Murgh. I've been sick. Probably not strep throat, but something similar. Sore throat, low grade fever, and swollen glands, which for some reason irritate me more than any other common cold/flu symptom. Swollen glands are definitely going on the "Enemies" list.

Due to illness, I did nothing this weekend but go grocery shopping, spend three hours at PatientFirst for a diagnosis of "that must suck - wait it out," and visit the Essex branch of the public library for the first time. I wonder if anyone else takes field trips to various branches of the public library. I like to see their differing arrangements. Of course, it's all Dewey Decimal System, but there are delightful idiosyncrasies, like the whompingly huge Judaica section at the Pikesville branch. The Cockeysville Branch has a big Korean language section, and Reisterstown has a large Russian collection. The North Point Branch has a big sign for fishing and hunting licenses.

All in all, I agree with my dear sister that "librarians are the bulwark of democracy," and I would add that libraries are the artillery.

Fire on.

Well, there is only one surefire cure for the mulligrubs: opera! Last night, the Birds, W., and I went to our first ever opera. It was Mozart's Cosi fan tutti, in English. Which led to some very dubious lyrics (?) like "he is our fiancees' mutual aquaintance" sung in exquisite harmony. Nevertheless, I was smitten. It's good I waited this long to see an opera. I never would have liked it as a green 28 year old.

And in answer to your inquiries: I spent my birthday doing laundry and working on my fantasy novel. Hee, hee.

It's my birthday! Yay!

Sigh...sigh...sigh. I've been wrapped in the gristly tentacles of the mulligrubs recently. Maybe it's the season or maybe it's the dreams I've been having lately, which parade all my deepest fears and regrets across my subconsious like yuppies with bichon frise at a dogshow.

Of course, outwardly, the life of an international playgirl just glitters. There was sauerbraten and Tim Burton with the Fries and one IwMN last night. There was sting rays and queen angel fish at the aquarium with SwD today. And tonight, overpriced drinks and trawling for young professional men at the Brewer's Art. But ah...how I wish I could try on another life for a day, like a mollusk exchanging shells. This one is getting too small.

Clarification: I just wanted to make clear that the Flying Dutchman is really a very neat person. He likes The Count of Monte Cristo because of the revenge part - which even you must admit, Dr. Y - is deliciously misanthropic. And I'm sure he does not read Men's Health, on the can or elsewhere, because he is CULTURED, and he runs marathons, and in short, I feel terrible about holding him up for public ridicule. I only did it because I liked him, and he didn't call me, and I was A WOMAN SCORNED.

Maybe the whole blog thing is wrong. I hold people up - with only the thinest veneer of anonymity - for contempt or admiration or whatever. But who am I to hold anyone up for anything? If this were the UK, I could be brought up on charges of libel or slander or libelous slander. Or criminal conversation. :) Well, not for that. Not anymore. :)

I should blog about something utterly benign. Like breeds of cow. (Hee, hee.)

Well, things are swimming right along here in the Petard-i-verse. Our charitable arm has been mighty busy: a walk for cancer last Sunday, volunteering at an afterschool program for inner city kids on Monday, and picking up trash in public yesterday. Picking up other people's trash sucks! But we did discover 1. dead bird 2. a massive railroad spike 3. a cherry tree and 4. that one should really not wear low rise jeans when bending over repeatedly. Va va voom.

The social committee has been busy as well. Had lunch and deep conversation with Swims w/ Dolphins yesterday. Had pot luck and highly amusing conversation with the Fries, the Indians with Melodic Names (IwMN), the Flying Dutchman, and some new characters last night.

I made nice with the Flying Dutchman, but I cannot feel comfortable with him. I shouldn't take things so much to heart...I did make a new friend (maybe) who is quite handsome and when I asked him his favorite artist, he said "Pink Floyd." Which is a great answer. He told me stories about Vishnu and Ganesha and how all sorts of things came to pass in the Hindu mythos. I wanted to fall asleep then, it was so pleasant and lovely...

Well, today I'm doing nothing. Nothing I tell you!

I'm going to try to find those books, Dr. Y. Or as I shall call you henceforth: Moggie.

Holy carp! This news just in! You may want to sit, Drs. Y & C...

Tiny dot on Jupiter turns from white to red.

This is almost as exciting as the time the tiny stick turned from white to red when my friend peed on it. ALMOST, but NOT QUITE.

What is up with the extremely ugly space pix? If this keeps up, I'm switching my homepage to a picture of David Hasselhoff. I want to be greeted by BEAUTY, god damn it.

Whelp, more later.

Shoobie doobie do...passing the time until mass. We're doing the 6 p.m. young folks' service tonight.

Speaking of religion, a nod to my politically-active friends of the Jewish persuasion for getting us off for Rosh Hashanah! (That didn't come out right.) Happy New Year! In the spirit of the holiday, I repent of all the gay comments I've made in real and blog life. It's a weird fixation and time twas fixed.

In the society column, Dr. Brown joined the Fries and I for Settlers of Catan yesterday evening. Dr. B and Mr. Fry are altogether too like-minded. They collaborated on the utterly Puritanical move of calling wood "lumber," thereby robbing Small and I of at least three dirty chuckles.


Well, there is more to report, including an adventure, but God calls.