slug no more
Mr Mark Pesce of Sydney, Australia writes to note that on the contrary, I am your performing monkey. The Yatima organization regrets the error.
Last night another person asked if I were pregnant again. (The first one was my mother, on our Sydney trip. I complained about this to my brother Al and he said “Well she’s always been a terrible mother.” I told my mother this and she laughed. You see what I have to deal with.) I am not pregnant, merely fat.
So Jeremy bought me a shiny ice-blue iPod nano and an armband, and I loaded up the iPod with free nerdcore and Creative Commons remixes so I wouldn’t have to give any more money to the horrible recording industry, and I laid out my sweat pants and sports bra and tank and hoodie and running shoes.
And this morning I ran around the top of Bernal Hill. It was gorgeous up there, of course – grass-green and rust red and the sun has come out and both bridges were as clear as spider-webs spangled with dew. I had to walk the uphills, wheezing like the sloth I am, but the music helped a lot. The MIA Super Mario Bros mashup still cracks me up.
