THIS AND THAT AND MORNING GLORIES

So there's a new Swine Flu loose on the globe, centered in Mexico, and the other night I hear some dickhead on the news saying don't let it worry you, go to Mexico and enjoy the beach. Yeah, right. You first, Ace. (And check your moribund carcass at Customs on your return.)

* * *

My garden's looking pretty good. Tulips galore. I'll even have to cut the grass soon. Yessir, it's time to get out the lawnmower... and the baseball glove. Yahoo! (Too early for morning glories, though. I hope Andy's crop is spectacular this year. By the way, I miss you, you old bastard.)

* * *

Another piece on the vile treatment of women in Afghanistan.

When Afghan women give birth, I suspect they pray the squirming little mass is male. For a whole raft of reasons.

At this point, one might hope that each of those prayers is answered.

For a whole raft of reasons.

* * *

There are barely two months left before the end of school. Seems like only last night I was preparing for the school year to start. They say this happens with age. I'd say they are correct.

* * *

Go Gunners!

WORDS OVERHEARD IN THE STAFFROOM THIS WEEK

Knickers.

Ballyhoo.

Flummoxed.

Scabrous.

Persnickety.

Cadaverous.

Sycophant.

Nocturnal.

Twat.


Yes. I make lists. It's a sickness that has infected many notebooks -- and quite a few restaurant napkins, beer coasters, and the sleeves of cigarette packages. And while I am too old to be cured of this affliction, I offer this confession as a cautionary tale to the younger folk.

Please: learn to relax. (I have compiled a list of relaxation techniques. These are available on sticky notes and the backs of envelopes.)

Hey, they're playing my song.

JUST THINKING OUT LOUD. AT EASE. SMOKE 'EM IF YOU GOT 'EM

I've had a quote stuck in my brain for a couple of days. I think it's by Paul Theroux (but I'm too lazy to look it up). It involves writing and aging. And it goes something like this (use of the 'f' word is, like, totally down to me):

No one would care about writing -- no one would even consider being a writer -- were it not for the relentless fucking cruelty of time passing.

Yes.

And writers seem to feel that cruelty from a very early age.


I want to be thirteen again. Maybe forever.

LISTEN UP, CLASS

Ah, I loves me them Reptiles.

This week: Poisonous Reptiles. Special study: the Gila Monster and Pit Vipers.

Note to beginners: Rattlesnakes are Pit Vipers. If you hear the rattle, it may already be too late. Pleasant dreams.

Shhhh....

I have absolutely nothing to say. Join me next month for charades and mime.

JOURNAL/ APRIL 9

I caught a cold this week. No biggee, right? Just a cold. Nuh-uh. Wrong. This motherfucker was spawned in viral hell. Sore throat -- as in acid-swallowing sore -- going on six days now. Sinuses filled with lime-green pudding. Eyeballs bulging fluid. A cough that won't quit. Four hours sleep in five nights, total. And breathing? What the hell is that, again?

Still, it made for a lovely short workweek. I went in. I came straight home. And tomorrow's Friday. What the Xians call Good Friday. Maybe we'll have fish. (Only 'cause I can't smell anything. See, I don't mind eating fish in restaurants; I just can't abide my house smelling like a carp's rear end.)

By the way: cold syrups don't fucking work. Tylenol Daytime/Nighttime Cold pills don't fucking work. Aspirin, decongestants, ditto. This cunt ain't afraid o'none o'your store-bought cold remedies. This cold could take over the world. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Llewellen: Chilled fluids with an amber body and frothy white head. And plenty of them.

UPDATE: Unfortunately, the beer did not have the desired effect. Doctor Boogaloo succumbed to the virus and died on Sunday. His body will be mummified and placed in the lobby of the Lunch Counter. Gears and pulleys will provide an 'automaton' effect, while music by the Kinks will be played each time the front door opens. Don't ask me why. That was his wish.

NEIL SEDAKA DESERVES TO BE IN THE ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME

I can't believe that Neil Sedaka is not a member of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. What the hell?!

I doan buhlee-dis!

Thinking back (yeah, waaaaay back)... some of the first tunes I remember hearing on my brand new transistor radio were by Neil Sedaka. Oh, Carol and Calendar Girl spring immediately to mind. And how about THIS ONE? I mean, the guy's a legend. He's seventy years old and he's still touring, for pete's sake. Come on. Induct the guy already!

There is an online petition, the aim of which is to convince the nominating committee to sit up and take notice. You can sign it here.

I watched Sedaka perform at The Royal Albert Hall a couple of years ago (a PBS broadcast, if memory serves). It was a wonderful show.

I realize I'm an old fart. (Don't think there's much I can do about it.) But ignoring Neil Sedaka's contributions to the frigging huge range of music that falls under the category of 'Rock and Roll' just isn't right.

So there.