Thanks for the comment, Klondike Kate! I have stopped by your blog, too (via jr of noded, some months ago), and you cracked me up with your entry about nearly being done in by CO2 poisoning! I’ll stop in again, but I admit that it makes me nervous to think of all the interesting blog writers out there, spread from Alaska to Africa and all points inbetween, that I could — should? — be reading! It really is pretty mind-boggling…

I forgot how much fun it was to macrame Foucalt and Derrida, and the rest of the inter-outer-dimensional thinkers. Kind of like going on a merry-go-round after donning 3-D glasses.

Thank you for the thought-provoking piece!

Maria, you get the Blue Ribbon — Candide and dust motes… ahahhh.

So, my particular hell these days has been providing meals, day in and day out, huge amounts of food for those growing adolescents, carting it in, preparing it, cooking it, cleaning up afterward. I keep thinking of that Yugoslavian film, Montenegro, where the closing line, after the mad housewife totally loses it, is “the fruit was poisoned…”

But you know, it’s nothing compared to being in a position of not being able to cart in truckloads of food and preparing it. And yet, The Ballad of Lucy Jordan (used in the film, whose fruit-poisoning heroine was Marilyn Jordan, has sometime resonance. Sometimes.

Meanwhile, all real escalation continues in the war machine… What’s not to go crazy about????

Ah, the consolations of laundry and the husbandry of dust bunnies … which gather and multiply as much on Boogie Street as they do in the corners of the remotest suburban homes miles from Boogie Street:

“’Let us work,’” said Martin, ‘without disputing; it is the only way to render life tolerable.’

The whole little society entered into this laudable design, according to their different abilities. Their little plot of land produced plentiful crops. Cunegonde was, indeed, very ugly, but she became an excellent pastry cook; Paquette worked at embroidery; the old woman looked after the linen. They were all, not expecting Friar Girofl

That’s really lovely, Joseph, “maps of blood and flesh” posted on doors, but in love “we are made, in love we disappear.” Leonard Cohen is so good. Boogie on, eh? …And if I get out from under this pile of laundry and dustbunnies and dishes, I just might, haha! There, another confession to post on my door…