SPECIAL CLOSED TO THE ILLNESS EDITION

Right after the earth’s crust cooled, I went to college in San Francisco. I didn’t have much money. So when I needed a break from the cafeteria – remind me to tell you about the time it served Arabian pork chops – I would walk a couple of blocks down the hill to a place called George’s University Good Eats.

George was an old Russian guy who believed in giving hungry college students a lot of food for the $4.95 he charged, from borscht to a rum cake that, these days, would be a controlled substance.

But George and his wife, Mrs. George, were getting on in years, so every once in a while I would get to their diner to find the place dark and a sign on the door that said, “Closed to the illness.”

Like George’s University Good Eats, the e-news is closed this week due to the illness. I have the mother of all colds, and it’s all I can do to stagger through the daily grind. I’ve nothing left for insightful commentary and witty turns of phrase. Hopefully, I’ll be better next week, although the way I’m feeling right now there’s a 40 percent chance I’ll be dead by then instead.

Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do this week. Closed to the illness.

Best wishes,