I got an unintentionally comical review of my book the other day. It somehow turned my anthology about chronic illness into an anthology of lesbians aspiring to be supermodels. Of course, here's where I'm paranoid. The reviewer is from the same University where much of the government-sponsored Gulf War Syndrome research is being done. Do you think George W. came up with the thing about lesbian supermodels (after renting too many girl-on-girl flicks in the Oval O?) to try and squelch the truth about Gulf War Syndrome (which is dealt with in the book?). The review was almost as funny as the prank calls I have been getting from a 17-year old kid who claims to be Roy Munson, my long-lost cousin (note: Roy Munson is a character in a movie about Amish people and bowling). The kid leaves me messages that end with "Goodnight, sweet Munson," because he doesn't know my first name. I think this is hilarious, and his intonation on Goodnight (long pause, sigh) sweet Munson is excellent. He keeps mentioning -- hint hint -- that he likes older women. Do I admit to him that I am an aspiring lesbian supermodel? I mean, aren't we all?