Fountain of Youth
Carly sent me this link
yesterday, discussing David Copperfield's recent announcement that he had found the actual, literal Fountain of Youth on one of his private islands in the Bahamas.
No beating around the bush, that David Copperfield. He doesn't want to start out with any wishy-washy claim of finding healing waters or therapeutic springs. No, he goes for the big claim immediately, striking while the iron is hot and any kind of proof is nonexistent.
My favourite part is where he says:"I've discovered a true phenomenon," he told Reuters in a telephone interview. "You can take dead leaves, they come in contact with the water, they become full of life again. ... Bugs or insects that are near death, come in contact with the water, they'll fly away. It's an amazing thing, very, very exciting."
I'm very glad that he put the Fountain of Youth to this very rigorous leaf and insect observational testing.
Carly adds: "Also, how is he finding all the bugs that are near-death? Is there a bug hospice I'm not aware of?"
After nearly two weeks of what was obviously not just a head cold, I finally gave in and went to a walk-in clinic today. I was hoping -- oh, how I was hoping -- for antibiotics. It is not often that one thinks, "Please let me have an ear infection," but I was at the point I just wanted to have something curable; for there to be something I could take to feel better. No more aching head, no more sinus pain, no more sore throat, no more congested ears that make it sound like the whole world has fallen down a well.
Only to be told that I have a particularly nasty virus, and that I'll just have to wait it out. "Grr," I said, and bought some crazy timbits. (Okay, so they're loukomades, but "crazy timbits" seems to sum them up nicely. You know, if you're Canadian and/or happen to understand the word "timbit".)
At least I've had good things to read: Michell Sagara West's new Luna book, the fourth Harry Dresden book, five collected editions of Fables (which brings me up to issue 41 or so in one fabulous go), and James Patterson's two Maximum Ride YA novels. My thigh-high stacks of books on the floor are soon no longer going to be my "to read" piles; they're just going to be bookshelf overflow.