(Being a pathological liar who seemed physically fine except for all the whining, the chances of her actually having a concussion were slim.)

Oh, and she's not a pathalogical liar, she's playing an unscripted character. Or some shit. I only watched her on Surreal Life.

Someone just sent me a link to a great (if long) article in Conde Nast Traveller about eating in Chicago--Around the World in 80 Meals. From the paragraph on Polish Highlander cuisine:

Triangles of shepherd's bread, salty sheep's milk cheese, and a silky pork pâté are followed by cheese pierogis topped with sour cream and green onions. When I ask what's in the pâté, the waitress has to go back to the kitchen to retrieve the words in English. She returns with a triumphant smile on her face. "Lard!"

Hee. Reading the article made me alternate between severe drooling to gag reflexes (the description of eyeball tacos on the South Side).

It can be less than fun riding the elevator with a heavy smoker after they just took a smoking break. Or being on a crowded train by somebody that's just sweating out nicotine. But away from the close proximity situations it's not bad, and I certainly didn't notice it being around you in LA.

ALLYSON SMELLS LIKE PRETTY FLOWERS AND ALL THINGS PRETTY!!!

ALLYSON SMELLS LIKE PRETTY FLOWERS AND ALL THINGS PRETTY!!!

Also she has good hair and a lot of it.

Allyson's paranoia and self-doubt have taken the driver's seat. The rest of Allyson is locked in the trunk.

Does she have her smokes, though? THAT is the question.

Sara is hating her employer's useless web site with down servers when she finally got around to doing something she'd been procrastinating.

Except..it isn't down. I just can't get to it from a PC using IE. I can get to it from unix using netscape, but that doesn't do me any good, damnit!

Back to the cold noisy computer room.

Don't smoke in the trunk. The ventilation is crap.

I wonder if I can call the co-worker Johnny Fairplay without outing myself as a big old b-board surfer. Well, he can kinda see over my shoulder anyway. He knows I'm not working.

Saw the neuro. Not that much progress, really. Except to extend the possibility of the post-concussive syndrome lasting to a year. Girl on crack, yo.

Christ -- one of my krav students works at the neuro. Might even be one of the doctors. World could stand to be bigger.

Anyway, there's nothing they can do for the heart-rate induced nausea, headaches and dizziness. Almost could, but the non-FDA approved usage of Effexor for this might conflict with the migraine meds, and I have my priorities. She wants me on anti-epileptic prophylactic meds, in case the fainting is seizures, and I need to get an EEG.

Apropos of nothing, the clouds outside my office window right now are amazing. Chrysler Building + golden hour = BEAUTIFUL.

(I took a picture with my camera phone, but it didn't come out -- they sky was completely blown out.)