It has been brought to my attention that the proposed title for my novel, Portrait of the artist looking real fine, is one of the most egomaniacal monikers since Peter Murphy had the spleen to name an album Deep.
I certainly do not mean to toot my own horn. I would be writing about hypothetical (yet comely!) characters. It’s not like I’m Peter Murphy, presumptiously assuring you that I am DEEP, and my intellect is VAST. I’m not even like that Zadie Smith, running on about my flawless dental hygiene. I shudder to think.
Aaron piped in again to tell me more shocking separation of church and state news. Those folks who were so into the national day of fasting? Their resolution PASSED! By a huge margin! Do email your local wonk and tell them you are most terribly distressed if they voted for this. We go on and on about theocracy being so terrible in Islamic countries, but what are we shooting for here? It’s A-OK to dictate the religious actions of an entire nation as long as the god in question isn’t swarthy? People may certainly pray and fast all they want, and I’m sure every little bit helps if such things are possible. But please don’t tell me how, when, and where to beam my own brand of goodwill into the cosmos! Although I prayed just this morning: “Dear lord, please let me always be able to afford professional hair color.” I’m just kidding. Sort of.
In other news, I got highlights.