Myrt's Blurts: Rob with Oldtimer’s in Walla Walla, Washington

Seven years of the “tell him I’m not here” routine with the Myrt nickname, and it resurfaces like the pesky ex who always seems to craft one more scheme to inch back in. Alas, I’m choosing to embrace this old friend rather than flipping off the lights, hitting the ground, and belly-crawling around until he finally gives up and goes away. So without running that hyperbolic metaphor further into exhaustion, I give you my column. Myrt’s Blurts: meanderings, musings, and maybe nonsensical but mostly inane mishmash of life as I see it. Frightened as I’m sure you are to read on, my only defense is this: blame JL and LeMare. 

Rob with Oldtimer’s in Walla Walla, Washington 

In my middle school health class, we were discussing neglect, and I relayed the news bit about a man with oldtimer’s disease left to fend for himself. Back in college, my mother read an article in Ricks’ newspaper about a student excited to make his first voyage to the Big Apple. On his list of things to do: see the newly hyped Broadway play, Lame Is Rob. 

I understand and often forgive these gaffes, blunders, and phonetic mishaps. Until only a few years ago, I thought a quick bite could tie me over. All too frequently, I hear or read “for now on,” “I could care less,” “first come, first serve,” and a plethora of other misused idioms and mixed metaphors.  

But nothing prepared me for this. Working on an article submitted to the publication for which I am the editor, I came across this gem: “After you review the information, you will click the “accept” button and WALA!  You are done.” 

What do you even do with that?

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