I'm Pro-Biotic, And I Vote!

It appears my dad has seen the light at the end of the tunnel of his epic battle with his diseased intestines. He discovered the magic potion known as kefir at a local health food store--local in Harrisburg, no less! I know there are health food stores there, because my mom dated this macrobiotic dude for two years and they used to drag me there to get tofu, but I always assume they'll be closed down because they sell Commie food. Anyway, he's getting used to the taste, but he's hoping the influx of good bacteria will enable him to move his bowels like a normal fifty-eight-year-old who lives on frozen dinner entrees. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like he'll be able to sue the dentist who gave him clindamycin. Although clindamycin, as I've stressed on these pages, is notorious for causing intestinal upset, he was taking other antibiotics for other problems at various times throughout the year, and while the clindamycin probably pushed him over the edge, he can't prove that the drug itself was the sole cause of his problems. Not to mention, he neglected to read the small print, and without that, you don't have a case.

In other news, I'm back in touch with my college drama director, who loathes my undergraduate institution as much as I do. I was on their website yesterday and my eyeballs were bleeding with all those pictures of clean-cut preps in their Polartec fleeces. I'm tempted to add something to the class notes about working as a dominatrix (false) just so I can imagine the gasps of "Well, I never!" (To which Groucho Marx responded, "Well, you should, you might like it.") Ugh. What was I thinking, attending the undergraduate institution which shall remain nameless so I can make fun of it? Even my dad warned me against going there. I will never forget his words--"Those kids are really preppy, and you know how you feel about preppies." But noooo, I was seduced by ivy-covered walls and a beautiful lakefront. My hypothetical kids will do no such thing. They will attend the ugliest state school known to man! Fortunately, my drama director made it somewhat more bearable. I will forever cherish the memory of the playwriting class in which he gently responded to a girl who gave, as an example of stage devices, the story of seeing a play in Dublin about the life of Mrs. Oscar Wilde, in which the playwright recreated her childhood molestation with a huge monster puppet that forced her to fellate it, "This is not a good example, because we have to deal with our feelings about sex, and we have to deal with our feelings about puppets." You may have had to be there. I won't reveal his name either, even though he has tenure.

Nothing doing this weekend. Just sleep, the brother of death. Next weekend, I hit the opera with my friend in the Bronx, who promised to wear a tie.