Plasma has a branding problem.

You’ve got your plasma televisions.

And your plasma rays.

There are plasma gemstones.

And the more ominous sounding Plasma: Fourth State of Matter.

So when our friendly blood collectors across the street at 85 Fitzroy St. recruited me to become a plasma donor, it was hard not to have very Star Trek visions of what this might entail.

(By “recruited,” I mean “I walked in, after seeing the ‘Donor Clinic Today’ sign out front for the 2,000th time, and said “I’d like to give blood.” Before I knew it, I’d been upsold to plasma).

So in 20 minutes I’m heading across the street to plasmanate for the first time.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Update: It all went fine. People were super nice, the technology behind the “suck out his plasma and give him back his blood” is nifty. It didn’t hurt. Lots of questions about sex with IV drug users and trips to the Congo, but that’s understandable. They’re all super-careful about double- and triple-checking everything. It was a good hour away from telephone, television, cell phone and other stresses. I’ll go again.

Buzz has posted photos of the aftermath of Hurricane Charley. Looks very familiar.

Perhaps the written word escapes you and yet you still feel the need to express yourself about something you’ve read here? Now, in addition to leaving text comments, you can phone your comments in by telephone.

Just click the Add audio? checkbox on the regular old comments form, and then enter a little text preamble. Post your comments as normal, and then watch your email for instructions on how to telephone in your comments.

Follow the instructions and your audio commentary will appear attached to your original comment for the world to hear.

This is experimental — the result of a late-nite procrastination session — so it might not work completely or as you might expect. Or it might be a silly idea to begin with. Feedback (textual or audio) is welcome.

My friend Oliver says that he thinks me “subdued.” Here’s proof-positive that I am not, at least while in Phoenix:

Josh Ritter (recommended by Ann) is starting a Canadian tour soon, and it includes dates in Halifax, Saint John, Fredericton and St. John’s here in the east. He then heads east through Ontario, Alberta and British Columbia.

I came to know this by following Steven on a wild goose chase for the identity of a song playing in the background of a VW Touareg commercial currently playing on television. We’re not sure if it’s Ritter, but it sounds close.

You can see Hurricane Charley’s weather, in diluted form, passing through Dublin, NH this morning.

Update: Our friend Buzz is blogging the hurricane He lives in Winter Park, near Orlando:

When you live in Florida you expect that every so often there will be a hurricane. Kind of like blizzards in Minnesota where I grew up or earthquakes in California…

You can donate to the American Red Cross relief effort online.

My father and I are in the midst of planning a trip to the “old country” — Croatia — this fall. One of the things I learned this week is that to have any success at making family connections once there, we’ll have to determine which “line” of Rukavinas we hale from. Apparently, like Arsenaults on PEI, there are so many Rukavina families in our home place that they have taken on nicknames over the years.

If Little Black Book was an independent movie, if it didn’t feature extreme Palm product placement, and if it didn’t feature Brittany Murphy in the lead role, you would probably go and see it.

As it is, you will go to the multiplex this weekend and see Collateral or The Bourne Supremacy. Because you know that even if they don’t feed your soul, at least there will be fast cars and name actors and you will be distracted and air conditioned for two hours.

I don’t mean to suggest that Little Black Book is a great movie. But it’s certainly a lot better than it deserves to be.

Mostly because of Holly Hunter, who is, as she almost always is, a better actor than anyone else in the film. She takes a part that would traditionally be played by Rose O’Donnell or Molly Shannon — the “wacky supportive girlfriend” — and takes it places that nobody else could.

The writing helps her get there — the script is at least 33% better than your average summer comedy. Not quite David Mamet snappy, but there are sentences and paragraphs and are brilliant and quick and dry.

And although there is a farting dog (which did make Catherine laugh, I admit), there are also wandering sheep.

The rest of the supporting cast is mixed.

Kathy Bates and Julianne Nicholson are excellent (although Bates is really just playing her usual role, this time inhabiting Jerry Springer).

Ron Livingston plays the Matthew McConaughey role unremarkably (he’s not really called on to do very much), Stephen Tobolowsky has his moments, and Kevin Sussman looks like he has promise (especially if he can avoid Cosmo Kramer pigeon-holing).

Oh, and there’s Brittany Murphy. My jury is out: through most of the movie she comes across as a sort of older Hillary Duff or Lindsay Lohan (or a junior Sandra Bullock). But she too has her moments, and it wouldn’t surprise me if there is a great movie or two lurking inside her. Someday.

I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that the constant presence of Carly Simon music in the movie, along with a plotline that involves Simon herself, was a draw for me. I am an unrepentant Carly Simon fan (see also Heartburn). If you aren’t then you may wish to avoid the film.

Little Black Book won’t feed your soul. But it is something of an unexpected surprise.

My friend Steve has been posting some great photos of China after the war on his site.

Those Greeks are doing some pretty fantastic things for the opening ceremonies of the Olympics: flying dancers, articulated flame holders, giant choirs, super fireworks. I’m not a huge fan of the Olympics, but this is about the most spectacular spectacle I’ve ever seen.