This morning, I'm like Mario Batali in Kitchen Stadium on Iron Chef America

The mouth, she waters. Lucky girl, that Perkins.

And your books are sitting right here, tempting me to dive in immediately, but I've got a feverish baby (who threw up on me last night) and at least twenty pages to write today if I'm ever going to turn this book in...

But tonight before bed, ma'am, I'm starting And Put Out...

(surfacing for fifteen seconds)

I know from the time contraints, believe me. An hout forty before people start arriving and I need to chill the panzanella, do the floors, furniture covers, shower, set table...

GAH! Bye back later yeep.

I'd say "have fun", Deb, but that usually happens after all the hard work is done. Have...stuff.

Oops. The laptop likes double posts better than the old desktop did.

t transmits latest DG post to editor

Evil. Gus is evil.

Which editor we talking about, here, dude?

I don't even know what a "DG post" is. Damn Good? Double Gelato? Donnie's Gecko?

Tep? Ready any good works-in-progress lately?

Awaiting Perkins and Betsy and beth b and Mattt and David and Jacqueline and Mart and 'dre and Eli and possibly/hopefully Karl...

I intend to read it over my dinner, which is in the oven as I type. Stay tuned....

Under the wire Shadow drabble:

Shadow in the Blood

There’s nothing there.

I don’t believe it the third time I tell myself any more than the first.

No matter how quickly I turn I won’t see her. She’s there, all the same.

Washed in the blood of the lamb, I am. Still, she stalks me.

I gave it up. Turkey so cold it may never thaw. The coke. The booze. The men. The women. I replaced them with Bible studies every week, church twice on Sundays and AA every other goddam night.

And still she’s there. Waiting.

She’s the shadow in my blood. My ancestral legacy. My paternal curse.