Worst Stoopid Cold Ever

Well, I'm finally down from 1 to .5 TBPD*; I think I'll make it. Don't know exactly what this disease is. Never snorted nor squealed, so it wasn't that Swine-ish Flu; didn't crave super-thin pancakes or meatballs in cream sauce so it wasn't the Swedish Flu either. But hands down, it was the Wickedest Damn Cold on the Planet. It sucked 4 days out my life like an anteater on an anthill. According to the Germ Theory of Disease, no one actually cursed me -- they just coughed in my general direction. This is the sort of thing people should keep to themselves, hiding it at home with the blinds drawn.

An absolutely wicked, awful, horrible, no-good, very bad head-cold and lung thingey. Been down for 5 days, shuffling from one resting spot to the other like a blind elderly cat, intermittently lapping up a bowl of soup, slurping a cup of Gypsy Cold Cure tea, batting at toast. Not enough energy to read much or even watch stoopid daytime tv. A good day was getting out to the hammock for the first mid-morning lay-about in the sun. Books-on-tape (and a humidifier, thanks, Cory!) saved me, getting me through the hacking afternoons and restless, sweat-drenched nights.

And I was blessed by having on hand a CD of Toni Morrison's "A Mercy," read by her. What a treat to listen to Morrison's remarkably beautiful and cadenced voice; I was lost in that fictive world so beloved by authors and readers alike. The poetry of her prose sprang out, was song; the story unfolded as if sitting around a fire late into the evening, each character's voice taking over the dirt stage in turn, speaking their truth. I was enthralled, entranced. I flung up my arm to stop hasty actions by Florens; I reached out a hand to wipe Rebekkah's brow as she lay abed with pox (then I snatched it back; wouldn't do to get pox, too); I tried to pound Sorrow's back when she was hauled out of the river.

Or maybe I was just plain delirious. Whatever, I'm back to work tomorrow, for as long as I last. I promise not to cough in your general direction.

*Tissue Boxes Per Day

Sotomayor ~ yes!

Funny that talk-radio right-wingers are all up in arms about the New Haven fireman's case Judge Sotomayor ruled on years ago. They are beginning to seem a bit desperate if this is what they resort to, dredging up one case and stomping all over it. Or a few remarks here and there. For one thing, I like to look at the overall picture, to consider her whole record, not simply one case. Certainly Judge Sotomayor's life experience is an invaluable viewpoint to bring into the Courts.

.. and the charge of her being racist? Give me a freaking break! Wasn't so long ago some of those folks were damnably proud of being racists their own selves; seen in that context, it could be a (perverse) complement. Puhhhhleeezze!

An Egretful Morning

Yes, some things are irresistible, like egrets and puns. When they occur simultaneously, well, pack me in cotton and send me to China, I'm a happy camper. (zoooom! I'm back now, whew.) Meanwhile, an essay was published in SSU's Newsbytes last month (April 10th, tbe) and I neglected to post the link. So here it is, An Egretful Morning.

Love to hear what you think....

A two-timing, Twleve-stepping, twentysomething temptress....

The other Saturday I went to a book signing party for a friend, Z Egloff, whose book "Verge," was just published this year by Bywater Books. This was a party with balloons, streamers, a signing table, a reading, a nun (ersatz but still!), a cake, a fire ceremony (which I regret that I missed) and a blue bike. Z was totally stoked; friends from all her many walks of life were there to cheer, clap, stomp and yell. At any moment dancing could break out, and for all I know, later on it did.

A bunch of us loitered by the wish-writing table and reminisced about reading the first chapters of "Verge" in it's maiden workshop up at Wellspring, when it was but a workshopping virgin. From the get-go, this was a dynamite story. We loved its pacing and verve and characters and smart-alecky voice. The bookjacket blurb pretty much captures it: "Can a two-timing, Twelve-stepping, twenty-something temptress find happiness with a nun?" Of course to discover the answer...you'll need to read the book. Don't forget, there's a bike involved.

How To ... what?

I don't know if anyone else caught this event, The White House Correspondent's Association Dinner (by Dinner we mean Roast) last Friday night, but this was the quip by President Obama that caught my attention:

"Dick Cheney was supposed to be here but he is very busy working on his memoirs, tentatively titled, 'How to Shoot Friends and Interrogate People'."...and there's much more posted here along the same lines, some pretty darn hilarious lines. Plus some rather pointy barbs, amid the great giggles and guffaws.

Just had to share.