Coulter and flu season

What kind of an era do we now live in where one friend won't euthanise another simply because it's immoral to kill someone just because they only have a cold? What a world we live in! Next thing you know they'll be telling us that pollution isn't bad and that democratically elected leaders have the power to do anything they like and have absolutely no worried of accountability whatsoever to anyone they may happen represent! Is that where we're headed?

Expecting nothing but pure, unadulterated sympathy from close friend and main nemesis AlefAlef. This, after all, is the man sat all the way through all 46 baffling hours of "Alexander" with me – perhaps the funniest movie of all time – just because I wanted that 1-second glimpse of Colin Farrell's balls (it was worth it!). Such strong friendship. Such camaraderie. Such brotherly love.

Well, I was to be bitterly disappointed when I called him last night. For the past few days I have been suffering from constipation of the head and forest fire of the lungs. Just a cold you say? My sinuses are so stuffed that my eyeballs are popping out à la Quasimodo and my throat and lungs are so raw that I talk like Gollum. It's precious!

My hypotheses on this wretched illness are the following: a) I have consumption and will soon die swooning in morbid romance all over my divan while my lovers kill each other in a jealous rage (now I must acquire a divan and a pair of jealous lovers and figure out how to swoon) or b) Bill O'Reilly is right and this is divine retribution for wishing a "Happy Holidays" to a Christian. Who would have thought that Fox News would get something right?

The phone call went something like this:

Me: Honey, I need you to do me a favour.

AlefAlef: Now?

Me: Well, soon. I need you to come over and kill me.

AlefAlef: Oh honey ... [brief pause while words of sympathy are formed] ... it would be no fun for me if you're already expecting it.

After a long conversation in which it was observed that I was hysterical and feeling far too sorry for myself than the situation merited (come back to me when you haven't left your apartment in 3 days and your bedhead makes you look like the guy from A Flock of Seagulls and we'll chat about who feels too sorry for whoself!) and that AlefAlef is cold, cruel, heartless, and made of stone, I realised that I'll have to go it alone. I would have to get all Ann Coulter on these germs' ass!

Standing up to my full height (I'm actually a little taller than Ms Coulter) I proclaimed, "Microbes! I'd like to talk to you ... with a baseball bat!"

No effect other than that I had to blow my nose.

"Bugs! If you didn't throw like little girls, you'd give me something manly like pneumonia or tuberculosis!"

I coughed a bit. A lot. Now I know what colour my phlegm is.

"Germs! I will take away women germs' right to vote! I will invade you, kill your leaders, and convert you all to ... er ... Christianity ...?" (I'm Jewish.)

Nothing. A microscopic disease-laden wolf howled in the distance. A furball from my cat – who, it would appear, has neither flesh nor blood, only fur – tumbled by.

The germs were obviously ignoring me and so I got bored and went to bed, but could not sleep. We should all learn a lesson from my germs. If we ignore Ann Coulter long enough, eventually she'll get bored and sink into a pit of her own misery. I can't see any jealous lovers fighting for her attention though.

I don't blame Korea anymore

I don't get nervous about dates anymore. I've been on too many to think of them - most of them - as anything but the last five minutes of that cheezy, over-theatrical sitcom ("Reba" springs immediately to mind) you accidentally turn on early and decide to watch until the show you really want to see comes on; not what you wanted, but it's the necessary lead up that will remind you why you like your real show so much. Besides, there's nothing else to do while you wait.

Even though I don't get nervous, do like to make a good impression and so I spruce up a bit. My normally floppy hair that is exactly the same style as it was immediately preceding that fateful day in the early 80s when I discovered feathering and mousse - luckily that's in style these days - is made to swoop, spike, glisten, and arc gracefully. The clothes I choose are picked specifically for their ability to mask my expanding waistline. Shaving, usually only a thrice-weekly event for me, occurs immediately prior to walking out the door so as to be as smooth as possible. Extra attention is paid to the quality of my breath.

I wish I could say the same for the guy I went on a date with a couple of days ago.

"Hello," he said, turning to me when I met up him in the video store.

"Aaaaaah!" I screamed inside my head, taking a step back as I was suddenly enveloped in a cloud of rancid fumes that reminded me of that time when I was hiking and I accidentally stumbled onto a dump.

I'd noticed it the first time we'd meet but at that time I'd attributed it to the spicy Korean food we'd had the appeared to have been immersed in chilli oil for several months before being served. A couple of those weird breath strips did the trick and our end-of-date, pre-carnal physical relations were quite delightful.

It was clear to me this time, however, that Korea was not the culprit. It was simply that the boy produces his own chemical weapons, perhaps as a natural shield against guys who want him for his, it must be admitted, luscious body.

He suggested a few movies I had little interest in seeing ("War of the Worlds", "Fantastic Four") and I agreed limply, so great was my desire to be out in fresh air. I chose food from a Lebanese restaurant I know has very garlicky tehini so I would have the excuse to pull out the breath strips. However, after a couple of hours of perching on the edge of the couch surrounded by the eternal fumes of Hell, I lost all my energy and made my excuses (man, was I tired/had to get up early the next morning/forgot to feed the cat).

It's not as if he were unhygienic and unkempt. He is neat, his apartment is clean, and the toothpaste tube in his bathroom has those smooth indentations that indicate regular squooshing. And he's kind, sweet, smart, interested in the world, and cute to boot. It's just that he has a rotting corpse lodged in the back of his throat.

It would only take one uncomfortable conversation to clear this up - so to speak - with him. I'm not so superficial that I'd dump a guy I like because of something as silly as a little bad breath.

Or am I? I haven't heard from him since then and the fact that he may not have liked me all that much the second time around comes as a bit of a relief. I feel no rushing urge to get in contact with ol' zombie mouth either. Perhaps this was just the last few minutes of a show that had potential the first time, but the second time was, well, not so hot.

Besides, yesterday I met this really cute guy - taller than me (which is rare), very cute, soft-spoken and a little shy. We made plans to meet for a movie next week. I wonder what will turn out to be wrong with him?

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of Poo)

I've just heard the new Eurythmocs song. I wonder of this is how the boomers felt when Jefferson Airplane mutated into Starship and oozed "We Built This City (On Rock and Roll)". Yeeeesh!

Back

...from my fantasy honeymoon with Noah Huntley,


...machete victim in "28 Days Later" and adult Peter (Click; it's a great pic) in that new mediocre Narnia movie. The honeymoon's over and the marriage was a fantasy, but it was a good fantasy.

Very Pretty

Christmas lights In Belo Horizonte, Brazil. Pillaged from Mr V.