Yoga

I've spent the evening downloading and listening to music. "Free," for the most part, courtesy of TXU, which thanked me for paying my electric bills all these years by giving me a certificate good for 15 credits (one credit per tune) to download from www.emusic.com.

This "free" music illustrates what I've believed all along. My electric bills in this unregulated environment are sufficiently high to fund not only retirement in luxury for the greedy executives of the company but they're high enough to fund "gifts" to the schmucks who pay the bastards.

But if I have to get shafted, it's better to be shafted and "paid" for it than not. So I got a fresh copy of an album that wasn't of high enough quality to transfer well to iTunes. I also got some individual tunes: Nashville Cats by Lovin' Spoonful; Fox Confessor Brings the Flood by Nikko Case; and They Ain't Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore by Kinky Friedman.

Oh, I glanced through the latest issue of Family Handyman (my wishful thinking read). I am ready to put in tiger's-eye glass tile counters in the master bath; all I'm lacking are skill and money. They claim it's an easy do-it-yourself weekend project, but I know better. If I started it, it would take months, if not years, and would challenge every ounce of my ability and my patience.

So maybe I'll take a yoga class, instead.