February 1st, 2005

Whale fluke

Stewing in my own juices

My fever must like me. I’ve run temperatures up to 101 degrees in the last two days, and this morning I thought I no longer felt feverish, but…nope. 99.2. Guess what I’ve been doing since Sunday? Staying comfortable. Comfort food (I’ve reaffirmed my always-there love for carbs), comfort music (lots of Beatles, Tori Amos, Oingo Boingo, the “Star Trek II” soundtrack – music that makes me feel good and happy), even comfort reading (an hysterical article describing the comic strips where Popeye first proved simply incapable of dying – that’s in All in Color For A Dime).

Quote of the day is from George Carlin: "Time for an update in the George Carlin/Richard Pryor Health Sweepstakes. I lead Richard in heart attacks two to one. But he still leads me, one to nothing, on burning yourself up. What happened was Richard had a heart attack, then I had a heart attack, then Richard burned himself up, and I said 'Fuck that, I'm gonna have another heart attack!' "

I can still laugh. Thank God.
Whale fluke

The triumphant return of meat

So earlier this hour I finally feel both with-it and non-feverish enough to leave my apartment (a.k.a. the Palace of Pestilence) and buy stuff at the corner market three blocks away, and I’m plenty well bundled up and I suppress my coughing while there so as not to be spreading disease, and what do I buy?

Milk, a can of clam chowder and beer sausage.

This anything like pregnancy cravings?