I have been asked why I have not spoken about the heartbreaking loss of life at Virginia Tech on Monday. I have indeed been silent on the issue, but not because I am indifferent to violence, or to the suffering of the families and friends of the dead; on the contrary, with every account of a life cut short, I am filled with the sick twisting furious ache I feel every time someone decides to make a point by blowing up airplanes, or driving truck bombs into market squares, or by opening fire on a college campus, in a kindergarten, in an office or on a factory floor. I am filled with sorrow, anger and bewilderment, but I am utterly devoid of words. What I do have are friends, thoughtful, eloquent, wonderful friends, who have better command of their words and thoughts than I have of mine. I urge you, with all my heart, to read their sublime and tender essays.
Dear friends, it is not only the terrible news from Virginia that has rendered me silent. The two-fisted head cold that kicked me to the curb three weeks ago resurfaced on Tuesday, keeping me out of LuthorCorp for a day and a half, scotching my plans to participate in Sam’s Fish & Quips roundup, making me terribly delinquent in wishing the enchanting Juno a happy birthday, and sharing the recipe for brick chicken, for which Juno asked so sweetly. Honey, it’s on the way. I’ve been eating matzo ball soup, and kreplach soup, for three days now, and as lovely as they’ve been, I think it’s time for something a little less stolid, a little more sunshiny.