Since the Italians left us Christmas morning (with a sink-load of breakfast dishes), I haven't done much at all. I did a few little things like: I made soup and chocolate chip cookies; I got caught up on some laundry; I read some; and I got sucked into a whole lot of Scrabble. I also started a granny-square afghan in white/pumpkin/black that
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On his birthday, Walter Sparrow, an amiable dog-catcher, takes a call that leaves him dog bit and late to pick up his wife. She's browsed in a bookstore, finding a blood-red-covered novel, a murder mystery with numerology that loops constantly around the number 23. The story captivates Walter: he dreams it, he notices aspects of his life that can be rendered by "23," he searches for the author, he stays in the hotel (in room 23) where events in the novel took place, and he begins to believe it was no novel. His wife and son try to help him, sometimes in sympathy, sometimes to protect him. Slowly, with danger to himself and to his family, he closes in on the truth.
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I also haven't rented a movie in ages, but was just thinking about it yesterday. I think my choice, though, will be *Ratatouille* (sp?) That's about my speed, thank you very much. If I want scary, I just turn on the news...
;-p
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