We’ve all done it — unloading the dishwasher, carrying the plates from down below to the cabinets above, when you misjudge something and bonk! your head on the edge of the open cabinet door.
Oooh, that smarts. If you’re really unlucky, you hit it on the corner of the cabinet. And if you’re really really unlucky, you scream a few obscenities, and then open your teary eyes to find blood dripping onto the floor.
I was only really really unlucky. If I’d added another “really,” it would have meant a trip to the ER for stitches, a wound I know is called a “scalp lac,” thanks to years of “ER” reruns. Add another “really” to that scenario, and I would have fallen unconscious onto the still-full silverware rack, with all its upturned forks and paring knives, and risked becoming a Wayne County brief — Metro Woman Hospitalized in Dishwasher Mishap — and then almost certainly an “ER” subplot, for comic relief. As it was, a little direct pressure with a dish towel got things under control and all I have is a bloody scab and a headache.
Of course, if I had gone to the ER? Some doctor would have looked at my head and said, “Huh. You were lucky. Could have been worse.” I’m sure whole squadrons of Jerry Seinfeld wannabes have made routines out of the idea that the first thing a doctor says to you after you’ve been in an accident is, “You were lucky.”
I don’t like Mondays.
But my hair-color appointment in a few days is safe.
Congratulations again to Julia, who is probably sleeping off last night’s Pulitzer party. It’s my recollection that Julia was, when she was living and working in Columbus, the focus of ongoing harassment by a self-appointed “media critic” writing in the local alt-weekly. He was mainly bugged that Julia, who has a PhD, made the outrageous assumption that at least some of her readers were as smart as she was, and used fancy vocabulary and made the occasional literary reference. He called her “Dr. Keller.” He was an asshole. Still is, I expect.
Julia also told me that, like so many of these folks, her critic was egged on and fed items by a particularly jealous colleague, whose name she shared with me. He’s still in Columbus. He’s an asshole, too.
I wonder how they’re feeling this morning. Probably pretty sour. Being bitter and jealous is its own punishment.
As for Julia, she has a certain cat/canary look in this photo. I’m sure she’s not thinking of either of her tormenters. Being smart and accomplished is its own reward.
But within 36 hours, I expect some editor at the Trib will ask her, “So, what do you have for Sunday?” Oh-bla-di, etc.
Richard Cohen writes a deft column today about the Pope, warts and all. A refreshing break from the face-beaming-love crap in most newspapers.
Finally, I read stories like this, and I yearn for the days of tar and feathers: In a Senate floor speech in which he sharply criticized a recent Supreme Court ruling on the death penalty, Sen. John Cornyn (R-Tex.) — a former Texas Supreme Court justice and member of the Judiciary Committee — said Americans are growing increasingly frustrated by what he describes as activist jurists.
Cornyn continued: “I don’t know if there is a cause-and-effect connection, but we have seen some recent episodes of courthouse violence in this country. . . . And I wonder whether there may be some connection between the perception in some quarters, on some occasions, where judges are making political decisions yet are unaccountable to the public, that it builds up and builds up and builds up to the point where some people engage in, engage in violence. Certainly without any justification, but a concern that I have.”
What do you suppose Judge Lefkow, up in Chicago, did to bring on the murder of her husband and 90-year-old mother? How about the judge in Atlanta? I supposed God killed him so Brian Nichols could come to God, eh?
Another asshat. They’re everywhere, I tell you.
Oh! Google Maps is now doing satellite images. Too, toooooo cool.