Earlier today I finished reading a book called Jimmy the Wags: Street Stories of a Private Eye, ostensibly written by James Wagner, but he had a ghost writer. It's a series of mildly interesting vignettes about his experiences in the job in the New York area, and about his downfall.
Once I got home, last night, and had some dinner, my beloved and I sat down to finish Sherlock season one, and it was very good. I think that they handled it with exactly the tone that Doyle intended, and they give the impressions that Doyle must have given in the Victorian mind.
One book failed to keep me interested, yesterday, and that was Rising Sun Victorious edited by Peter Tsouras. The individual authors postulate one or two minor changes in what happened in the history of the Pacific Theater in WWII, and then suggest the likely end results. I guess that these scenarios make me too uncomfortable to read on. In any case, no. That bodes poorly for my enjoyment of other books of the genre. I have to wonder why I like Turtledove's books so well, though. He does essentially the same thing.
Something odd happened at the office at lunchtime yesterday. It's not unusual for drug companies, medical equipment companies, home healthcare agencies, or nursing homes to feed my staff and I while they do some sort of a spiel to drum up business. I listen, ask questions to prove that I'm listening, and will consider whatever they're selling. Yesterday, though, a major medical center of the Greater Los Angeles Area sent a team out to feed us. Now, this medical center isn't close. There's others closer that are world-renowned. But they were trying to persuade me to send them patients with complex problems to bolster their patient loads. From Rancho Cucamonga? Most of our patients expect to be sent to Loma Linda, or possibly City of Hope. It just boggles my mind that they'd feel the need to get patients from our practice...things must be pretty bad!