Meandering anecdotes and an occasional incisive comment, courtesy of an overeducated, feminist former-professional, who is continually outsmarted by her overly-gifted children and genius spouse and who seeks refuge in books, cocktails, and the occasional Xanax.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
stop asking me!
Every day, various people ask me as I go about my drunken housewife way, "Are you going to Burning Man?" Ummm, here's a clue. If you see my ass in San Francisco, that means my ass is NOT at Burning Man. And there you have it.
(and a joyous burn to everyone who is at the Man this year without me)