Somebody has to write this stuff.

Another mindbender, this time on a webpage for an end-table. (Clearly, I'm furniture shopping.)

"Rustic cottage style for contemporary spaces."

Took me five goes to get "rustic" right. I must learn to type some day.

P.S. Just dropped my iTouch in the toilet. I had flushed already.

Words fail me. And the copywriter.

Seen on a furniture website, this highlighted feature of a club chair:

"Furniture piece is perfect for sitting down."

As opposed to all those other chairs that force you to . . .?  Oh, never mind, insert your own joke, it's too easy.

The Daily . . . Compliment, for once. I think.

Chatting with a friend (and blog follower) after attending a meeting at Rye's City Hall -- the only person I know in Rye who also knew my first wife, gosh, twenty years ago. She expresses mild surprise that some of the women in my life have concluded that I'm completely superfluous to their requirements. (As the publishers' rejection letters put it, I did not meet their needs at this time.)

"I mean," she says, "you're not exactly an ax-murderer."

And there we have it. My complete epitaph, combining this passing compliment with an older comment about my recorded narration of a young adult novel, which I mentioned in a much earlier blog:

HERE LIES ALAN BEECHEY.

JUST BRITISH ENOUGH 

AND NOT AN AX-MURDERER.

There IS a leopard on your roof.

Last night's movie for the boys was Howard Hawks's classic comedy Bringing Up Baby. Black and white from 1938, but they loved it.

Every time I see this movie, I'm smitten all over again by Katherine Hepburn's irresistible Susan Vance. I often feel as bewildered by life as Cary Grant's hapless character (and I have a pair of glasses like the ones he eventually breaks), but unfortunately, that's where the resemblance to one of my favorite actors ends.

Screenwriters Dudley Nichols and Hagar Wilde reportedly fell in love while writing this movie. It shows.

Hardscribble life.

I have the world's worst handwriting. I can't even decipher it myself. Just found last week's shopping list on a Post-It note stuck inside my billfold, and I had to stare at it for several seconds to figure out why I'd wanted to buy "succor." (If only you could get that at Stop & Shop.) Turned out to be "scissors."

Think I'm kidding?

But I was truly flummoxed by seeing the name of Ari Fleischer on my list of needs, even though the former press secretary for W is, I believe, a Westchester resident and as a media consultant is clearly for sale, so it wasn't entirely impossible.

I finally figured out that what I read as "Ari Fleischer" was actually "Air Freshener."

What was that quote about the intelligence of the American people?*

Brain-hurting endorsement spotted on the packaging of some "As seen on TV" gadget I didn't want in Bed, Bath & Beyond: "Pitchman Approved!"

To misquote a likely misquoted Abraham Lincoln: You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time . . . and that's clearly good enough for most purposes.

*"No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people." Not P.T. Barnum. Not Mark Twain. It was attributed to H.L. Mencken.

Convergence.

Any writer will tell you that a new project begins with the hunt for perfect stationery. It's procrastination disguised as work.

So I'm in Staples, failing to find a 9" x 6.5", five-subject college-ruled notebook with poly cover, preferably purple, for outlining my next book,* when I notice another large notebook, with an alternative binding to the usual spiral of black-plastic-covered metal. It's described, therefore, as "wireless."

I resist the temptation to buy one for Primus and tell him I got him the "wireless notebook" I know he wants.

*I actually have six ideas for the next novel, only one of them an Oliver Swithin story.

Words to live by. Or are they?

I don't contribute to my facebook account much, mainly because I'm too long-winded to fit my comments into those little boxes. That's what this blog is for, suckers. I don't check in very often either, largely because I don't care that some "friend" of a "friend" got a good night's sleep or now likes Febreze.* (And don't get me started on my nephews' open love letters to their girlfriends.)

But the profile page encourages you to add a favorite saying or quotation. My friend Maureen gave me a ceramic plaque with this mystery-writer's twist on existentialism: "It is what it is. Or is it?" which is now hanging over the mantelpiece of my new abode.

I was tempted by this, but for facebook, I went for this attributable variation on the same Fate-defying theme: "One never knows, do one?" courtesy of that frequent visitor to my CD-player, the ever-magnificent Mr. Thomas James "Fats" Waller.

This morning, however, I did waver for a second in my fidelity to Fats when I heard someone say: "I know it's just my opinion, but . . . I'm right." I'll be using that.

P.S. This reminder did come out of a recent facebook exchange: It's four years old, but if you've never seen and rejoiced in the lovely Feist's version of "1234" for Sesame Street, you're a complete loser. Hang on for the final frame, where she reacts to a good take.

(It's even better if you've already seen the popular original video for "1234," so simple, only one uninterrupted shot with the tiniest atom of digital manipulation, but one of the best videos ever. I know it's only my opinion, but . . .)

*I like Febreze.

Stop following me.

Kohl's is a remarkable store. By some miracle of retail management, they always manage to have exactly two checkout assistants fewer than is needed at any time, no matter what the customer volume. That takes skill. (It's certainly harder than Petco's approach, which is to have exactly zero.)

Why Britney? Well, I Googled the phrase "Kohl's checkout line" to find an illustration for this post, and this was the third image that came up. (The first was a picture of a J.C. Penney store.) Guests should go figure.

But waiting on line (as opposed to online) to pay for wineglasses gives you time to reflect on the extraordinary fact that, despite having the largest vocabulary of any language, English has very few true synonyms. By which I mean there are tiny shades of difference in meaning and of usage that prevent even the most closely related words from being interchangeable on all occasions. Take "little" and "small." You can waste a "little time" on line for a register to open up, but to waste a "small time" doesn't sound quite right.

And as one-by-one, the line ahead of you is gradually whittled down, you also get several opportunities to cringe every time you hear the standard corporate script Kohl's has clearly issued its employees: "Following guest, please."

Now let's leave aside that, as a "guest," I generally expect to have someone hand me a drink as soon as I cross the threshold, and then possibly the host will wash my feet with his or her hair, weeping over the inadequacy of the amenities. It's not a term I expect from an institution that exists to remove my credit card from my pocket and wring it dry.

(Bearing in mind that the checkout is further slowed by trying to get each punter to apply for a Kohl's credit card every time and by an encouragement to go online and rate their 30-second performance. Okay, you didn't drop my glassware and you didn't bite me in the neck. Gold star, then. You don't even have to make change. Why is it that every transaction these days -- on the phone, in a store, on a website -- requires marking?)

But that "following" sounds wrong, too, although I can't exactly articulate why. I think it's the fact that it's asking you to self-identify yourself as "following" in the present tense; in other words, I wouldn't describe myself as following until after I've followed. "Following" is not synonymous with "next," which is the word they really want.

"Who's following?" sounds weird when you want to ask "Who's next?" "I'm the next in line," I may shout irritably at the seven-foot, ape-like queue-jumper with the swastika tattooed on his forehead -- or maybe not. But were I to say "I'm the following in line," he would probably wince and call weakly for some sal volatile.

Are you following me? Oh, it's good stuff, this, isn't it? Tell your friends.