Sweet lord it makes me happy to watch the Yankees lose. To see them lose to a team from Texas (Texas!) makes it all the sweeter. Gratifying, also. The work Cliff Lee and I did on his knuckle-curve is really paying dividends. He still hasn’t mastered it to the degree I’d like, of course, but it’s enough to beat the Yankees. And that’s enough for me.
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The month has not been a good one. I’ve had a sinus issue of some sort, with the result that I’ve been having dizzy spells on and off for the last several weeks. I can’t concentrate, I can’t read, and I can’t write. After trying out a variety of cures, I’ve finally managed to get the matter in hand. Sinuses are draining, dizziness has diminished, and my brain no longer feels like it’s been encased in an inch and a half of dirty bulletproof glass. At long last I can resume work on I Heard A Fly—an opera based on the sexual politics of Emily Dickinson. Before I can write the libretto, I need to learn Dutch (this I use to underline her philosophical affinities to Erasmus, William of Orange, and that woman who was the lead singer of Roxette. I think she was Dutch, wasn’t she?) Man, this opera is going to rock.
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The Bink celebrated my wife’s return from New York (she’s trying to expand her Louis Vuitton knock-off smuggling ring to the East Coast) by staying up all night chewing on a cardboard box we have in our kitchen. When we awoke this morning, the entire kitchen floor was strewn with small shredded bits of cardboard. Why did he do this? Who knows. We think it might have been the rain. It rained here last night and the Bink, though wonderful and sweet and cute, is not what you would call hardened. Rain is very scary. I guess. I don’t know. He’s a weird dog.