Suddenly I'm getting dozens of hits from people googling skunked sex.
I don't even know what that means. But somehow I'm getting hits.
(scratches head. shrugs.)
I like it better when I get hits on daddy fuck me really hard, but I'll take what I can get.
This is where a different geek-side (Geekseid?) shows. This is where I go all sports geek.
This weekend is the NFL draft. And I hate to admit how much I care. I've been known to watch at least part of the first round on teevee, and I always track progress throughout the draft weekend.
I care who my teams (49ers, raiders, pittsburgh) take, I care who my friends teams take (miami, philly). I care who gets taken by rival teams (seattle, st louis).
I care who gets taken first, who falls in the rankings. I care about the last minute trades to jockey for position.
My team, the 49ers, have made a lot of bone-head draft moves in the last few years. Jim Drukenmiller chosen over Jake the Snake Plummer stands out as a particularly stupid one, but I look at our number one and two drafts - Mike Rumph, Kwame Harris, Israel Ifeanyi, J.J. Stokes, Reggie McGrew, Justin Smiley - and I don't see a lotta spectatular talent. Our last year's top pick, the highly paid Alex Smith, has yet to prove out and actually do a damned thing and to my mind he's got expensive failure written all over him.
So the draft is, to me, both exciting and scary. I watch my team draft the way to watch a train wreck.
Then there's Hockey. The sharks are up 3-1 vs Nashville in the first round of the stanley cup playoffs. They played a hard, thrilling game thursday, a physical game that they won, but didn't dominate. They play in Nashville tomorrow (Sunday), and can put this to bed; or they can choke, and be back in San Jose next week. My boss has tickets to that next round, so I think he's hoping for a choke, but I'd like to see this series over. This sharks team has the players to think Stanley Cup, but they have to play a lotta good hockey between now and then to have that happen.
I'm thinking about taking the top off my jeep. But you know what that means, every year. It means more rain. So, you know, maybe not quite yet.
Evidently the iTunes Music Store has released a playlist of what they call Bay Area Essentials.
But the people at SFGate (Joel Selvin and Aidin Vaziri) don't agree with this list.
What do you think?
I'm trying to help a non-techie windows user ftp upload a bunch of data to my server for safe storage.
Trouble is, when I think ftp, I think unix/macos command line (the way I do it):
[motorhead:~] kmac% ncftp -u username hostname.com
So I need to direct said user to a good, easy to use windows tool/method.
It's been six years since I've touched a windows machine. I have no idea what to set her up with.
Help a brutha out, windows geeks.
God, I love hockey.
I haven't been a hockey fan for a long time; i tried, back in '91 when the San Jose Sharks played their first couple seasons in the lovely Cow Palace in Daly City. But no one I knew particularly cared about hockey, and the team sort of sucked, and it's really hard to figure out hockey from watching it on teevee.
So while I always cared if the sharks were winning or losing, I just never got around to going to games.
That changed a couples seasons back. After years of trying to enjoy hockey games on teevee, my boss tossed me a couple tickets, given him by some sales droid from synopsys or cadence or mentor or some other CAD tools vendor. My boss has season tickets, so he didn't need these. So I went, on a thursday night, taking Olivia, then nine or ten, with me.
I didn't expect to last long. With a hyper-active nine-year-old who didn't know a thing about the game sitting next to me, I figured we'd do well lasting into the second period. I was wrong though. We lasted through three regulation periods, and two overtimes; and when it was over, Olivia, almost passing out with exhaustion, still didn't want the game to be over. She didn't care really what the score was or even if we were winning, she just loved being there, the noise, the action, the wicked checking and fights on the ice. And I felt the same way. I loved it.
That night made hockey fans of the both of us.
I haven't been to enough games since then - I tend to forget to buy tickets until the games I want to go to are sold out. I wish I could swing season tickets, but i don't currently have the disposable income for it. And while I watch a few games each year, hockey on teevee is still a shadow of hockey live.
