Lamentable
I've caught some horrible spring cold, which, after a week of
just being nettlesome and draining, finally has got me to the point
where I not only don't feel like writing, i don't feel like
reading either. I expect the Senate's China Syndrome act won't
take on any new and unpredictable forms if I don't pay attention for a
few days. I feel confident they will still be cheerfully calling each
other names on Monday. I started reading Waugh's Scoop A occasionally
funny but weak novel, about journalism. I started half a year
ago, never finished it, I will now. Paper is a miracle device -
reflects enough light from a lamp to read a page by, but not too much -
can't see why that stuff hasn't been patented.
Listening to the Decemberist's song My Mother was a Chinese Trapeze Artist
as I write this. Every time I listen to that song, I think the same
thought: I once knew a girl who's mother, Diep, was a motorcycle
daredevil for a circus in South Vietnam in the early 1960's (she had a
picture). Peculiar thing when you think about it. That's not the
thought; though, it's just an introduction to the thought. But
already now iTunes has slid on to the next song on its
list: "I'm a legionnaire. Camel in dis-repair. Hoping for a
Frigidare to come passing by..."
11:36:59 PM  ;;
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