While I'm not campaigning to be the world's greatest eccentric -- heaven forbid with the likes of Daniel Johnston and Michelle Bachmann milling about, I'd have about as much credence in that role as a two-legged pachyderm.
But! But I do have at least one quirk I'm happy to divulge and take the infamy/log into the running for contemporary log lady supreme.
On December 23, I have a string of bad luck. At one point, I would have even said I might be cursed.
The running tally: one broken limb, two cases of bronchitis, one apartment broken into. There might be a break-up associated as well. Whatever it is, I've mitigated the results typically by staying in for the duration of the day, as I have the last few years. This year, with the holiday crush largely overriding my better judgment, I am going to attempt to venture out, see a film and maybe hit a museum or two or three. So, what will the World have to offer?
My list: mugged/raped/killed (in that order), a broken toe/finger/arm limb spine, house fire, a misstep on the subway platform, attack by a pack of feral wolves, a kick to the grown by a caroling midget. Yesterday started off with a saxophonist playing La Cucaracha in the West 4th station, basically a form of torture as identified by the Geneva Conventions and United Nations accord.
So I get it. The gauntlet is dropped. Let's have some fun.
(Oh, and if you need me, I'll be drying my hair in the shower. I've got seven minutes, I should be safe).
No comments:
Post a Comment