Hockey's unique that way. I'm used to football, a game I know incredibly well. I know all the obscure rules and can often call plays from looking at formations. I've been a dedicated football fan since I was a kid. But no matter how much I loved going to football games back when I had my 49ers season tickets, the game is always better on teevee. It's clearer what's going on. The football experience is made for teevee, the pacing and structure of the game, it's like they designed it with teevee in mind.
Even baseball works better on teevee. Unless you have great seats, you miss the core drama of baseball. The battle between pitcher and batter. The physical tension. Two men standing there not doing anything waiting, waiting, poised for a blur of frantic action, waiting. You feel the very air between them pull tight. That's it, that's baseball, and you can't see it from the stands. So while baseball in a great park (like the Giants downtown-SF park, SBC park or pac bell park or whatever it's called now) is a great experience, the game itself makes more sense in teevee.
Not hockey. Hockey is different.
Maybe it's just the tiny puck. It's hard enough to follow this thing from the stands. But more; hockey is a game of intense, frantic, crazed action. It's a game where players move like fucking race cars, where the puck, the object of play, moves like a bullet, where bodies fly through the air and get pounded into the boards. The puck itself is dangerous, the audience sit behind protective glass and the players, most of them, are missing teeth.
But I think it's the sound. You just don't get it on teevee, no matter how good your system is. The scrape and crack and snick of blades on ice, the sticks clacking and whacking together, the sound of a two hundred pound player getting pounded into the side of the rink so hard you can feel your own ribs cracking. Hockey's a highly sonic game. The ice itself reflects sound in a way no softer playing surface can. You can feel a check, and when a goal is scored, the room simply roars. No other sporty I've seen live has the sound factor hockey has.
You also get little things that teevee never shows you, and this is common to most sports; when you're there you can see a play develop around the edges. Baseball outfielders coming in tight or backing up based on who's at bat and some other signals I don't know; football safeties and cornerbacks adjusting, dropping deep or crowding up to the line. The camera will pull in tight and show you pitcher or quarterback, and you miss the edges where, often a play is made.
But Hockey's different in that the plays are set up, not in ten, or fifteen, or twenty seconds, but in two or three seconds. A player intercepts the puck and suddenly every player on the ice, on both teams, are frantically adjusting, skating at blinding speed in different directions, and you're lost; where the fuck are they going, what's he waiting for. And then suddenly you see, and they're passing the puck and shooting on goal. And it's all just a blink. It's too fast and too subtle, by the time the cameras can catch it and the director can decide to show it, it's over and you just see the center shooting, and the goalie in his sumo-wrestler pads doing an impossible split to save a goal. You don't see what both teams did to set up. And they never show that stunn in re-plays, because it's just guys whizzing around.
I've seen enough hockey, finally, that I can track it on teevee. I watched my San Jose Sharks disassemble the Nashville Predators last night, first round in this year's Stanley Cup playoffs. The Sharks now lead the series 2-1. I watched this with Olivia, up past her bedtime, watching with me. The announcers mentioned that it's been seven hundred and eight days since the last time San Jose hosted a Stanley Cup playoff game, and I realized that Olivia and I were at that game, watching the Sharks lose that day, but not caring, because just being there made it wonderful.
I love this sport. I want to be at the games.
Ok, my geek is showing.
This is where my fetish for knives crosses my geekery.
I've been looking for months for where I can get Jayne Cobb's Bowie Knife from Firefly.
I've wanted a big-ass bowie knife for years. I've got balisongs, switchblades, straight-razors, tactical folders, bayonets, daggers, throwing knives, a million kitchen knives, machetes, pukko knives, buck folders and buck hunting knives, swiss army knives, opinel folders, gerber folders.
But I don't have a bowie knife, and I've wanted one forever.
So I just ran across something on a browncoat site identified that BFK (Big Fuckin' Knife) Jayne carries. And of course, I want one.
The Rough Rider Patrick Henry Liberty Bowie Knife:
Of course, it can't be that easy. It's out of production. The only company I can find that has them for sale is taking back-orders, but can't tell me an ETA. On the other hand, I know a guy (who is an order of magnitude higher in geekdom than I) who makes an exact replica of Jayne's sheath. Which means that, if I can ever find the goddamned knife, I also can get the sheath I want.
