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Random musings on a writer's life & times, with occasional input from acquaintances

 

Sunday, January 30, 2005

 
If it’s Sunday, this must be the 7.

1) What are you wearing?

Green corduroy pants, brown t-shirt, black sweatshirt, white sox, tan sweatboots. Color combinations like this come about when one dresses in the dark, as I did this morning. I don’t recommend it. (Didn’t someone once write a song about that? “Dressing in the dark, we were dressing in the dark . . .” Ah, maybe not.)

2) What are you reading?

Still chugging along on “Foul Matter,” a novel by Martha Grimes. I may not read quickly, but I do read badly.

3) What’s for dinner?

Not spaghetti, I hope. We had it the last two evenings, not to mention the leftovers I choked on and threw up yesterday.

4) What’s the best thing that happened this week?

Why do you keep asking me that? You make me feel bad, trying to think of something good that happened. I can’t.

5) What’s bugging you?

I’m suffering a siege of tiredosity. I tend to attribute it to resuming an exercise regimen (riding a spinning bike and walking on alternate days) after several months on the shelf with back pain, but I’m not sure. Maybe it’s my Indian blood. That’s what my mother used to tell me when I was a kid and complained of being tired. My late father’s family traces its lineage back to the Comanches, and it’s a fairly short trip. My mother divorced my father when I was a pre-schooler, so her opinion of his energy level -- among other attributes -- is not high. It is racist, though. At least that’s something.

6) Where in the world is Carmen San Diego?

Okmulgee, Oklahoma. Lots of Comanches around there, you know.

7) What’s it all about, Dave?

James Thurber said: "The wit makes fun of other persons; the satirist makes fun of the world; the humorist makes fun of himself."






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