Yesterday I had to put a book down and find something else to do because the story had reached an emotionally wrenching moment and the loud noises coming from my guts were disrespectful and completely inappropriate. Everything was quiet and then suddenly my insides were a murky bayou full of chittering bugs and croaking frogs. I tried to ignore it but it just got to be too much, these comical bleats and blurts were undermining the gravity of the narrative. I thought the artistry of the book deserved better than to be accompanied by whoopee cushions, squealing spirals like those high-flying little fireworks that often follow the main blast like pilot fish, and the sounds of creaking haunted house doors. At one point I even thought I could make out human voices, a strange old man murmuring "ohhhh noooo..." over a crackling phone line, a gurgling infant. It occurred to me that I am almost totally ignorant of what's taking place within my alimentary canal. There's this science exhibit currently on tour, human bodies cut open and preserved, it's wowing them all over the world, and one thing people all say when they emerge from this experience is that it's interesting to compare the reality of the human interior with their often spectacular misconceptions about it. I don't really think there's an elderly gentleman making mournful phone calls from inside my body, but it would be nice to know what's going on in there to raise such a racket.