Ok, now, who's giggling at the word 'sheath'?
I know. I know. Geeky. I can't help it. I have weapon lust. I must have that knife.
I just got hits in my logs from "buckeye, arizona" and from "surprise, arizona".
And I'm thinkin'...
Well. You know what I'm thinkin'.
I've tried several times to do the hundred things about me meme but i never ever get it done.
But Hiromi went with 20 out of 100, Syl did 69 things (no wonder I like you, Syl), circe did 20-ish things. And those seem vaguely doable goals.
So I started going and was going to do thirteen, and then was going to do thirty-three, but somehow we wound up at forty-four, which is my age, and a really good calibre for a gun.
Thus, forty-four things about me.
I meant to post this yesterday but it's even stupider to post it friday and still call it thursday.
Stupid Memes. I don't remember where I found these but why not blame Fredlet anyhow?
Happy Birthday to m'man Ray.
Love ya like a brother, man. Have a good day. Eat until you fuckin' bust.
No, I didn't run off today and play hookey. I didn't go get tattooed or blow work off to go drink beer or ride my motorcycle in the blue blue sunshine.
I didn't even blog much.
Instead, I worked. Or at least tried to, though I'm finding concentration hard without a day off. Somehow this many straight days working doesn't play like it did when I was in my twenties, when I could do 12 hour days seven days a week for months and still go out drinking at night. And work well, and hard.
Meetings, and shell scripting, and the usual users with problems who need help right now but can't describe the problem; that's my day. And tech support for newly mac'd friends, which is the good part. I wish I could get paid to only support people I like.
Now that the sun's out, finally, I'm immediately taken with the desire to get out, to be outside, to feel the sun. It's suddenly so much harder to get anything done when out there is so stunning, warm and clear. I think about sailboats and sunny shorts and being deep under water, and it's oh-so-hard to care about work. Daydreams rule me when it's like this. It makes me want to run, and it also makes me want to write. I'm having ideas for stories again after months of not really feeling inspired, but as always I run into the time shortage that rules my life. I have to go do something all the time. A day, a week, a month, does not contain enough hours to manage all the things that must be done.
Maybe I could give up sleeping.
No, I'd rather give up working.
I had a daydream today about asking the chef at my local sushi bar for a job. I have the knife skills, easily. I know my way around a kitchen, I know sushi (if you knew sushi, like I know... Sorry.) I can do the whole shtick, the shouting and bravado. Man, how much simpler things would be, fun fish and drink with customers all evening. I can make a killer spicy tuna, and poke that tastes just like you get in Hawaii. Who cares that I'm not asian, man, I can do this. I wonder if they'd let me work in a kilt. It makes me understand the temptation my friends have to get the fuck away from computers, to do work where they're not sitting down all day. I'm not made to sit still this much, not made to do work that's so abstract. I need to do something that makes a difference now.
Instead, I'm going to go write another shell script. 'Cause someone has to.
I need to get tattooed.
I'm having a complete ink-junkie moment. I don't even care what I get right now, I just need to get tattooed.
I'm having a very strong urge to blow off work and just go. I don't have any plan for where to go or what to get. Oakland, Santa Cruz, maybe one of the local shops I know by repute but haven't been tattooed at.
I don't care. I just need to get ink.
*sigh*
Ok, there's a scene in a movie - and this is stuck in my head like an earworm, like a song frag you can't get rid of and can't identify, the way Soho's Hippychick used to stick with no song name or band name or other useful lyrics, just 'no hip, hip, hip, no hippychick'.
Someone out there has to know what movie this is.
Here's the scene. This is like a modern-day crime kinda movie, not sci-fi or anything. Some psycho - and I'm thinking Malkovich , Spacey, someone like that - has some woman held captive. He's, I dunno, threatening her, torturing her, something. He's got her tied up.
