Apparently it wasn't only my liver aching so last week, for now we must consider the gall bladder -- you know, bile ducts and all that. (There are some charming moments in that link, but if you don't choose to click on it I'll just tell you that "the function of the gall bladder is to store bile and concentrate." Gall bladder, if you want to land on that aircraft carrier you'd better concentrate!) This from an acupuncturist, who has co-opted the next ten to fourteen days of my life to infuse them with cleansing herbs and a cleansing diet. I NEED TO CLEANSE, PEOPLE. No beef or chicken, no oils, no spices, no wine, no beer. Distilled spirits are A-OK, though.* Jack made me a big fat salty margarita last night before dinner, and I drank it down like a good little girl. Cheers! Doctor's orders!

After the acupuncturist I took Jackson to the zoo. I think they trucked in the entire population of Bakersfield, I have not seen so much acid wash in a very long time. (That link is worth it just for the article about local police: The Department of Justice is trying to prohibit the cops there from shooting at moving vehicles. I guess they'll just have to go back to having target practice at the dog pound.) At the zoo I also saw what for me qualifies as Worst Tattoo Ever. Fortysomething guy ordering a hot dog, the back of his left calf: huge, badly drawn, black-eyed alien smoking a joint. And blowing smoke rings. As you know, images like this are only revealed to people in moments of tenth-grade methamphetimine psychosis, but it isn't too late for you to crank up the ACDC and shout over to the guy in the next cubicle Whoa, dude, look what Satan told me to draw on the front of my marketing proposals binder! It's like he was guiding my hand!

*Also, twice a day, squeeze one lemon into 8 oz. of cranberry juice, and dilute. With vodka presumably.