What's the protocol on "last words"?

Are we supposed to have them at hand, or is it a crapshoot at the moment of truth? Because I can't think of any.

"What were his last words?" "Did she have any last words?" Quite frankly, I don't hear that a lot. But I'm reasonably certain that it's on people's minds.

One imagines and hopes for a quiet, dignified demise - surrounded by loved ones. Often enough, though, the end comes too swiftly. There's barely time for a muffled "Aaaargh...", and out go the lights. So then the question becomes, "What would have been his last words, had he had the time to say them?".

In consideration of that eventuality, it seems prudent to have a pithy statement prepared and placed with important papers, so that others may find it and say, "Aha. Those are good words. Those are very good, indeed."

Or, in this internet age, perhaps there should be a web site devoted to the subject. There, we could post our desired terminal pronouncements in advance, and others could critique them. We'd have the final say, of course - lest spurned lovers and others with an ax to grind be able to twist our epitaphs into sordid deathbed confessions.

I've read the "last words" of famous people and thought, "Was this planned? Did this person have a statement at the ready and know precisely the right time to deliver it?". What if you say your "last words", and you miscalculate? What if another hour passes before you go, and you have to remain mute? Rather awkward, no?

I don't know the answers to these questions (or all too many others, sadly). It would be nice to think we could, at Death's door, be free of obligations like this.

As I'm drifting off and everyone leans a bit closer to catch my final bit of profundity, I'll probably have to say, "Sorry...I got nothin'."

I've long seen Free Cell as my barometer of mental acuity.

Allowing for such variables as caffeine not having yet kicked in, momentary stress, insistent bladder or a dog needing to go out, I find that my performance pretty much shows how the rest of the day will go.

Naysayers will pooh-pooh this as a flimsy excuse for playing silly card games instead of working. People who are so quick to say "nay" do not, in my opinion, deserve to be part of this discussion.

But I digress.

I've recently changed computers. On the old one, I held a respectable winning percentage of 64 over the long haul. And that includes the times when I didn't really try hard to win. Lots of those, in fact.

So what am I to make of the fact that my average since the switch is only 52? I'm using a much smarter device, and yet...

I can only surmise (and I'm not proud of this) that, concurrent with the upgrade, I've suffered a sudden loss of intelligence ("geranium in the cranium", in medical terms).

And so, for those who have asked, "Could this blog possibly make any less sense?" - the answer soon will be apparent.

Has my life become so mundane that I've had nothing to write about for a week? Apparently so.

I was at the office again today, working on the same kinds of projects. Ann was in, so I had a chance to talk with her. We've become such good friends, and she genuinely appreciates what I do to help. I know Lana likes having me there, too. She spends a lot of time alone.

My good friend Susan at RSVP is back at work after suffering a tremendous loss. Her adult son took his own life two weeks ago. I didn't ask for details, of course, but I offered my condolences and whatever support she might need. I cannot imagine anything more heartbreaking than losing a child. He was lead singer of his own band, and one of his songs is on a CD being released May 1st to benefit the Arthritis Foundation. Susan does volunteer work for that organization.

Tuesday, my wife and I celebrated our nineteenth wedding anniversary with a visit to a nice restaurant. If we set aside our unmet goal of selling our house and moving, things are going well right now. We both think we'll live at the beach some day. For now, we're doing what we can to make this environment more enjoyable.

Looking to the future, I'm stepping up my promotion efforts in conjunction with my partner in the music publishing company. The focus now is on promoting some of my stronger songs. I've developed some good industry contacts and sources of information regarding which artists are working on new CDs and looking for material.

George appears to be having more trouble standing up. He whimpers a little before he finally gets his legs under him, but I don't know if it's pain or frustration. I suspect we're seeing the hip deterioration that's sadly typical of older Great Danes rather than any advancement of the bone cancer. We'll probably be faced with having to make a very difficult decision soon.

I was back at the office today for a while. There wasn't a great deal for me to do.

Ann is taking some time off because her brother's in town. Lana was in charge. She's in a separate room, so we didn't spend a lot of time together. I entered more data into the project I worked on last week.

Things were very quiet. The phones weren't working, and no one else was around. I stayed for four hours and then came home to take care of some personal business.

I don't mean to diminish the experience. It's always a great pleasure to spend time in that environment. I can't say it's exciting, though, because it's become routine. I get up, I get dressed, I put on makeup and I go. This morning, I was thinking once again that it should be more difficult.

I'm not even apprehensive concerning whom I might encounter. Today, I parked where people were coming and going. I simply don't attract undue attention - and that fact still surprises me.

There's no need for me to be there tomorrow. For now, maybe one day a week will be sufficient.

I've been alive long enough to witness some amazing scientific breakthroughs. They're coming with blinding speed these days, and we take them almost for granted.

Not this one, though.

Three words: electronic whoopee cushion.

Normally, I'm not what you'd call an early adapter of new technology. This time, though, I threw caution to the wind and invested the ten bucks it took to get aboard.

The standard, boilerplate whoopee cushion ("Embarrass your friends!) is a marvel in and of itself, of course. But marry it to today's microelectronic technology and a whole new realm of possibilities becomes apparent.

First, there's the programmed menu of noises. Variations on a theme, if you will. Second, it sticks to the underside of the chair - so the source of the sound is not so readily discerned. Third (and this is the kicker), it's remotely-controlled.

Remotely-controlled. Let that roll around in your mind for just a moment.

So if, say, someone were to go to a meeting with, say, a couple of business partners, say, tomorrow...and one of those business partners had, say, a tendency to get a little pompous on occasion...one might be able surreptitiously to place said sound emulation device under that person's, say, chair and - with repeated pushes of a button - fire off quite an impressive volley from a distance before anyone was the wiser.

This kind of power is heady stuff.

This must be how Alexander Graham Bell felt when he picked up the handset on that very first telephone and heard those immortal words, "For English, press 1."