But she's angry and defiant. She spits in his face.
And he looks at her with these freaky dead cold eyes, wipes the spit off his face with his hand, and licks it off his hand.
The image stuck. But there's no damned context. Who the hell is this? What movie is this?
It rattles around in my head, like 'Perth Amboy' in Thurber's head in More Alarms at Night. Help me out here before ‘Threaten to get Buck’.
Because I'm just that sort of friend, Doxy, I forgot yesterday was your birthday.
I keep tellin' people, I'm an asshole.
Anyway, a big moronosphere shout-out to Doxy. Happy Birthday, baby. You seem to have stopped blogging again, but I'm hope you're havin' a fine ol' day of it.
It also seems to be Gina's (mrs Ray) birthday.
So mid-april spankings all round.
I'm in one of those song lyrics phrases. A couple days ago it was Spiriitualized - and yesterday if I'd bothered, it would have been Hüsker Dü.
But now I'm suddenly in a Be Bop Deluxe phase.
Like a square peg in a round hole
Like a harp without its strings
Like a sailor who sails no oceans
Like a bird that has no wingsWithout love, I am a desert
Without love, my light is dim
Without love, I have no treasures
Without love, I cannot win(Without love) We are like ships in the night
(Without love) Selling our souls down the river
Sailing away and forever our pleasure is blue.Like a dream that has no dreamer
Like a cloud without a sky
Like a truth with no believer
Like a mother without a childWithout love, I have no pleasures
Without love, my light is dim
Without love, I have no treasures
Without love, my chance is slim(Without love) We are like ships in the night
(Without love) Selling our souls down the river
Sailing away and forever our pleasure is blue---Be Bop Deluxe, Ships in the Night
Be Bop Deluxe are in my top five Best Bands Ever list. You really should hear them, if you've never done so. They're amazing.
looks like I've got one of those all-weekend pushes coming - a project that's due for release monday (this is internal tools stuff, not product. I don't do product, man) needs the cobbler's elves to do magic behind the scenes.
So I'll be at my desk, or some variant of my desk, most of the weekend, getting data moves and tools tested so that no one notices a damned thing on monday.
That's the essence of what I do, most of the time. make it work, so users people notice anything changes.
If i'm lucky this won't be a really major push. I'd actually like to see the sun if it pops out this weekend. But we'll see...
Man, I love Spiritualized.
Hey man there’s a hole in my arm where all the money goes
Jesus christ died for nothin’ I supposeCop shoot cop
I believe
I believe that I have been reborn
Cop shoot cop
I haven’t got the time no moreHey man there’s a hole in my head where information goes
And all my friends died for nothin’ I supposeCop shoot cop
I believe
I believe that I have been reborn
Cop shoot cop
I haven’t got the time no moreHey man there’s a hole in my reason that I gotta close
’cause all my love died for nothin’ I supposeCop shoot cop
I believe
I believe that I have been reborn
Cop shoot cop
I haven’t got the time no more---Spiritualized, Cop Shoot Cop
One of the best concerts I've ever seen, when I saw 'em a couple years back. It was like an acid trip with no drugs whatsoever (well, ok, tequila. That counts as a drug, I guess).
Every time I hear 'em I think, I have to see these guys again...
I think I've mostly un-done the template breakage, but I still need to tweak a few things.
Right now I'm hip deep in Joomla, trying to figure out how to shoehorn a internal group website into a Joomla layout. Sections and Categories and Bears, Oh My. I'm finally putting the blog-related skills into something now work-related.
This is fucking brilliant.
I dunno how much I've talked about comics but i grew up on a steady diet of sci-fi pulps and comics. And Jack Kirby, more than anyone else, defined my early comic-reading days (Well, that and Gilbert Shelton, but that's spelled comix). My first comics ever were Kirby; an issue of Nick Fury, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D was the first comic I read, and Kamadi was the first one I bought.
There's a reason they call him King Kirby.
Anyway, I just found this on BoingBoing, and it rules - a collage of Kirby comic eyes.
