It’s baaaaaack

Damn Cellulitis?
Either the cellulitis of last summer is back, or I’ve again caught some kind of funky fungus. Going to the doc this afternoon.


Went to the doctor. He took one look at my arm and said, “Yeah, that’s a bruise.” So. Yeah.

You know what? I think that this disease and all its assorted dangers and symptoms has made me into an idiot. I bet I was nearing super-geniusosity before I started taking Imuran.

Shut up, Agatha Christie
Speaking of super-genius, I figured out the ending of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd about halfway through the book. I haven’t been an AC fan since I read And Then There Were None (even more so since A. and I rolled our eyes through Identity, my GOD) and although I absolutely love the movie version of Murder on the Orient Express*, I like mysteries that aren’t just red herring/look-how-cunning-the-author-is exercises. But although it’s fun to pretend to be awesomely Geena Davis-level smart, I have to admit that the likeliest reason I figured it out is that it was probably a groundbreaking work/idea at the time and since has probably been imitated in things that I’ve read.

Whatever, though, Agatha. I don’t care that you were on Doctor Who. Stop trying to trick me! Now I’m going to go read Lawrence Block.

Rick Santorum’s Twitter Feed, courtesy of The Stranger. (Hint: no, it’s not real. Yes, it made me laugh.)

A doc you should check out
Last night I watched Two Spirits. From the IL site synopsis:
Two Spirits interweaves the tragic story of a mother’s loss of her son with a revealing look at the largely unknown history of a time when the world wasn’t simply divided into male and female and many Native American cultures held places of honor for people of integrated genders.

*That eerie dim light of the sleeper car. Mmmmm.


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