Ceci n'est pas une blog.

Heard about “Freedom Fries” on the radio over the weekend. Worth a snicker — a geefaw? Maybe just a chortle, whatever that sounds like. This year’s best candidate for Trivia of the Future™. See also: Liberty Cabbage.

To put my injury in perspective, I’m reading a book — on the train, just about the only time I can read an actual book — called “Back to the Front.” The author of the book, Stephen O’Shea, spent several summers in the late ’80s and early ’90s walking the length of the former Western Front, from the North Sea to Switzerland. This is his account of those travels. It is riveting.

He describes what he sees as his goes along, then offers accounts of what happened at those spots during the Great War. I’m familiar with a lot of the historical narrative (not all), but having it described in this way adds immediacy to it. I hardly have to say how horrible the stories are.

Truth be told, I was reading this book before I slipped on the ice, but hadn’t gotten very far. So maybe my choice of reading material is really G-d reminding me that, indeed, I have no real problems, ankle or not.

The ankle? The x-rays have been read by x-ray readers. I have “an oblique fracture of the distal fibula.” Love that Latinate. A crack at the bottom of my leg bone, to render it in Anglo-Saxon. So much for the ligament theory. But maybe it’s both. Sure is sore.