Case in point: Clint Eastwood has come out for million dollar baby, Willard Romney, for President.
At first, I thought I'd accidentally tripped my bookmarked link for The Onion. I double-checked the page logos and address bar: Nope, the BBC.
Gravity did a squirrelly dip-and-dive just then, of the kind where, in getting a shock, there's a sudden impact -- the realization anything at all can happen, all physical laws repealed, events can come and go without explanation or reason.
* * * * *
The room dropped away. All of a sudden, I was Thelonius Monk, straight with no chaser, in a pink Cadillac, listening to Bird beat out the notes to some new tune called "White Hunter Black Heart," on the car radio, in the sizzling city heat.
I kept falling off all the bridges in Madison County, falling into the mystic rivers, all of my wet and multiple me's feeling like space cowboys: The stars fell on Henrietta, Casper -- a friendly ghost, seemed like -- and some of my me's.
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