His naked ears were tortured, by the sirens sweetly singing...

this is one from a couple of years ago, I like the way it flows


Life sucks, and then you die.

This news flash brought to you courtesy of yours truly, by way of some seriously fine Tanqueray Rangpur and a couple of tabs of Aleve, and midwifed by Margo Timmons' siren song of loneliness and despair.

You're welcome. Come back soon.

Oh wait, I had something to say that wasn't the thought I want to find a sharp pointed utensil and jab it underneath my eyelid.

I'm gonna let that stand there for a minute, just to see if that's what I was trying to convey to the 3 people who might read this...

No, it had to be something more substantial. Margo's sweet voice can do that to you if you're feeling marginalized and a bit unsure about your destiny. The comparison to the sirens of Greek Literature is completely on purpose. Their job was to steer unsuspecting sailors to their horrid death on the rocks, and Margo can drive you to the bottle, the needle or something worse if you feel like you need that push towards the dreamy afterlife when all is without hope.

But I digress...this is not about despair at all. Because she can also give you a fair bit of perspective on the little victories that qualify as the good things in life, too.

I finally this week have gotten a chance to actually do some proper cooking in my kitchen again, after being denied the pleasure for the last 2 weeks because of a massive reconstruction of the ceiling. You don't quite realize how much cooking means to me, as someone who gets very little pleasure from things that most people take for granted. A long time ago, I swore that cooking good food was going to be something I would do for myself, and learning about it was going to be the thing that carried me through the times where I felt no one else gave a damn if a decent risotto was really possible.

Or whether I had a snowball's chance in hell of getting Lindsay Lohan's phone number on my cell for that matter.

No matter what I encounter that brings me down, whether it's a heartbreaking loss by my favorite team, the huge disappointment of seeing a Ferrari not winning the latest Grand Prix or a stark reality that the swollen gland on my jawline might be the next phase of my limited mortality, I can always be sure that something made by my own hands at a stove will bring me a few minutes of respite.

So the idea that I could finally turn to something at dinner that didn't involve using the microwave should be a welcome change. And I would have to say, after a lot of selfish recriminations that got in the way the last week, it did make the fine meal I had tonight (and the other ones this week) better than I could've hoped.

So I live to suffer another day, full with a good meal and some even better mood altering substances. I don't think about the day's bad news, or the reality of my possible descent into the realm of the diseased. There's always another thing to cook tomorrow.

Sometimes life sucks, but in between, you don't have to worry about the dying part. It'll come in time. I guess Margo has served me well, and now she can resume her place in the collection next til the next time I need reassurance that someone else is worse off than me.

Selah