I woke up this morning with a sore throat, which was very distressing to me, considering the fact that I spent most of December with the plague.
Previously I'd tried the Chinese food/Marx Brothers cure and the Preston Sturges/Coen Brothers/hot soup cure. I'm going to try to take this scratchy throat in stride and not worry too much about it, and since I don't have a valid driver's license right now, I wouldn't be going to a milonga tonight anyway. So now I've decided to try the bacon/Annie Hall cure.
For some reason, having a plate of bacon and watching Woody Allen at his finest seems like something that might work this time.
Plus, it's kind of a Valentine's Day movie in parts:
After that it got pretty late, and we both had to go, but it was great seeing Annie again. I... I realized what a terrific person she was, and... and how much fun it was just knowing her; and I... I, I thought of that old joke, y'know, the, this... this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy; he thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" The guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships; y'know, they're totally irrational, and crazy, and absurd, and... but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us... need the eggs.
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Last Weekend of the West Edge Opera Festival
4 hours ago