Sun day
Dognition
No Bike Day at the Capitol for Your Humble Narrator. Instead, it’ll be Bike Day in Duke City.
Herself is slowly getting past that cold, though she still has a cough. She’s made it to work the past couple of days, but is skipping her usual Saturday workout class, the way I’m skipping that trip to Fanta Se.
Hoping to dodge contagion I’ve been kipping on the far side of our sprawling compound, which annoys Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment), who is deeply suspicious of any departure from standard security protocols.
My practice has likewise been upended, and I’ve felt slightly off all week, even more so than usual. Not sick, but not biking, not blogging. Creatively constipated. Irritable. There’s sand in my oyster, but no pearl.
I’ve been trying to get some ignition in my cognition by fiddling with GarageBand, but can’t get any kind of rhythm going (rimshot).
OK, so that wasn’t bad. The oyster bit was OK, too. Maybe I’m on the road to recovery. If not, at least I can get out on the road. …
Going to pot
Yes, that is a pot of chicken soup in its larval stage.
Herself has crashed and burned on the living-room couch to the stylin’ sounds of KUVO-FM (“Community, Culture, Music”). The Boo is sacked out in his kennel after a long night of behavior I’d rather not revisit while preparing food. And Turkish and Mia are dozing in their respective sunny spots in the master bedroom.
Only I remain awake to tell the tale. And I’d be on the nod too, but someone has to cook and clean and keep the cats out of the damn’ soup.
Of plagues and houses
Herself is not manning (womanning?) her post at the Death Star today.
It’s not the Feddle Gummint Shutdown. As I understand it, the outfit has enough cash in the till to stay open for a couple weeks, if the Imperial Senate can keep it up that long for purposes of jerking off.
Nah, she just has that bug that’s been making the rounds. Seems everybody has had some class of the creeping crud lately, and I’m really hoping to avoid my annual dunking in the booger pool. Old dogs need their sleep, and staying up all night coughing is not conducive to the bagging of the Z’s.
Thus there is much drinking of the hot tea, and consumption of fruit, and if the temps crack the freezing point I may go out and pound ground for an hour, try to put The Fear into those cooties. It beats watching The Turtle rub one out.
Mayor Chris meets The Outspoken Cyclist
Diane Jenks recently spoke with my old college roomie Chris Coursey for “The Outspoken Cyclist,” her radio show-slash-podcast.
They discussed cycling, journalism and Santa Rosa, Calif., which continues to feel the aftereffects of last fall’s horrific fires in Napa and Sonoma counties.
Don’t let the cycling kit fool you — you’ll recall from earlier posts that Chris is the mayor of Santa Rosa, and I expect he’s logging most of his miles in that capacity these days.
“We are still very much in the middle of this disaster, and hopefully on the road to recovery,” says Hizzoner.
You can give the interview a listen here:
Mad Blog Media 