In Which Your Humble Blogger has not actually noticed any news stories about swindling stockbrokers building up immunity to arsenic, but I suppose it could happen, in a pig’s eye.
In Which Your Humble Blogger talks as much about the medium as the message.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is running out of time. And energy, frankly. Oh, and money. And, alas, tea. But I’ve ordered more of that, and it should be here by the middle of the week. Time, energy and money, not so much.
In Which Your Humble Blogger had not completed the Internet, after all.
In Which Your Humble Blogger reports on the second book, as promised.
In Which Your Humble Blogger kinda regrets not getting a signed copy.
In Which Your Humble Blogger was disappointed, disoriented and dis… er, … dysrhythmic?
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets an idea halfway through writing the note, and now has to think about it a bit.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is relieved, and pleased, and unable to thing of a third thing.
In Which Your Humble Blogger wants to record the attempt, having read enough of the book not to want to start again anytime soon.