Things I've Learned After Seven (and Climbing) Days of Illness
The American System of Health Care is Broken- unless you're fuckin' rich.

I've discovered a new color of phlegm, which, given my history, is kinda like astronomers finding a link to new universes. Oh, it's a light black, by the way.

Dead Moon's Echoes of the Past 2-Cd Best Of is a strong contender for sweating-it-on-out-on-the-couch, writhing in acute face pain, hallucinating dark futures behind your eyelids record of the decade. Just misses the glory of Spiritualized's Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space in 98', but really a different vibe.

James Crumley is the only man I can read while I'm ill who makes any sense.

Grading papers with a low-grade fever and a waterfall of discolored, diseased snot lava is a product of middle-class guilt and an example of poor decision-making.

After about five days of the big nasty sinus infection, your face begins to taste and smell like old cigarette butts drowning in a sea of burning pus.

Tuna, that last one was for you.