What the crispy fresh hell.

a) I had turned on the TV for background noise while I did a few chores, and gradually I became aware that House was on. (Is it just House or House, M.D.?)

b) PARTHENOGENESIS. What.

c) Perhaps I caught him on a good day, but the bits and scraps I heard did not make House as much of a dick as have been reported.

I'd still rather watch Scrubs.

At the moment, I'm reading Kristin Cashore's Graceling, another of the YA fantasies. So far it's fairly engaging. It's in third-person, which puts it slightly ahead of Maria Snyder's Poison Study (which disappointed me so much with its rapid series decay; the first book was amazing, and then the second book was a bit whiffy, and the third book was outright heroine worship, and then she wrote a bunch of books about glass that ought to have snatched me right up because GLASS, RIGHT????, and yet it was nothing but hurt-comfort blergh).

I'm still working what I believe to be too much, and I'm trying to convince myself I'm just being a baby about it.

GUP: SO CUTE. <3