Resurrecton!

Just minutes ago, I stood in front of the toaster oven cleaning out the crap. I had had to do something. Half an hour before, the 3-year buildup of goo and gunk, a well-established stalagmite in the bottom of the thing, caught fire as I attempted to re-heat a fried-chicken thigh left from last night’s pig-fest. (I’ve lost 40 pounds since January, so I was allowed the lapse.)

As I pulled a strip of grease-glued Reynolds Wrap from the crumb tray, the foil stuck to my hand. I pulled it off, and stared at the residue coating my hand. Which solvent would remove the amber mess—and leave some skin intact?

CNN blared in the next room. Breaking News! Bob Barr announced his run for President!

My excitement was not political. (OK, my secondary excitement was political—John McCain would lose votes!) My real excitement was that one of the characters in my new memoir would be thrust back into the national spotlight—just as he was in danger of sinking from our national consciousness forever.


Politicians Gingrich and Carter, as well then-Congressman “Cooter” (previously the star of the TV show The Dukes of Hazzard), also figured in my story. But it was Bob Barr—local District Attorney at the time, later elected to Congress where he led the Republican stampede for Clinton’s impeachment—whom I needed to stay in the news. During my manic rampage in 1990, I had turned to him to investigate my parents for attempted murder of me. (Yeah, I know, but my parents’ notes support this.)

Can’t wait to write the scene!