Sonia has just texted me with this piece of wisdom: "there was a scene in the script of Cronenberg's The Fly where Brundle-fly eats a bag-lady's face. Sadly, it was abandoned in pre-production."

Between her, Chris, Pearce, and my dedicated hours wasted surfing wikipedia and imdb at work, its no wonder I have no space left in my brain for any knowledge of practical, important, spiritual, or philosophical use. My mind is an avatar for schmoo movie trivia.

Worryingly, I am not terribly concerned about this at the moment. But I sense inherently that I really ought to be.