Saturday Morning Minutiae

As more and more of my brain cells are devoted to drawing comics, my understanding of music repeatedly rears its head as if to remind me that it is waiting there whenever I am ready to ride in its saddle again.

Yesterday during a massage (during which I can usually zone out of world completely) I was being driven alternately to distraction and to giggles by ridiculously literal renderings of Gershwin songs on a piped CD. This morning, lying in bed and reading William Gibson's Pattern Recognition, Snake was playing Hungarian pop over my head. The passage through carpet, wood and duct made the bass sound exactly a semi-tone sharp, creating the woozy effect my brother used to acheive by playing piano pieces with each hand in a different key.

I am ill, though not completely lost in a world of phlegm. Clearly I need to lie low today. There are comforts: the novel I'm reading, the fact that I've finished pencilling my four-page comic and Best Brand Lanolin, my favourite winter moisturizer. I had thought I would never find it again but Honest Ed's miraculously had four jars in their low-rent packaging that hasn't changed since the 70s or the Cretaceous era or something.

Ed's also had my favourite cockroach traps which, apparently have been recently outlawed as bad for humans. I grabbed several.

I remember a Best Brand cream from my youth that sat above the toilet at our former family cottage. It was right at eye-height for peeing men and all the men in the family could recite the French translation which had clearly been typeset from a scribbled note by someone who didn't know French: "Pour les mains rude, gercé et siche..."

Have a good day all, Chinese buns in the Viennese manner are on the breakfast table.