I feel like ass

A touch of wooziness and throat-gunkiness yesterday afternoon has sure enough ballooned into full-on, balls-out sickness. The scientific community (or as Ben Stein puts it, “Big Science — oooh!”) has yet to accept my theory that watching far, far, far, really far too many goddamn movies directly causes colds. Till they renege, I just have to believe that the violent changing of the seasons are the culprit. I only get violently ill about twice a year. About thrice it’s happened during the PFF. This is really one of the worst times of the year to have a fortnight-long film festival in this spot of the world, since early April finds the Eastern seaboard on the precipice between coldish, Spring jackety weather and total, no-jacket-required mugginess. I’ll try to make it out to a couple movies today - not even malaraia will keep me from tonight’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, even if I have to take out the rest of the theater with me - but right now, as is, I feel somewhere between hell and shit.