That's just a little sample, it's way bigger than this (sample thumbnail courtesy of BB).
I dunno if everyone's seen this or not but to quote a friend, "It's the questions at the bottom of the listing that restore my faith in humanity".
Ridin’ into town alone
By the light of the moon
I’m looking for ol sukie jones
She crazy horse saloon
Barkeep gimme a drink
That’s when she caught my eye
She turned to give me a wink
That make a grown man cry
Ok. Gots me a new computer. Seventeen inches of throbbing computational power, right here in my lap.
Ok, not the MacBook pro I was hoping to lay hands on; we're sellin' em fast as we can make em so there are none to go around internally yet. But still, bigger, better, faster.
Now maybe I can write something that ain't so damned sulky.
If you drive a car - I’ll tax the street;
if you try to sit - I’ll tax your seat;
if you get too cold - I’ll tax the heat;
if you take a walk - I'll tax your feet.
If I owned WMD, I swear, the local tax boards should look out.
I fuckin' hate this time of year.
Plus, you know, it was hailing today. In fucking april. In California. In April.
Nevermind. Go read someone else's blog, someone who's not as fuckin' crabby.
I'm still without a decent computer; managing at work with an old Sun Sparc u60 with an out-of-focus monitor, and an incredibly slow g4 tiBook.
If I'm not particularly communicative, that's why. I'm finding the basic tasks of computation frustrating. You get spoiled, I find, having a really good computer.
Evidently my boss is working on getting me a decent machine but not ETA.
Grumble. Grumble.
Well, jolly fucking nice.
My laptop just died. This is my only computer, my work machine, my play machine. My fuckin' life is on that machine.
Ok, ok, so most everything that matters is backed up, aside form some photos and some music. I try not to keep important shit on that computer. But still, all my bookmarks, all my cached passwords for the bazilion sites I have accounts on.
Crap.
AND of course I'm now unable to work, or write, or anything. And it'd friday, which means even if machines are available at work, it'll be days before I can get my mits on one.
Fuck me. I'm going away someplace where it's sunny and where they've never heard of the fuckling internet. Call me next year.
Just wondering if anyone has had any contact AT ALL with the Serious SIlver people who make the Clapton Skull Ring and the Keith Richards skull ring.
I've been hearing about them failing to ship orders, and despite several attempts I've been unable to contact them. They make some great rings (i love my Clapton Skul) but it's frustrating to hear that one of my favorite ring makes has gone completely flaky while still having a site up.
If anyone's talked to them or knows how to get hold of them, let me know. Until I've got more info though, I suggest people not place any orders with them.
I dunno what it is.
Maybe it's just being sick, still, with something I can't shake (or with a series of things which I can't fight off 'cause the other thing lowered my resistance). Maybe it's that everyone's sick; i talked to friends yesterday from Philly and San Jose, both of whom came down with horrid ailments that sounds exactly alike the same day. People around work of coughing, people around school are doing the same.
Or maybe it's the fucking weather. God. I'm not used to this. But it looks like the sun is creeping out now, so maybe, maybe, we're tail-ending this deluge.
Maybe it's about work; I'm so fucking far behind now that I feel like I'm ahead, the other rats about to lap me on the track. I'm behind in a way that feels like I'll never catch up, yet not sick enough that I can use the excuse anymore.
Maybe it's the mounting stack of things to do, taxes, bills, the entropy of a household this time of year when all the things put off can no longer be put off.
Or maybe it's simply the pain and yearning that comes with spring's approach, my body knowing the season even though my mind says otherwise. I feel the sap flowing in the trees and the flowers trying to bloom and my body feels a pull somewhere, somehow.
Whatever it is, I can't fucking write. I keep trying. I was up last night with a bout of insomnia and trying to blog; nothing. Fucking nothing.
I need to talk about stuff, and I just find I can't, like my fingers stiffen and my mind whirls and the power of speech is gone. And it leaves me with the usual mute frustration, the raw, disconnected feeling, the vague anger with no good outlet. Teeth grinding, head hurting. Pressure.
