A pox on you all! Just kidding, although that's probably not very funny right now.

Because I know at least some of the people who sometimes read this thing read newspaper stories and worry about these type of things, a few brief words about what's eaten most of my week and most of the news cycles this week. (And I have to tell you, it's only going to be worse in the coming months. Putting away my crystal ball now.) Smallpox. Don't worry about it that much. It'll be okay. (Don't worry about big pox, syphillis, that much either -- unless you need to for some reason unknown to me; that's where smallpox takes its differentiating name from.) Nobody knows if it's coming to our golden shores, and there's no reason for the general public to want or take the shots. The disease does not exist in humans. At all. Some people are going to get shots, and they're getting them because the disease does still exist in a few freezers around the world, and maybe some of the people who might have control over those freezer doors might not like us too much. There's some unquantifiable risk of the stuff being released into humankind again. And if it happened, most likely, it could be prevented from spreading through the vaccine, which there's plenty of. And vaccinating the people who would need to give that vaccine to everybody else in advance would save us all a lot of time if the unthinkable that everybody's thinking about did happen. Long, story short... Don't worry about it. If you feel like worrying about a disease, call up Bono and worry about AIDS. We don't have a vaccine for that yet, and a lot of people who need the drugs aren't getting them.

That's really it for me and the s-word this week.

I've had a bath and washed off the immense stress of the week. I have the pleasant sensation of knowing that I did a good job at work this week, even if it did prevent any other part of my life from really breathing. Time spent doing something other than what you'd rather be doing is not always time wasted. That's an important lesson. It's what you make of it.

Oh, my, god, I just used the word lesson. This is turning into preacher-girl blog.

Fast, go read some of the wonderful George Makana Clark's stuff. I just read his Zoetrope story "The Leopard Gang," which I'm pretty sure you can read online. Read his one-act play from Zoetrope too. He just fascinates me as a writer, such a rich prose style, such beauty wrapped around such darkness. He knows how to tell a story, without getting in his own way, which isn't that common. He also knows how to end a story, without forcing it, which also isn't that common. Why don't I own his short story collection? The reason escapes me.

(Helpful holiday gift hint above, sweetie. The bookstore will order it for you and I will be so surprised.)

Anyway, bath, wine, pasta.

That's Friday night and it sounds pretty damn good to me and I've only finished the bath part.

And started on the wine part.

Last night, we went to dinner at a nice French-ish place we like downtown. It's very dim, and interesting, and the chef reminds me quite a bit of Confederacy of Dunces -- he seems to only interact with the food he cooks and the friend he runs the restaurant with, who's a gregarious, sweet wine-lover. Very unpretentious. Very good food. There are always people there having the most insipid conversations you can't help eavesdropping on, but that just end up irritating you, yet somehow even that adds to the experience. The wine is always good, and never marked up beyond its wildest dreams.

There's much that a good meal can act as balm over. Much, indeed.

And now, idiot box, supper, and sleep. I smell garlic.

Sweet dreams.