The doctor never called back. Maybe tomorrow. Nevertheless, I do feel a bit better. My head still hurts and my throat is still sore, but I've got more energy than I had all week. I picked up the tissues, came to terms with the tea, washed the dishes, and found the energy to set the Moscode aside for now and reinstate the Musical Fidelity A3.5 integrated.
A new Massive Attack album and <I>The Belfast Telegraph</I> breaks the story. "We don't like each other very much. It's always been quite tempestuous for us in the studio—we always seem to lose a member after every album," says Grant Marshall.
New study: <I>High Times</I> is not a gateway publication to hard reading.
Bagheera simply dribbles off the bookshelf for hours at a time—after she rids it of those troublesome books, of course.
Huckleberry mutters and plots while cleaning his weapons of mouse destruction.
Neil Gaiman gets a tribute disc. I hope it's as cool as he is.
Signs of sickness, with a scent like ennui, all over the apartment: dirtied tissues tossed to the floor, the many jilted cups of tea, unfinished this, unwashed that, empty cans of soup, the pale and quiet Moscode.
American high-end companies are freaking out about the new RoHS standards. Turns out it could silence church organs, too.
It ain't hi-fi, but this is a turntable you sure ain't gonna see it anywhere else.
So I have no idea what this photo is about. Any guesses?