You know. The usual.
Psst! Avast there! It be too late to alter course, mateys. And there be plundering pirates lurkin' in ev'ry cove, waitin' to board. Sit closer together and keep your ruddy hands in board. That be the best way to repel boarders. And mark well me words, mateys: Dead men tell no tales!
Evidently some trackback-spamming bastards attacked us (and by us I mean my tribe, those hosted here at the m'sphere). My good buddy, Brandon, the host-with-the-most, did battle against the forces of darkness through the night and finally disabled trackbacks for our site (who needs fuckin' trackbacks anyway, sez I).
The result of all this is that last night and this morning, all of the sites I host were inaccessible for some time. We're back on line now, thanks to Brandon's efforts.
And there was much rejoicing.
CrazyPig, one of the coolest and oldest of the skull ring makers, now has an online store.
I would happily buy almost everything on that page, and that's just the rings.
Hell. There goes what's left of my paycheck.
You know, I didn't hear a single peep about april fool's day this year. Its like our entire culture forgot the custom this year - or conversely, it's like I just had my head so far down that I managed to miss the entire thing.
I don't know which it was.
I remember years back, working for Sun Micro, when April First was the high point of our corporate year. Each year a bizarre prank would be played on Sun's top execs, from car-in-pond to pond-in-office to office-in-pond. Brilliant, elaborate pranks, like getting Bill Joy's new fararri onto a platform in the middle of a pond, or wiring a full, working office in the middle of that same pond for Eric Schmidt - he had to be ferried out in a row-boat, but once there was able to answer email and make phone calls. They'd strung power and ethernet under the water so it came up through the floor of the platform.
There was many of these over the years, and it's one of the reasons I loved working at sun, though eventually, as always happens with big corporations, the fun got sucked out of the culture and the pranks stopped.
So what happened? Were they brilliant pranks I just missed? Or am I right in my assessment that the pranksters seemed to have taken a holiday this year?
I won't sing that song but you know the song I mean.
God, I don't want it to be monday. I've been trying to drag my sorry ass up outta the chair to get dressed for work for at least a fuckin' hour and I can't face the idea. I'm in that irritating place where I'm mostly well but don't have my energy back; I feel enough better that I'm happy about being better, but not enough better that I can deal with picking up the loose ends I left lying around last week.
I keep thinking about swaying palm trees and tropical breezes and a delicious, Beautiful island girl by my side. Someone fetch me a coconut full of rum and then rub some oil on my shoulders, hmmm?
Ok. Here's me getting into my jeans and going to work. Really. Any second now. Watch me go. That's it.
Really this time. I mean it.
*sigh*
Still no sign of land. How long is it?
That's a rather personal question, sir.
You stupid git. I meant how long has it been in the lifeboat? You've destroyed the atmosphere now.
I'm sorry.
Shut up. Start again.
So the latest weather report says another week of the grim and gray. I think I'm starting to develop gills (though not, you know, ones that look like cunts, like Kevin Costner had in Waterworld). I'm thinking I might trade my motorcycle on a jetski, while will be much more use if this rain goes on much longer.
Speaking of Waterworld, I've developed quite the huge crush on Tina Majorino, who's currently in Big Love, and was also the love interest in Napoleon Dynamite (which is certainly the oddest movie I've seen in the last week). But it's in Veronica Mars where she really gets me, as the blue-haired geek-girl Mac. I just think she's too adorable for words. I only realized a couple days ago that she was the little-girl-with-the-map-on-her-back from Waterworld; I've been thinking where have I seen her for months, since I first watched Veronica Mars. I can understand why I'd forgotten this, Waterworld is a movie one tends to want to forget. But Tina can sit on my lap and call me daddy anytime.
This is turning into an entry on movies and teevee, so let's go with it.
I can't quite figure out Big Love; I like it, I like the people in it, and I like the setting, the day-to-day complications of a plural marriage, the somewhat obvious, yet clever, symbolism, such as the triple-mirror reflecting Bill Paxton as he gobbled viagra, or the cut from sex-scene to pop-up sprinkler. But I can't quite figure out what the editorial point of view is on the whole thing; I can't figure out if they even have one. This may become clearer with another couple episodes, I still have last week's on my TiVo and we'll get another tonight.
