Road Warrior? How About Dawn of the Dead?

Unless I'm very wrong -- unconscionably wrong -- I'm guessing that my many readers, including those in the armed forces who are accessing this by satellite or NSA wiretap, would love to know what I am doing this beautiful Sunday morning.

(Writers are just so damn intriguing. I mean wouldn't you like to know who John Updike is doing this morning? Take a breath. That's right: Who. And that's not a slip. It's an ancillary income stream for this blog; that is, for a small fee I am willing to imply virility in the case of septuagenarian middle-brow writers who need some secondary sources for upcoming autobiographies. "Edith! Was that a roll of Sacajawea dollars in his pocket or was Philip Roth just glad to see you?" But enough of that. The check hasn't cleared.)

What we are doing is sitting on our two sofas in our one living room and reading the Sunday NYTimes/SFChronicle/Oakland Tribune and drinking Road Warrior coffee, which is available in quantity from Peerless Coffee, an old and respected Oakland firm.

The A's-Yankees game flickers at the periphery of my vision. A's up 3-1. Volume at oh I'd say 35 decibels. Edith reads snippets of interest from the Times, those with political content uniformly depressing.

Now, at this point I'm looking for a kicker, some line of wisdom to capture the sweetness of the moment beginning "Life is what happens..."

Personally, I'm thinking along the lines of something like "Life is what happens while you read the classified ads or better yet watch your wife in her bathrobe read the classified ads her legs stretched out along the red sofa the sun coming in her chin lifted as she reads her reading glasses slid down her nose" -- which is not bad but which is not something John Updike (the Hugh Hefner of middle class angst) would write.

So I Google and I get to my surprise:

"Life is what happens while you're making other plans." -- John Lennon.

Not on Sunday morning. Sunday morning is the plan.