When Lorelei Gilmore Essays La Dame Aux Camelias

So-o-o I was perfectly fine yesterday, reveling in the pleasing sensation of air in/air out. I even laid off the inhalers. But then I went out to have dinner and biz plan read-through with Seraphina. We had a terrific time, discussing Eric Garner and Kim Kardashian’s ass, but it was -3 degrees out by the time I left the diner and headed for home. The cold air must have played trigger. I began coughing, and I couldn’t stop. Jeanna – that’s her above – called, and I literally couldn’t speak.

So I think I’m gonna have to do nothing for the next couple of days – literally again – but lay in bed, snort corticosteroids, inhale steam, drink tea, and get this sucker back to sub-threshold.

I’m supposed to go up to T-burg this weekend to do the annual Deep Winter Dysfunctional Film Festival with Ben. Hopefully, I’ll be recovered in time for that.

Corticosteroids are like speed. Thus I lay awake a great deal of the night watching reruns of Switched at Birth and that seminal American film classic Mystic Pizza. Mystic Pizza is clearly the progenitor of The Gilmore Girls, another great favorite of mine. In fact, the fictional heroine I’ve been most often compared to over the years is Lorelei Gilmore because that is the way I talk much of the time – with the same rat-a-tat-tat stream of pop culture referents.

Getting sick. Inconvenient and boring.