The affairs of state must take precedent over the affairs of state

I've lived here all my life. Accordingly, that I've thus far resisted the urge to put a bullet in my brain is perhaps no small victory but a tad beside the point right now. As with all small towns, one ends up knowing everyone else and sees the same faces day in/out. Maybe not every person everyday but close enough. Sort of like how the view for all but the lead dog in a pack never really changes. Sure it's a different rump from time to time. Some are larger, some smaller, but ultimately, it's still an ass. While that may be good enough for Six Mix-A-Lot, I suspect it gets a bit old out on the tundra.

(Note: I use this simile simply as an illustration and not as a broad characterization of my fellow denizens. They're all good peeps, of course. Or at least the ones who read this are. )

Surprising then to receive a friendly greeting, by name, on the way to the post office this morning from one I can't recall ever encountering. It's nice to be recognized, mind. But I always overanalyze these sort of situations.

Therefore, I gave the sort of half wave/acknowledgement/murmur one gives when one thinks, usually mistakenly, that one is being waved at from across the room. The kind of sign that can double as cover in case it was really the dashing debonair dude with the smoking jacket and pipe (Apparently, in my mind I hang out at the Playboy Mansion) and not the bespectacled wallflower dork that fab brunette was frantically waving too. "Hey...uh, that...uh, molding is indeed perfect for this room." Carpentry being a silent hobby of mine.

I don't consider myself famous nor am I particularly high profile. My position as head of the local "Hooray for our awesome hometown" do-gooder outfit necessitates the occasional appearance at supermarket ribbon cuttings and handshakes with bigwigs. Evidence of which usually turns up in our local organ which is read by hundreds of people.

Actually, that's a bit of a stretch. We've not had an actual supermarket open here for 30 years. Quite a few of the ribbon cuttings have been for places that sell food though. A couple of such establishments are actually still open; I like to tell myself the failures had nothing to do with me. Usually when I'm composing my annual letter to Santa Claus.

As for famous folks, in work-related situations I've met a few Atlanta Falcons and the occasional forgettable political candidate but no one all that noteworthy. Apparently, the bigwigs just don't have the time for us. Can't imagine why more candidates don't spend half a day getting here for the several thousand potential votes up for grabs. We just might swing the election in that candidates favor. I suspect we wouldn't, but there's always the possibility. I often include that wish in the aforementioned letters to Santa Claus.

I have been in the same room as our current governor. However, the closest I came to shaking his hand was breathing the same air. Had the gov's handlers realized whom he was in the presence of, I'm sure they would have arranged a photo op. And asked me to kindly step aside. I think the EPJ did get her picture snapped with him, however. It is currently in a place of some prestige, buried in her desk drawer next to some empty pens, stray staples and old packets of sweet n low. So much for all politics being local.