You feed a cold, right?

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Last night, at approximately 4:30 in the morning, I was bludgeoned out of a sound sleep by the sudden and overwhelming need to vomit.  Like, threw the covers damn near off the bed, kicked the cat, scared the shit out of the dog, damn near fell over clawing for the bathroom before I projectile vomited all over my entire fucking bedroom.  And then… nothing.  I got into the bathroom and absolutely nogoddamnthing happened.   When my alarm woke me up this morning, I spent a moment reflecting on the fact that I was able to breathe normally and thought oh, hey, maybe I’m better!  and then got out of bed and was damn near forced to my knees by the virulence of the ensuing coughing fit.  How the hell I made it to work this morning is a mystery, and instead of the usual caffeine product that I make sure to bring with me every day (a bottle of tea, most of the time) I brought Robitussin.  I literally do not know how I got through the day, but I managed it, and with enough sales to make the effort more or less worth it.

On the way home, I drove past another fucking wild turkey.  I live less than a mile from what is effectively open prairie and woodland (yes, both, in different directions) so the occasional deer and the much-less-occasional herd of deer in the neighborhood isn’t unheard of, along with the other usual urban wildlife, but I swear I never saw a wild turkey before this year and now I’m seeing them all the time.  Wild turkeys are fucking weird, guys, and I have the same reaction every time I see one, which is to briefly wonder why the fuck a dinosaur is that close to my car.  This particular wild turkey was even weirder, because I watched it in my rear-view mirror as I was driving past and the damn thing was hopping, not walking, across the street.  So maybe it’s a one-legged wild turkey?  I dunno.  I’ve never been one for hunting but I kind of do want to see if these things make for good eating or not.

A minute or so later, I had another massive coughing fit and came very close to swerving into oncoming traffic.  Frighteningly close, actually.  Probably should have pulled over.

And then I got home and made the sumptuous feast you see in the photo above for dinner– yes, that’s turkey– and for dessert I plan to have codeine.  I will try to post something more generally useful and less hallucinatory tomorrow; for now I’m just happy to be alive.

The end.

MOAR WHINING!

tumblr_nkx7ovQvDL1rnma1do1_400…actually, first things first: I’m trying to give some books away today and tomorrow.  They’re all right here if you’re interested.  Still making you buy Balremesh and other stories, though.


It’s been a rough day all around; I’ve been trying to get the house beaten into shape so it doesn’t look like it’s been Lord of the Flies here all week while my wife’s been out of town.  I’m at the point where I’m going to shave the fucking dog bald; it’s not actually been all that hot a summer, but I think she’s actually developing allopecia as she ages– there is no excuse for the amount of shedding she’s been doing lately, and I’m worried that by the time my wife gets home tomorrow night it’s going to not only look like I never brushed her, it’s going to look like I never vacuumed either.  Is that a thing that happens to dogs?  I swear she’s never shedded remotely as much as she does now.

I actually got a fair amount done over the last couple of days, which is generally the standard by which I judge my weekends; the concept of “relaxation” being more or less completely foreign to me.  It was a Good Weekend if I got a lot of shit done.  It was not if I didn’t.  This weekend’s been accompanied by a bit more headfuckery than I’ve had to put up with in the year and a half or so since I stopped teaching, but I think that’s just because I feel like I’m under deadline pressure to make the place look like a half-capable adult lives here.  We’ll see.

There is also a distinct chance that I should seriously consider going back on my brain meds, but I’m trying to ignore that at the moment.

I caught the premiere episode of The Strain last night, which I found pretty compelling, so I’m watching the second right now.  I may or may not write a few paragraphs of fiction while I’m watching it but I’m not going to hold my breath about it.  After that, sleep, and hopefully no kicks in the kidneys tonight.

Wife’s back tomorrow night.  Alhamdollilah.

On letting idiots make decisions for me

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Perhaps the sound of a million baby-men all wailing at once alerted you; there is to be a new Doctor Who, or maybe a new Doctor, hell, I don’t watch the show, I don’t think “Doctor Who” is actually the character’s name, but maybe it is– and at any rate, the Doctor is to be played by a Person of Feminine Aspect, a Vagina-Haver, a Breasted-American, except she’s not American and Breasted-Brit sounds like some sort of snack food.  A girl!  Playing a character who used to be played by a man with a penis!

I assume Peter Capaldi has a penis. And all the others, whatever their names are.  Steve or James or Bonbon or something else British.  I’m only assuming they all had penises.  I’ve never seen any of their penises.  But apparently they were really important to all this Time Lord business.

