All day that Beastie Boys song "Intergalactic" has been running through my head. I don't know why. It's not even the whole song, only the first part. I keep busting out with "Intergalactic Planetary, Planetary Intergalactic" in a robot voice. And then I do a little stiff-jointed dance. Like a robot, you see. I cannot explain it. Perhaps it is Y2K005 madness.
We had a lovely weekend away at the B&B. Joe was supremely happy because we went to the outlet mall and got him several new pairs of pants. I also got him some new sweaters at Calvin Klein (steeply discounted, don't worry) because all of his old sweaters dating back to his grad school days at Berkeley are gigantic stretched out cotton shapeless horrors. Not like I'm the fashion police, but come on. A man who works out should not wear a muumuu. And since there are apparently no gay men breaking down our door threatening to make him over, I had to take matters into my own hands. So I got him better sweaters and told him to wear them because "they look like something Brad Pitt would wear in 'Ocean's 11.'" (Or perhaps like in "Ocean's 12" as well, but I have yet to deterimine that, having not seen the movie yet.) And then Joe happily agreed to wear said sweaters because he loves Brad Pitt. He does. Don't tell him I told you, but he has a man-crush on The Pitt, the same way I have a lady-crush on Angelina Jolie and all I can think of when I see her is that she's real purty. Only no sweater could allow me to emulate Angelina Jolie, because her boobage is unreal and untenable on my frame.
I was happy with our weekend for two reasons. One is that the B&B had the most amazing showerhead on the planet. The shower itself was nothing to scream about, just a nozzle in a claw-foot tub, but friends, let me tell you that I was this close to breaking out the pliers and stealing that showerhead for our shower at home. (It was one of those giant deals that rains down water on you like you were standing the Amazon basin. Only with less malaria.) The second great thing is that one of my all-time favorite movies "Annie Hall," was on PBS Saturday night. If only they had a double-feature with "Hannah and Her Sisters," I would have been in heaven. Woody Allen film nerd heaven.
Well, new year, same old grind. I'm back to work tomorrow, at my clinic dealing with whatever post-long-weekend flotsam washes up in my walk-in box. And I'm sure I can count on wasting at least half of a prescription pad tomorrow, writing the wrong date on all the scripts I'm handing out until I finally catch on that it's 2005.
Currently reading: Reader comments about my last post. I appreciate all the different points of view, even if they're different from my own, and I especially appreciate that all my readers are intelligent and well-spoken, even when they disagree with each other. I know I do tend to be somewhat leftist, but I guess that's what growing up in New York will do for you. To quote Woody Allen in "Annie Hall" (which is why this line is still fresh in my head): "Don't you see, the rest of the country looks upon New York like we're left-wing, communist, Jewish, homosexual pornographers? I think of us that way sometimes and I live here."