Queasy.

I decided that before I head to South America, I'd better make a cursory effort to eat meat.  Many of you know (and many of you give me shit for the fact that) I've been a vegetarian for the past 2 years.  It's been a good life.  I really, really like vegetables now (my mother is still trying to understand how this happened).  The only downside is that my body is now completely unable to fend of the gustatory onslaught that is beef, lamb, or anything else with a protein chain longer than that of a kidney bean.  Past experimentation, as you would expect, has not been pretty.

I imagine one is supposed to make a gradual transition into carnivory, but I've never been one for gradual transitions.  I like to hit the ground running--dive right into that cold water.  

So I ate a burger.  A big, greasy, delicious burger.

Oh boy, was it good.  

Unfortunately, I now feel like I consumed a small mammal.  A tasmanian devil, perhaps.  I believe it is still alive.  Good food is decidedly un-Macchiavellian.

As if I hadn't given my intestinal track enough exercise, I have live typhoid sitting in little pills in my refrigerator, thanks to my trip to the travel clinic.  That was quite a trip--I spent most of the two hours that I was there waiting, thumbing through a lengthy article on the hazards of travel. 

Apparently driving a motorcycle without a helmet while drunk, stoned, and having sex with a 13 year old sex slave is a bad idea.  Who knew?

I jest.  The article (a literature review, really...and not a great one, given that their research methods included googling) was pretty interesting and further affirmed my belief that good urban planning can alleviate many of the issues that are confronting the developing (and developed) world today.  How to make that happen is a topic for another day...