Today is September 11.
And the temptation is great to go off on the murderous bastards who killed 3000 Americans and accomplished absolutely nothing in doing so. Like so many endeavors in the pursuit of Jihad.
But today, I find myself tired of my own voice.
I don't want to kvetch about semi-evolved human beings and their bloodlust and their misogynistic fairy tales written by desert dwelling goat herders 1000, 2000 or even 5000 years ago.
I don't want to rag on advertising, the business that puts food on my table, pays a premium price for my ideas and affords me the opportunity to swim at lunchtime.
And I don't want to speak publicly about my daughter's (both of them) annoying habit of taking selfies everywhere they go. I just don't get it.
Instead I want to leave you with a picture of the Pink Cheeks Salon on Ventura Blvd, in the heart of Sherman Oaks California.
If you do go to the Pinks Cheeks Salon, you'll find -- as the sign above indicates -- ample parking in the rear.
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