California is war, and Dood is better than Good

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to freeze I go, in New York City, my home town. In California, from which I have foolishly returned, they're eating lemons off the trees and wearing fur-trimmed shorts. Due to the fact that I haven't got a job, I am going to crawl under my blanket and not come out until April, or until the landlady gets testy.

In case you wondered why you -- my brave readers of whom there are already six or seven-- haven't had access to my blog for a month, it's because 1: I haven't written it. 2: I'm erratic and 3: California is dangerous. I kept falling down there. On one day, I managed to stumble over an angry vacuum cleaner, and also a ferocious driveway that was made of steel. Not really steel. Brick, I guess. Then there was a dog that tried to kill me with love. She was fond but foolish, and she stood on her long hind legs, and threw her long front legs around the shoulders of anyone who came close. Why, she's only a puppy, everyone said, but she was one strong puppy. And her wish was to slobber all over your face. The problem wasn't so much the slobbering, it was that while she was trying to kiss you, she was knocking you down.

And then, last Monday, my brother, the Nobel Prize winner, took me out for my birthday, and I was complaining about my broken foot, and he was not impressed. "At our age," he said, "most people are dead."

But enough of tragedy. I'm switching to comedy. How about this? My niece's three year old daughter, Lexie (the same one who said, "I have a idea") came through again. Somebody was talking about the excellence of cookies, and Lexie nodded her wise little head. "Yes," she said. "Tookies are dood." So I'm wishing you all a dood New Year.