You fit yourself for cracks to slip into

Aside from a rewarding decision to make short-order hamburgers for dinner last night, the events of yesterday were mostly teeth-gritting—a doctor's appointment, the new month's round of bill-paying, and far too much of the afternoon spent fighting with my health insurance over the phone. To recover after dinner, therefore, like any reasonable person with access to TCM, I watched Orson Welles' 1962 film of Kafka's The Trial (1962). It starred Anthony Perkins. It was fantastic. I hope to write about it, but first I have to call my health insurance back.

[edit] First go-round with insurance unsuccessful, as after surviving the phone tree I was directed to a website that does not solve the particular problem I need solved, but I had the following exchange with the person on the other end of the phone:

"You have a pretty accent. Where are you from?"

"I'm from Boston."

"I like your accent."

Which I was not expecting, especially these days, so that was nice.

[edit edit] Second go-round cautiously successful! No compliments on my accent this time, but I should now be able to pick up a vital medication without needing to mortgage my cats for it, at least once the new information propagates through their system. In related news, how can they still have my old address in their database when I have been receiving mail from them at my current address for the last year-plus?