“Going regal” is something that I do about a number of subjects. I regard being asked about them, even by the closest friends, as impertinent. They are all either painful or boring personal matters, usually both. Health is an example. If I am walking around, then I am well enough for public purposes. If I am not walking around, then I maintain the right to succumb the vapors without inquisition.

I will say to a friend, “Now, this is really bothering me, and I’m telling you so that you won’t be puzzled. But please don’t ask me about it if I don’t bring it up myself.” That is going regal. That is how the Queen’s conversations work. Of course, you can’t bring anything up with her. The Queen doesn’t “go regal,” because of course she simply is.

I’ve just got back from my annual physical exam, and, as usual, there is nothing much the matter with me. The ten days of shifting maladies from which I emerged yesterday, feeling “normal,” were not a medicable event. A stitch is a stitch. Coming down with a cold (even if the cold fails to show up) is what it is. Feeling old and tired — some people never do. I think they’re very lucky.Virtue doesn’t come into it.

I took a taxi to the doctor’s office, but I walked home. It is a lovely day, and I felt very grateful for it. Soon I hope to enjoy the spring on my own balcony. The repair project inches toward completion, but I don’t think that we’re too far. Something happens at least three days in every week.

Only Rachel Kushner could make me want to read about the sorts of things that stuff her new novel, The Flamethrowers. Motorcycles. The Seventies Art Scene in Soho. The Red Brigades (only mentioned so far, but I gather there’s plenty to come). She writes with the authority of of Ernest Hemingway, but with a more replete sense of the possibilities of journalism. Impressive! Also un-put-down-able.

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Drop me a line at rjk@dailyblague.com
This entry was posted on Monday, April 8th, 2013 at 2:20 pm.