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contours provocations
journal - 2002-0228 - thu 2100 More Sick I Am; Sam Spade Has it really been ten days since I updated? Apparently so? Last week, in the middle of dealing with a prostate infection, I noticed I was constantly nauseous. I put it down as a side effect of the infection or as a reaction to the antibiotic. But it got worse, so back to the clinic I went. And the nice doctor told me it was a stomach bug. Of course, the nice doctor didn't look at the chart correctly and thought my previous visit was due to a sinus infection. When he looked at my throat I didn't really think anything of it because of all the problems I've had. It finally dawned on me that we were talking at cross purposes. He said he felt like an idiot. This is one of those things that is not supposed to happen. But I think it was because of the large number of patients. The waiting room was almost full of coughing, sneezing sick people. And he was trying to hurry things along. I guess I could have made more of an issue of it, but what purpose would that serve. It does tell me to always mention the nature of my last visit. I stopped off at the pharmacy, bought groceries, went by the post office, had lunch. As I headed home I glanced at the statement from the clinic and noticed it had someone else's name on it! The diagnosis and fees were correct, but there was a different name. I turned around, went back to the clinic, and then fussed at the clerical staff. And within ten minutes felt guilty about what I'd done. Because of the stomach bug, I've been trying to be careful with what I eat. Easier said than done. But I've more or less settled on some variation of a baked potato at lunch with cheese or chicken or ham. So far, so good. Today, I sat eating my potato and chicken while reading an article in "The New Yorker" about Dashiell Hammett. He created one of the most famous characters in literature - Sam Spade. A total break from the genteel detectives such as Lord Peter Wimsey or Poirot or Campion or even Holmes. Spade was the original "hard-boiled dick." Honest, world-weary, cynical. The great love of his life was Lillian Hellman; they met in 1930 and were together on and off until his death in 1961. One of those love-hate relationships that fascinate and repeal. Hammett also created Nick and Nora Charles. Who take an occassional break from drinking to solve a mystery or two ever now and then. It was fun to sit among the gossiping lunch-eaters and read of Nick and Nora and Asta and Sam Spade and their flawed creator. PAX!
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