Does that title even make sense? I just like the way it sounds, especially if uttered in my poor approximation of an Irish brogue (oh, go ahead and try it). I have a horrible, shooting, screaming pain in my neck which I acquired two nights ago while extricating myself from Lea's substantial grip without waking her up. It was quite the stealthy maneuver, but now I'm downing the Tylenol and applying a heat pad.
I'm also staring at the Winter Fiction issue of The New Yorker and wondering if I will ever get around to reading it. I was deeply moved by Edward P. Jones' novel The Known World, and so perhaps this story will be good. I don't generally enjoy these fiction issues; I read them out of some twisted sense of duty. Once--was it two Summer issues ago?--there was a father-daughter incest story by an Indian writer. It made my stomach turn inside out and gave me nightmares, but maybe that was the writer's intent. In which case: way to go!
And in blog news...Roger Pao sure as hell calls it like he sees it. Excuse me for being unable to resist (let's blame it on my Tylenol overdose), but I must proclaim: more Pao-er to him! Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Also, I was checking out my recent visitors and noticed that Guillermo over at venepoetics has linked to me. I find this both pleasant and puzzling because my blogging is so earthbound, while the poets snatch stars from the sky with every other post. Maybe it's a case of opposites attract.
And that's just fine with me.
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