Spring has sprung,
The grass has riz,
I wonder where
the boidies is?
It's a beautiful day here on the island of Manhattan, a balmy breezy 50° of sunshine. Green sprouts and a few violet petals are pushing their way up where there was an inch of solid slippery slush last week, and I feel like writing about it.
There's a lot of bad shit in the paper today. The recent and likely soon-to-be-recent deaths of Terri Schiavo, Jerry Falwell, and the Pope have turned the ink of newsprint into the heavy dust of graves soon to be dug. Our subway system, crumbling and frequently aflame, has been officially
sold to the devil by Faustus Bloomberg. The three warring religions of the Middle East have finally come together in unity -- to denounce a gay parade ("We can't permit anybody to come and make the Holy City dirty. This is very ugly and very nasty to have these people come to Jerusalem," one sheik
said.)
But you know, I still feel happy. There is something cheerful to me in seeing Bush continue to roam the country promoting his doomed Social Security privatization. It's like watching a stupid backwards child throwing rocks at your barn. You know he could be out pulling wings off flies, drowning cats, setting fire to haystacks, knocking over gravestones. It is almost sweet to watch him spend his energy so uselessly.
But most of all it is just a beautiful day. It is the first day of T-shirt weather. There is something clean and fresh in the wind today. The sun is coming up sooner, and staying out later. April will bring good things. A lot of hard work, maybe, but the chance to go outside without a parka without a hat without a scarf and gloves and icicles on my nose. And hard work is good too. Everything is going to be all right -- and I guess I just wanted you to know.
So, how's it looking from your side of the keyboard today?
