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Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column written under the shelter of a big, goofy umbrella.
The filthy, brownish water dripping from the ceiling of the corporate suites can mean only one thing: Spring is just around the corner.
It’s time to get the bicycle tuned up and dust off the Slip’N Slide.
The snow that was frozen on the roof since November is accummulating by the gallon in our seven trash cans and buckets.
A faint, musty smell has become more pungent as the moisture soaks into our notebooks, Post-it notes and work stations.
It reminds us of standing by a stagnant pond in late August, casting a fishing line and hoping for a bite.
We’re hoping our co-workers appreciate the diversion of the Slip’N Slide placed strategically below a series of dripping ceiling panels and fluorescent light fixtures.
Always the optimists, we’ve again made lemonade out of life’s lemons — stinky as they may be.
***
Our question of the greatest rock musicians of all time in yesterday’s blurble have garnered a response from Chris Adkins, office administrator with Re/Max Properties of Summit and Frisco:
“Guitarist: Jimmy Page, if it’s really between him and Jack White.
Bass: Kinda a tough one, but I’m going with Flea.
Drums: Wow. Neil Peart, if I have to choose.
Singer: Roger Daltry, for sure.”
***
Thanks, Chris. We’re flattered you stuck with our suggestions.
But to be fair, the pool left out some rather talented individuals like, say, John Lennon or Jonny Greenwood, or perhaps Vinnie Paul on drums.
Our springtime moisture and economic woes remind of the strange lyrics of Kurt Cobain:
“And I’m living off of grass and the drippings from the ceiling.”
Yuck.
Sounds like a recipe for some gnarly halitosis, no doubt. A more balanced diet might have tacked a few more years on this artist’s unfortunate, early end.
We hate how it’s often the talented ones like Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Robert Johnson and Brian Jones who kick the bucket at 27.
Oh well. We’ve still got Mick Jagger and Bob Dylan — what’s left of them, anyway.
Musical taste is totally relative, and as long as you’re not a Nickelback or KC and the Sunshine Band fan, you’re OK in our book.
***
In other news, we noticed yesterday the aftermath of what could be an extremely violent act outside our fancy offices.
The picnic table we use to get fresh air on warm, summer days has sustained irreversible damage.
The center of a bench was smashed to splinters.
Could there have been a big fight right outside our newsroom that none of our ace reporters heard rumbling?
Perhaps the damage was caused by a stranger’s skull smashing through the bench before he returned fire with a roundhouse kick to the jaw of the attacker.
There may well have been the standoff of the century, but we missed it.
And now we’re suffering for it because our favorite place to sit is no longer useful for anything more than kindling.
Maybe a drunken driver desperate to find the number for alcoholics anonymous missed the box and tried to turn around in our swampy parking lot.
The maniac could have lost control and plowed straight into our table.
Regardless, it’s really not cool to do that without at least leaving a note with your contact information.
***
Egad. We’re really scraping the bottom of the bargain bin trying to entertain you Millions of Summit Up Readers as our work week staggers to a close.
It’s Sunday, and we’re sitting on the couch waiting for MTV to air some music television.
The filthy, brownish water dripping from the ceiling of the corporate suites can mean only one thing: Spring is just around the corner.
It’s time to get the bicycle tuned up and dust off the Slip’N Slide.
The snow that was frozen on the roof since November is accummulating by the gallon in our seven trash cans and buckets.
A faint, musty smell has become more pungent as the moisture soaks into our notebooks, Post-it notes and work stations.
It reminds us of standing by a stagnant pond in late August, casting a fishing line and hoping for a bite.
We’re hoping our co-workers appreciate the diversion of the Slip’N Slide placed strategically below a series of dripping ceiling panels and fluorescent light fixtures.
Always the optimists, we’ve again made lemonade out of life’s lemons — stinky as they may be.
***
Our question of the greatest rock musicians of all time in yesterday’s blurble have garnered a response from Chris Adkins, office administrator with Re/Max Properties of Summit and Frisco:
“Guitarist: Jimmy Page, if it’s really between him and Jack White.
Bass: Kinda a tough one, but I’m going with Flea.
Drums: Wow. Neil Peart, if I have to choose.
Singer: Roger Daltry, for sure.”
***
Thanks, Chris. We’re flattered you stuck with our suggestions.
But to be fair, the pool left out some rather talented individuals like, say, John Lennon or Jonny Greenwood, or perhaps Vinnie Paul on drums.
Our springtime moisture and economic woes remind of the strange lyrics of Kurt Cobain:
“And I’m living off of grass and the drippings from the ceiling.”
Yuck.
Sounds like a recipe for some gnarly halitosis, no doubt. A more balanced diet might have tacked a few more years on this artist’s unfortunate, early end.
We hate how it’s often the talented ones like Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Robert Johnson and Brian Jones who kick the bucket at 27.
Oh well. We’ve still got Mick Jagger and Bob Dylan — what’s left of them, anyway.
Musical taste is totally relative, and as long as you’re not a Nickelback or KC and the Sunshine Band fan, you’re OK in our book.
***
In other news, we noticed yesterday the aftermath of what could be an extremely violent act outside our fancy offices.
The picnic table we use to get fresh air on warm, summer days has sustained irreversible damage.
The center of a bench was smashed to splinters.
Could there have been a big fight right outside our newsroom that none of our ace reporters heard rumbling?
Perhaps the damage was caused by a stranger’s skull smashing through the bench before he returned fire with a roundhouse kick to the jaw of the attacker.
There may well have been the standoff of the century, but we missed it.
And now we’re suffering for it because our favorite place to sit is no longer useful for anything more than kindling.
Maybe a drunken driver desperate to find the number for alcoholics anonymous missed the box and tried to turn around in our swampy parking lot.
The maniac could have lost control and plowed straight into our table.
Regardless, it’s really not cool to do that without at least leaving a note with your contact information.
***
Egad. We’re really scraping the bottom of the bargain bin trying to entertain you Millions of Summit Up Readers as our work week staggers to a close.
It’s Sunday, and we’re sitting on the couch waiting for MTV to air some music television.
