Said friend is not a Nigerian prince who clumsily misplaced $942,865,427 and loose change (and invariably needs all your credit card and checking account numbers RIGHT NOW), has no interest in personal information of any kind, and does not require a fleet of Brinks Trucks packed with gazillions to keep the rabid, slobbering wolves away from her door.
Actually, enough good samaritans throwing $20 into the kitty will do, but this coming Friday is the deadline. Donations are going to a secure ChipIn site, run by PayPal.
It's too bad the great American tradition of "the rent party" - quite the rage during the last Depression - has not been enthusiastically revived in the current lingering Great Recession.
If I was in the vicinity of her neck of the woods, I'd bring the guitar and sing Cole Porter, Vernon Duke, Harold Arlen, Frank Loesser, Hoagy Carmichael and Gershwin standards at the kind of swingin' rent party folks threw back in the day.
Would happily play that music until I, to steal a line from John Lennon, had "blisters on my fingers": swingin' till the cows came home, each bovine lightheaded, sore in the nether regions and unable to remember just which load o' bull was responsible.
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