It's contagious

Went out for a bite with a couple of the girls last night. They asked me what I had done on the weekend, and I mentioned that I went to Knowlton Nash Fest and then found myself talking in rather alarming detail about the life of the local pornographer who was the subject of the "talk".

It appears I retained so much knowledge about the fellow, I may not need to read the book, unless of course it has lots of interesting details about the menage-a-trois (rivieres). Then I might have to read it. We'll see.

For example: I said that the pornographer in question had been hospitalized at the Royal Vic for tuberculosis, and my friend said that didn't make sense because in those days when people got TB, they sent them to sanatoriums up north. And I said, well, he did get TB again, and he convalesced in Ste. Agathe. And at that very moment I realized I had retained too much info. My little brain does not have room for such facts. There are too many other important things I need to remember, like my home address, and the fact that .215 constitutes the Mendoza line, this being a fact I discussed with my GP at my last appointment (don't ask). This paragraph is turning into streamofconsciousness.