It's not that I think I would win money on Jeopardy or Who Wants to Be a Batchelor Big Brother. I do, however, know a lot of strange, possibly true events. For instance, I know that Richard Blaine is a real person, but he has never owned a bar in Morocco. I think he's been to Morocco, Indiana, but never to Africa. When I talk to him on the telephone, he sounds nothing like Humphrey Bogart, and he has never actually said "Play it Again, Sam". Of course, neither did the other Richard Blaine. And, of course, the Richard Blaine I know likes to be called Rich, but that's another story.
Speaking of telephones, I really do believe I hate telephones. I sold telephones for awhile, even cellular phones in the early history of that industry. Oh, now I have to revise the second sentence -- I don't hate telephones. I like to play with them, including such things as playing little tunes, and choosing menu options. I just hate to call and, especially, answer them. There is something in the "phone world" that's like a demon when a telephone is in my hand. It's not just that there is bad news coming from the line. It's also a large portion of stupidity. This is especially true when people you don't want to talk to call you. I'm not just talking about telemarketers, the spam of the telephony universe. I have to take calls at work from people whose only reason to call is an inability to make it through the day. The only "friend" they seem to have is the telephone. Now I'm a friendly person. I don't immediately want to chop their heads off and feed them to telemarketers. I try to understand their dilemma, which is simply how to get the person on the end of the line (me) to understand why we should have an 800 number (we don't, for a variety of reasons). "These calls I make keep adding up", they say. "They do for me, also," I think.
So. Sow. Sew (a needle pulling thread)