shaken & stirred

welcome to my martini glass


a days long day

There was only one minor altercation at the Urgent Treatment Center -- a record low -- involving a large woman sporting a plastic showercap's confusion over whether she was supposed to write "wife" or "self" as person being treated. Her husband left just before and came back just after, obviously having learned to time this perfectly through years of practice.

It's likely strep or some other bacterial party going on in the throat. I have antibiotics and a terrible malaise. Our A/C went out while I slept the afternoon away (oh, the joys of old apartments with character), it has rained hard enough to make Noah happy on and off all day, and no one's (much) updating their blogs! There was frenetic shoe-shopping, mostly to the benefit of Mr. Rowe, though I guess I did get one hot little pair of strappy sandles, and also magazine shopping, my crack du sickness. (Pindeldyboz, F & SF, Uncut and the new Believer -- when I'm sick I have no self control.)

Anyway, the site feed is apparently not working right for some... My own feedreader shows no posts here since Bird Day, three days ago, and the LiveJournal feed's stuck there too. I've attempted to report this to Blogger, but of course, their help interface is broken, i.e. does not work at fucking all, and there's no other way to contact them. If anyone has a secret email address, mission, or knowledge of how to fix this, please write. I finally replaced IE with Mozilla Firefox though, and that is a happy, happy thing.

We went to see The Village. More on that later.

Sam Tanenhaus, editor of the New York Times Book Review, has responded to Mark's open letter of last week. It's both a nice and measured response and a great indication of how much a part of the conversation blogs have become. All to the good.

The WP had a round-up of summer mysteries today, starting off with a sentence with an offhand clause proclaming detective fiction "our nation's greatest homegrown literary genre," and a look at the popular trend of street lit.

Now, I'm going to bed, on top of the covers with citronella candles blazing in the open windows, and finish You Remind Me of Me. I don't want to say anything about it until I finish it because I'm absolutely unsure how I feel about it at this point and what happens in the last hundred pages or so will greatly impact my final impression. I think.

Hope your throat feels better than mine.

worm "It's a Hit," Rilo Kiley (want whole album now please!)

namecheck Mark "Watchdog" Sarvas


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