So, yeah, there’s a girl in a show now and oh so many judgment-challenged sillymen are oh so very upset.  And here’s the thing: I’ve kinda been jonesing for a new Nerd Thing lately that I could pay attention to?  I’m tired of Walking Dead, and Game of Thrones has worn very very thin and I was never into the TV series anyway, and I’m not actually certain that the new Star Trek is actually watchable by regular people who don’t have some sort of arcane CBS subscription that I refuse to find out anything about.  But I can watch this new Doctor Who thing, right?  And knowing that me watching it is a tiny thorn in the ample sides of some very horrible people brings me pleasure, so there’s that.

I have actually tried to get into Doctor Who on a few occasions and failed.  With the notable exception of Monty Python, British entertainment does tend to bounce off of me a bit, and every previous episode of the program I’ve tried to watch really didn’t get anywhere with me.  But for some reason I downloaded the two-part season finale of Season 10, which was Capaldi’s final season (although I understand there’s some sort of Christmas special thing coming, where he’ll actually end his run?) and damn if I wasn’t well and hooked despite not really having the vaguest idea what the fuck was going on or who any of the non-Capaldi characters were.  The Cybermen should have been Power Rangers-level cheesy nonsense but somehow they worked, and I was suitably creeped out by them.

And so: I shall be partaking of this new LadyWho person, and hopefully I will enjoy it.  And if not, meh.  At least I annoyed some idiots.  That’s always worth something, right?

PS: Is “Dr. Who” some sort of faux pas?  I keep wanting to spell it that way and changing it back to eliminate the abbreviation.  Is it like Spider-Man, where if you don’t include the hyphen you die in seven days?

In case you ever wondered how lazy I was

I became aware a couple of weeks ago that Dr. Jekyll (and, along with him, Mr. Hyde) appeared in the new Mummy movie.  I have no interest in seeing that movie at all but it reminded me that I’ve never actually read the original book.

Wherever I was when that thought occurred to me, I mentally scanned my bookshelf and decided that I probably already owned a copy of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but that I wasn’t sure.  Normally the idea that I don’t know if I own a book is very unusual, but in this case I had a decent reason: at some point several years ago those cheap Barnes and Noble classics editions went really cheap– like $2.50 a book– and I scooped up a ton of them on the assumption that I’d want to read them eventually.  I was pretty certain that DJ&MH was among that list, but I wasn’t sure.

This is a picture of some (yes, some) of the bookshelves in my living room, taken from the perspective of my recliner, which is where I spend a substantial proportion of my time when I’m at home, to the point where my son calls it “Daddy’s chair”:

FullSizeRenderHelpful pink arrows are indicating where the Barnes and Noble editions I was referring to are shelved.  You will note that some of them are behind a rocking chair and a few of the boy’s toys.  Those items were not put into those places for the purpose of this picture; that is where they generally live– meaning that my view of the shelf on the right was blocked from my recliner.  In addition, my eyes aren’t quite good enough anymore to resolve individual titles of the books on that shelf from my chair, although I knew the rough size and color of the spine so I was pretty sure it wasn’t in the bunch on the left.

It took two weeks for me to simultaneously 1) remember that I had been wondering if I had a copy of DJ&MH when I was actually in the house and 2) have the energy to get my lazy ass up out of my chair to go check those books on the right.  There were multiple occasions where the first happened and the second did not.  Multiple.

The answer was yes, by the way.

Blecccccccchhhhhhhhhh

middle-finger-poster-flag-6185-pI’m pretty much only posting because the thought of going three days without putting anything on the site gives me hives.  I don’t really have a ton to talk about, or at least I don’t have a ton of stuff I want to talk about.  I’ve spent most of the last couple of days wanting to punch the internet in the face because the internet is stupid and the people on the internet are stupid.  I’ve been protecting my sanity by unfollowing a ton of both-sidesers lately regardless of whether I think they’re generally entertaining when they’re not being both-sidesers.  I don’t have the patience for it any fucking longer, sorry.

On TV just now, Gordon Ramsay pronounced “guacamole” as “wocka-moll,” and now I want to punch him too because British or not that’s just not right.

Anyway.  An example: The world’s gotten stupid enough that I came very close to wading into a parenting argument on Twitter earlier today.  I won’t link to anything because I was too disgusted to make it through the video, but there’s a video floating around of a little kid cutting up in a restaurant.  He’s, I dunno, five, and he’s telling everyone to go fuck themselves and calling his mother and grandmother bitches and apparently at a few points he’s actually yelling Crip slogans.  There are motherfuckers who are sincerely suggesting that what this kid needs is more violence in his life because apparently Mom and Grandma don’t beat him enough.  How fucked up do you have to be to watch a kid that obviously damaged by violence and suggest that beatings are the way to help him?

I just can’t with any of it right now, sorry.