Posthuman Blues

"Perdido Street Station" is out in mass-market paperback. This has been on my to-read list for a very long time, but I never worked up the enthusiasm to buy it in trade paperback. Other books I want to read in the near future:

1.) "Chasm City" (Alastair Reynolds)
2.) "Dying Inside" (Robert Silverberg)
3.) "A Case of Conscience" (James Blish)
4.) "Deepsix" (Jack McDevitt)
5.) "Hominids" (Robert J. Sawyer)
6.) "Permutation City" (Greg Egan)
7.) "Day of the Triffids" (Or is it "Night of the Triffids"? It's an old novel about genetically modified plants that prey on humans after everyone goes blind from cosmic radiation. You know you're living in the 21st century when reviewers look back on a work like this and call it "prescient.")

I'm in an unexpected amount of pain from the crash I wrote about a few days ago. Apparently I have a deep contusion that's just now making itself known. The entire right side of my body is in agony, and when no one's looking I walk sort of like Jeff Goldblum did in "The Fly" after he starts mutating: a kind of stooped shuffle. I feel like lying down in the bucket seat of my new car and staying that way for approximately two months. I'm popping Advil to no avail. (This calls for heavier stuff, but at the same time I don't want to drug myself to the point where I can't drive to work . . . this whole situation is absurd.)

I was thinking about getting my hair cut after work or stopping by Best Buy to pick up blank cassettes, but instead I think I'll crash. No pun intended.

Random note: I'm becoming addicted to Schlotzsky's salt and vinegar potato chips.