As noted above, I finally watched Napoleon Dynamite and I can't quite figure out what the fuss was about. I know people who loved it, people who hated it. It's a tiny, odd, and generally unremarkable film. I laughed at it, was vaguely amused, but if it hadn't make such a splash of both positive and negative reactions, I don't think it would stick in my head at all.
I had a dream about you last night, ChealseaGirl. I wish it has been something more salacious, but I remember you were wearing a halter top and driving a white convertible You were yummy, but alas, I awoke before I could get more than a hug and a stolen kiss.
I'm watching the third season of Buffy with my kids. My god, this show was good. I haven't watched these early episodes since they were originally shown, and it just keeps impressing me. Cast, script, direction. Joss knows how to get the best out of everyone who works for him. It's unfortunate that he let Buffy slide so far, the last two or three seasons. They were frankly terrible, hard to even watch aside from a few gems like the musical episode. But these first three seasons were spectacular, as good an arc as any teevee show, ever. Makes me desperately wish Joss would get another series going; Buffy, Angel, Firefly, all absolutely brilliant. C'mon, Joss, I got a million ideas, let's talk.
Ok. I'm off to take my kids to see Ice Age 2. The first one was way funnier than expected, but I'm setting expectations low for this. I think I just want to see Scrat chase acorns.
Anyone else utterly sick of CGI movie previews? Ok, so I actually wind up liking the movies quite often (Hoodwinked was hysterical even though the animation kind of sucked, Madagascar was funny as long as the characters were not talking). And some of the new crop look ok (monster house). But I'm just sick of seeing CGI character after CGI character when I go see movies. It's getting too damned easy to do mediocre CGI.
I want a fistfull of downers. I couldn't talk my doc into giving me any purely recreational versed. I'm in the mood to get low, baby.
Is it forty days and forty nights yet?
Pretty damned close. We've just set records for all-time wettest march here in sunny northern california and I'm wondering, here on this april fool's day, if we're getting the same sort of april. Because looking out the window I'm not seeing my sunny april weather. I'm not even thinking about taking the top off my jeep, which I usually start doing around this date.
It's been grim and wet and depressing. people are looking pale and stressed and cold. We're a delicate bunch, us californians, we need our sun and don't manage well when the temp stays under sixty degrees for long.
I need sun. I need heat. I need to see a sky that's another color than gray. I'm ready. C'mon, mutha-natcha, lay a little of 'yer sunshine on me. Help a brutha out.
I'm feeling way more human than I have in a week and a half. I think I didn't realize how sick I really was, I kept thinking I was just worn out. But I was worn out after not really doing anything. I wasn't getting anything done at work, really, I wasn't even feeling like writing, I was passing out on the couch soon as I turned the teevee on. I couldn't drink because that hit me like a brick and knocked me down, one drink and gone.
Just Tired, I kept thinking, but it wasn't that. It was my body tryin' to say, shut the fuck down, stop fighting, rest. But you know me, I'm dumb as a fuckin' rock, I Never. Fucking. Listen.
I'm not 100% yet. I know that. I'm five days in to a week-long course of anti-biotics and my doc said he expects to switch me to some other med on monday when I go back, to make sure we nail the secondary infections. But this is the first saturday in three weeks when I've felt like getting up and going out rather than just wanting to spend the entire day layin' around like jabba the fuckin' hut.
Not to put Jabba down, of course, I mean, if I had a floating yacht and a young carrie fisher in a chain-mail bikini, that's be ok. But still, it's nice to be thinking about what I feel like doing today rather than just wanting to crawl in a dark hole and brood.
Now, if the sun would just come out, we'd have something here. I guess I should go get my motorcycle outta mothballs, I haven't been on it in two months, and it's lookin' lonely. I could use some open road, wide-open-throttle time.
