October 2007
  1 2 3 4 5 6
7 8 9 10 11 12 13
14 15 16 17 18 19 20
21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31      


Estella Floats
I, Asshole
tequila mockingbird (SHE'S BACK!)
Mister Crunchy
(this shit)
Lily White Intentions
All or Nothing
Styrofoamkitty (RIP!)
She C. (RIP!)
Fresh Pepper (RIP!)
Get to the Choppa
Jen and Tonic
What's Brewin' Down Yonder
Almost Lucid
Dirty Fez
Sarah B.
Bad News Hughes
Bored But Busy
Malicious User
Run Jen Run
Knotty Yarn
Breakfast of Losers
Philosophical Marshmallow
Random Musings
Brooks Blog
Geese Aplenty
Blue Ruin
Tiny Voices in My Head
The Art of Getting By

Most Recent Entries


Monthly Archives


Advanced Search


Powered by



Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.


Tuesday, October 23, 2007

You Know How to Tell You’ve Worked Out too Hard?

It’s when your wife calls the paramedics.

See, we recently picked up an elliptical machine on Craigslist. This was to replace the recumbent stationary bike I’d been using, which had been handed down to us by Michelle’s sister; the flywheel had cracked shortly after we got it and it was noisy as Hell to ride. Anyway, I was used to just kicking back with the latest Newsweek, jamming to my iPod Shuffle and maintaining my customary 16 or 17 mph. Michelle was starting an exercise routine, though, and hated the racket; plus, she doesn’t read while working out, opting to watch TV, which would be impossible to hear.

Anyway, I’d just finished my second session on it—a standard 25-minute “no-program” program. Right at the end, during my (very short) “cool down,” I started to feel queasy. Not light-headed, just a little nauseous. I sat down on the back of the machine and was trying to slow my breathing down. And keep from throwing up as the nausea got to a more FULL-ON state. Michelle happened to be in the same room, on the computer. She kept asking if I was okay, and I was responding. Until I apparently got up, started shaking, and collapsed.

I remember thinking, briefly, that it’d be better the lie down (on the floor) as I was sitting, trying to slow my breathing/heart rate. So when I heard her calling 911, I was, all, “WTF? I’m fine . . . just had to lie down.” Apparently, I was missing the part where I slumped over into the lamp next to our bedroom doorway and Michelle tried to catch me.

The culprit was seemingly low blood sugar, which worries me as I’d eaten breakfast. But I’d also been going at it pretty hard for those 25 minutes, so I must’ve burned up all THAT sugar and any reserves stored in my lard-body. Luckily, the “instant glucose” I was given helped me narrowly escape the dreaded IV “in the truck.”


In other news, I’ll be working out and socializing and drinking and interacting with my family/Humanity much less as I’m becoming addicted to Eve Online. Did you watch Firefly/Serenity and think, “Man, how cool would that be if I could pilot my own ship and do some smuggling and blow up some space pirates?” Well, you can. I’d been obsessively surfing the official messageboards for two weeks before finally ponying up for the trial subscription and downloading the game. I spent my first hours mostly flying around one solar system feeling lost, especially considering there are, what, THOUSANDS of other systems to be explore. The graphics are top-notch, BTW.

I won’t post my character’s name because, otherwise, someone will find and destroy my n00b ass. Seriously, don’t PWN me, PvPers. ‘Cuz I’m a total fucking carebear.

shaken and poured by Scott-san on 10/23 at 12:12 PM
GamesWeekends (0) Comments closedPermalink

Tuesday, October 16, 2007


I keep telling myself that I’m not going to force my views upon Mia as she grows up . . . that I’m going to let her find her own Truths and chose her own path. However, these exchanges I’ve had with her while driving around town suggest otherwise.

Mia: (pointing to a man panhandling at a red light) “What’s he doing?”

Me: “He’s asking people for money.”

Mia: “Why?”

Me: “Because he doesn’t have any.”

Mia: “Why?”

Me: “Probably because of the Republicans.”


Mia: “Hey, why’d you change that?”

Me: “Because daddy doesn’t listen to country music.”

Mia: “I like country music.”

Me: “You’d BETTER not.”

shaken and poured by Scott-san on 10/16 at 06:42 AM
(5) Comments closedPermalink

Thursday, October 11, 2007

The War is Over

A couple nights ago, I finally finished watching Ken Burns’ 15-plus-hour documentary, “The War.” I’d DVR’d it on the nights it was playing on PBS and was obsessively making time to finish watching it . . . in between episodes of “Heroes” and “Tell Me You Love Me” and “How I Met Your Mother” and “Reaper.” I remember how blown away I was when Burns’ Civil War series came out in the early 90s; I was working at a video store at the time and I used to put it on the monitors during my shifts.

All this war stuff has me thinking: My grandparents’ generation who came of age during World War II . . . they call that “The War.” What will WE call “The War?” Hopefully, there’ll just be Iraq, and it’ll be, y’know, “Bush’s war.” If we elect more Neocon-pandering automatons, there’ll be another war. A worse war.

Speaking of a worse war, I’ve just started reading World War Z, which is an account of a fictional world war against the zombies. It’s set in very modern times. Right about NOW, actually. You think there’s a zombie outbreak starting in central China right now?

shaken and poured by Scott-san on 10/11 at 07:00 AM
Boob Tube (2) Comments closedPermalink


There's no "I" in threesome.


I can't remember whether I've seen anything new since my birthday. Oh, right, that one.


I was hoping for a little more detail in the accounts of mauling-by-zombie. But the anecdotes were disturbing, nonetheless..


I don't have a solid grasp on which exact cheap beers I had at the ATL watering holes.