When I have shuffled off this m. c., it will probably be said of me that I was a wastrel, and I'd be hard pressed to deny it, and not only because of my deceased state. Wastrelsy as a profession has a bad name, up there with politician/philanderer and religious leader/philanderer. In this age of multitasking, biterminal candle burning, and workaholism, few remember that Benjamin Franklin was a closet wastrel, or that Isaac Newton came upon the theory of gravity while wastreling underneath an apple tree. Their achievements soiled what would have been exemplary records of wastreltude, making them tragic figures in the eyes of contemporary wastrels. I'm just warming up to this subject, but I suddenly feel a need to pour myself a glass of wine and go sit on the porch.