapprehension came full circle. As I headed north on Route 14 on the way to Watkins Glen, I passed a sign for a taxidermist that, on the same sign, also offered accounting services.  I know, there are times the IRS makes you feel like you've been shot, stuffed and mounted; but not since my early confusion have I seen the concept taken so literally.

I also passed the storefront office of a guy I've seen appearing in the Southern Tier division of our court (which sits in Watkins once a month). That colorful combination of signs was one for his law office and another for a massage parlor at the same address.

It's a good combination, law and massage therapy. If the hot air doesn't work for you, maybe the hot oil will.

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The trip went well, both for its accomplishments (three appearances in three cities, all successful, at least for now) but also for what didn't happen. I'd been a little nervous about the last leg of the drive today, mainly because of the movie fare at my sister's place first thing this morning. She'd been a regular viewer of Imus on MSNBC, but with that gone, she'd switched over to some sort of movie channel, which at 6:30 this morning was screening the classic road-rage epic that is Steven Spielberg's Duel.

Somewhat frighteningly, I had just referenced this movie three nights before on my other blog, as part of a Met-aphoprical reference to a tightly played game my team had just won. This coinkydink would have been weird enough if I'd seen the film at home, but seeing the suspense and evil taking place on this backwooded, only-way-to-go highway through nowhere? That was even scarier after I turned off the Interstate and onto the road to Watkins- a backwooded, only-way-to-go highway through nowhere. There were other such stretches heading back to I-86 on the other side of Corning, and between Geneseo and Batavia where Route 63 is the shortest and quickest way to get to Buffalo, especially for large trucks with menacing looking cabs.

And yes, there was at least one tanker truck in there. Fortunately, neither he nor I plunged over a cliff in a fiery crash.

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The sun is thinking of coming back out for the first time in a couple of days. Hope it shines on you this weekend, wherever you are:)

Making No Boris About It

M E M O R A N D U M

To: grand chessmaster Boris Spassky; former Wimbledon champ Boris Becker; Tory MP Boris Johnson; Russian author Boris Akunin; and any others bearing that name in this week of rampant, violent Boris-cide

From: G. Reaper, Esq.

Re: Estate planning

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Have you considered making a will, designating a health care proxy, and letting your loved ones (particularly any named Natasha) know what your wishes are?

You might want to do this sooner rather than later.

I'll be at the door until you're ready.

Your blue-eyed boy,
Mr. Death