Notes From Underground
I always feel sorry for poor little unloved blogs that sit fallow for weeks at a time, and here I've abandoned mine. I'm sorry about that -- it's just that ever since I made that Prophet Mohammad Shrinky Dink, there's been a fatwa on my head and I've been lying low.*
Also, I have an unwritten policy of refraining from anything that's on the cover of New York magazine. Especially cuddle dating.
Finally, my will to go on has been wavering more than usual. This is partially due to my ongoing allergy problems. I will not bore you with the details, friends, but a desperate situation was alleviated somewhat with garden-variety Claritin-D. Who knew? It cleared my head but also made me feel as if I were on some kind of experimental Army drug that eliminated the need to eat and sleep. I'm still trying to decide whether it's a pleasant sensation or not.
Maybe I'm working through the impurities I sweated out on Sunday when I finally went to a Russian banya, where I neither (1) was beaten with birch leaves nor (2) rolled in the snow. (I did see Leonid Brezhnev, however, who is apparently alive, well, and living in Midwood.) For more details, watch this space!
Shizuka Arakawa skated a very nice program, deserved the gold, and can't help it that she's a fembot. I wanted Sasha Cohen and Irina Slutskaya to wrestle her off the podium and make her faceplate pop off. The Comrade and I were crestfallen last night and fell into a troubled sleep, only to be jerked awake by a caller with the wrong number. The Comrade said he sounded Japanese.
*As soon as the death threats are lifted I plan to marry a model and go to a lot of Vanity Fair parties.
Also, I have an unwritten policy of refraining from anything that's on the cover of New York magazine. Especially cuddle dating.
Finally, my will to go on has been wavering more than usual. This is partially due to my ongoing allergy problems. I will not bore you with the details, friends, but a desperate situation was alleviated somewhat with garden-variety Claritin-D. Who knew? It cleared my head but also made me feel as if I were on some kind of experimental Army drug that eliminated the need to eat and sleep. I'm still trying to decide whether it's a pleasant sensation or not.
Maybe I'm working through the impurities I sweated out on Sunday when I finally went to a Russian banya, where I neither (1) was beaten with birch leaves nor (2) rolled in the snow. (I did see Leonid Brezhnev, however, who is apparently alive, well, and living in Midwood.) For more details, watch this space!
Shizuka Arakawa skated a very nice program, deserved the gold, and can't help it that she's a fembot. I wanted Sasha Cohen and Irina Slutskaya to wrestle her off the podium and make her faceplate pop off. The Comrade and I were crestfallen last night and fell into a troubled sleep, only to be jerked awake by a caller with the wrong number. The Comrade said he sounded Japanese.
*As soon as the death threats are lifted I plan to marry a model and go to a lot of Vanity Fair parties.
posted by frostine | 3:34 PM
2 Comments:
Hi Frostine,
That antihistimine junk is serious. I'm on Zyrtek and a sudafed and I feel like at any minute I'll go to the bad side, stand up on my desk and scream about the bugs crawling on my skin. Almost think it is better just to have a stuffy head.
I hope your allergy problems clear up soon so you don't have to take awful drugs of any sort.
I should say there is something worse than "poor little unloved blogs that sit fallow" -- it is those bloody spoiled blogs, the ones that take up all one's time and sweat and blood and refuse to get an audience of any sort, as they are basking in their author's frustration, that I find most irritating. My blog is quickly becoming the latter, and I am not hapy.
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