one of the more unfortunate things to come out of omaha is that i heard entirely more than anyone should ever have to hear about daniel's tapeworm. this, in turn, led into a discussion of exotic diseases which, inevitably, led to a prolonged analysis of the myriad attractions of tuberculosis.
because, let's face it, tuberculosis is damn sexy.
it involves handkerchiefs and blushes and fanning about languorously and taking to one's bed in a ruffled peignoir to delicately cough and endure a long, relentless wasting. it is the disease of keats and droves of french courtesans, not to mention johnny cash's character on dr. quinn.
i ask you, is there anything more romantic?
i asked this of OK the other day as i was pontificating on the time-honored attractions of consumption and her response was instantaneous. without a pause, in the sort of dulcet tone one might use when pronouncing aloud for the first time the name of one's newborn daughter, she said, "cholera!"
so thank you, edward norton. thank you for using your star-turn in the painted veil to lend the romance of TB to a disease defined by complete loss of bowel control.