Fifteen Minutes

Fifteen minutes. That's what I'm giving myself. I don't get people who say they can't write. I hold back. If I'm not writing here then I'm writing somewhere else. Trust me. I'm an honest guy who loves writing. What to write about now? Shabbos: An over hour long walk in what felt like it must have been eighty something degree weather on Shabbos day, Friday night with lovely neighbor friends, reading Paul Shaffer... As I type Joe Jackson sings, "She don't care no more, she gets paid on Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday," I get it Joe. I heard a well presented shiur on Shabbos about what to do when a Torah falls in Shul. The shiur was presented in a shul where the Torah recently slipped out of the Aron and fell during a minyan. The Gemorah never addresses a Torah falling, to the best of my knowledge. I have a friend who knows Shas cold - I could ask him and he'd know for real, for sure. In conversation with a husband and wife on Shabbos I mentioned the Gemorah that says that one should be careful never to say anything that would lower a husband's esteem in his wife's eyes. And my friend, the husband, very much wanted to know where that Gemorah is, so I'll ask my friend the baki beShas. Another old friend of mine dislikes when people say that there's a Gemorah in Masechet X. It's the same friend who doesn't like when people say they had a long day. We humans all have control issues; we want things to be said and done the way we like them. Now on the Pandora station named for Joe Jackson, Ben Folds is singing about doing his best imitation of himself. That, I like. My deadline's up and I'm out of here. As I edit, Colin Hay sings Maggie. Beautiful.