The Forgotten Architect

I think I might have to write a short story with the above title. Then again, maybe I'll just settle for a blog post.

Why did I dub this post with the above title? Because that is what Oldsmobile called me today: The Forgotten Architect. Obviously, he called me that because he occasionally forgets I exist, back there in my little corner.

I broke out of my shell a bit, today, and made a couple of witty jokes at Pacman's expense - he was pleasantly surprised, I think. He'd been teasing me, telling Scooter that he kept wondering when I was going to go postal on the office and unleash a hell-storm of vitriol on my coworkers. My words, not his, although he did use the term "postal." Vitriol and hell-storm are a result of my faulty memory coupled with poetic license. Prosaic license? Hmmmm....

Later, while discussing the traditional tassels that adorn the shirts of Hasidic Jewish men, I was able to add a bit of intelligence to the conversation by informing Pacman and Scooter and the receptionist - um... we'll call her... Lola! - that it's required if you literally interpret Judaic laws.

We then got into a discussion of religious law and why it made sense then, but not now, etc... and I added that camel meat is not kosher. A fascinating morsel of information if I may say so myself. Ba-dum-ching!

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