So these guys decided that this post had some sort of merit (really?), and they’ve chosen it as a reading for their Blogsday 2006. Anyone who knows me knows that I love the James Joyce (my god, in my high school yearbook my senior quote was from Ulysses—how did everyone not punch me?) (Although at least it wasn’t from Finnegan’s Wake. "She has a gift of seek on site and she allcasually ansars helpers, the dreamydeary. Heed! Heed! Go Class of '87!"), so it’s a great honor to be included in this latter-day take on Bloomsday. Apparently an actor will read my words, adding some whimpering where appropriate. Maybe at the end she’ll burst into heaving sobs! Oh, I hope!
It will be airing on your local NPR affiliate, probably Thursday night. I know it’s on WNYC Thursday at 9, but the rest of you will just have to look it up. I’ll be sitting by my radio, cringing.
Meanwhile, since writing that post, I’ve found myself despite my best efforts actually liking it around here. This house is so pretty that I want to lick it. (I hold off, because of the lead paint.) I keep trying to avoid the neighbors but somehow they find me and then I end up liking them, damn it. I have an herb garden and so far everything is still alive. (Except my basil tastes like nothing. Readers, you’ve helped me with every other aspect of my life, so tell me: why would basil taste like, well, leaves? Instead of the explosive flavor sensation I have long known it to be?) And Henry starts camp in two weeks! Every-day-for-four-hours camp! Much-cheaper-than-the-babysitter camp!
Posts will be light around here for the next month, as I focus on other projects for a while and also try not to get fired. I’ll be posting more pictures on Flickr when I remember, including my new series, “Weed or Something Else?”