The rest of our Thanksgiving trip was less eventful and much more-better. I finally got a guided tour of East Atlanta /
Duluth Decatur (“is greater”). It’s always nice and relaxing to get away from Tallahassee.
In other news, I’m gonna sidestep into Political Land and relate my latest nugget of Pre-Election Year water-cooler wisdom: If polls hold any ounce truth, we’re going to be choosing between a woman who can’t win and a guy no-one wants to win.
Democrats: Snatching Defeat from the Jaws of Victory ’08!
You’d think I’d have a blog for this kind of crap, right? Where did I put that thing?
* no, I’m not gay . . . for the thousandth time
But there are moments of brilliance, too. Another SUV, later on, had one of those license-plate frames . . . at one time. All that was left of it was the top part between the two screw/bolts. The part that read, “Failure is not.”]]>
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.
Mia: (pointing to a man panhandling at a red light) “What’s he doing?”
Me: “He’s asking people for money.”
Me: “Because he doesn’t have any.”
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.”]]>
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?]]>
Winner may get something mix-CD-like.
1. Which exclamation will get you quickly ushered into the Magic Kingdom before the gates officially open?
a. “Mickey! MICKEY! Over here!”
b. “Oooo! Pick me, pick me!”
c. “Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate’s life for me!”
d. “Jesus FUCK!”
e. “I got a hunger for some Disney princesses!”
2. Mia’s favorite ride at Disney World (that she rode) was:
b. Pirates of the Carribean
c. World of Imagination
e. Peter Pan
3. Which of the following Disney princesses did Mia NOT meet?
c. Sleeping Beauty (Aurora)
e. Perez Hilton
4. Fill in the blanks: We recently took Mia to have pictures taken, which coincided with her ________ birthday. The pictures were just of her this year because ________________.
a. third; I was bruised about the face from MMA fighting
b. fourth; it was hard enough to get her to smile when we weren’t in the picture
c. fifth; my lazy eye makes me look all a-‘tard
d. sixth; Annie Leibowitz was in a bad mood that day
e. seventh; “In a word, Brian . . . very bad.”
5. Who was the first person to introduce the concept of God/religion to our daughter?
a. Michelle’s father
b. Michelle’s mother
c. her 4-year-old cousin
d. a Disney princess
6. This Friday, Michelle and I are driving to Atlanta to see:
a. two hobos having sex
b. the Witts
d. the last vestiges of our youth
e. traffic . . . lots and lots of traffic. And smog. Don’t forget the fucking smog.
7. After years of relative inactivity, I published another poem, this time in ____________.
a. The New Yorker
b. The Atlantic
c. No Tell Motel
d. Yellow Silk
8. Fill in the blanks: This coming Tuesday is my mom’s __________ birthday, and Thursday is my __________ birthday. Typically, we celebrate on the day between. I think, this year, we’re going to lunch and then catching a showing of __________. Afterward, I’ll take her home and then go back to work, where I will __________.
a. 60th, 29th, Knocked Up, do something productive
b. 60th, 35th, Behind the Green Door, sleep
c. 58th, 32nd, Control, blog about Joy Division at MySpace
d. 61st, 36th, 3:10 to Yuma, brainstorm some more for a creative project I will likely never start and/or complete
e. Are you fucking KIDDING me, Capt. Quiz-Making Jackass?
BONUS QUESTION: What did I make on my SATs . . . which, starting at a community college, I totally did NOT need to take?
* I know the lame excuses are just that (lame . . . and excuses), but almost every day, I was, all, “Man, I should write about that.” (Whatever “that was.) But I knew I was working on a quiz idea. And then, of course, the longer you let something linger, the better it has to be when you’re done. AND the longer you go without blogging, the easier it is to stay away.]]>
Well, it’s been more than a month now. I can’t say I’ve really missed you. Actually, it’s gotten to the point where it pains me to stop by here, even to surf my own blogroll. However, I should let you know: I haven’t been cheating on you with Vox. Okay? I promise.
So a lot has been going on. Yes, I realize the “I’m busy” excuse is as old as the list of Republican anti-gay anal-fornicators is long. But I really have been. What? You don’t think a Disney “vacation,” a daughter’s fifth birthday, and the same daughter starting kindergarten—all within two weeks—is enough?
Maybe it also has something to do with that ongoing beaten-down feeling. For years, I’ve had this dull psychic/karmic ache thing happening. A semi-permanent weight. It keeps me from doing important and/or creative things. Lately, I’ve been thinking I have mild depression. No, no . . . nothing too soul-crushing. And nothing I want to medicate myself for. Anyway, I was researching on the Internets and decided maybe an energy boost was in order, so I’ve started a regimen of ginkgo and ginseng. Perhaps upping the caffeine, too.
I also realize you’ll be going away soon. Not my choice, per se, but my gracious host is only holding this domain for me and it’s set to expire in a couple months. Because I’m so committed, I’m visiting you less frequently and doing things like taken month-long breaks, and I probably shouldn’t try and hold onto it. So, I’ll probably be going back to someplace free. I doubt I’ll quit you all together. Really, I can’t. Quit you.
Okay, before I make another reference to those fun-loving gaybos, I guess I’ll go finish that PowerPoint presentation, which I’m giving today at lunch. The one that has “I’m totally motherfucking WINGING this” written all over it.
1. When playing games, or participating in some light “sports,” I like to play be the rules. Sometimes to a fault. SOMETIMES to the extent that it’s no longer fun to play games with me (I’d imagine). Funny example: On the last night of our Beach Meetup, a group of us were playing a couple trivia-related games. Michelle wouldn’t play because she knows me too well. We were drinking, of course. CW was there, but not playing. He knew all the answers to the questions being asked (because he’s smart like that, at least as far as the 1990s are concerned) and was, apparently, “helping” people who didn’t know the answers. On both teams. Which all resulted in me turning into a Rules Nazi. We finished the game, but it was a very muted, quietly raging affair. I’m convinced all people involved actively dislike me now.
2. For sports, I pretty much stopped playing anything (organized) once I hit high school. Prior to that, I played three years of baseball (I sucked and my dad was the coach) and two years of football (not counting that first year I quit). I was patently below average at both. The only sport that I probably COULD have been okay at was soccer. On the day they were having tryouts one year, it conflicted with some stupid popularity-based club meeting and I didn’t go. And that was that. (I just remembereId that I also joined the tennis team for a week in tenth grade . . . until my parents told me I had to quit because that was the [ONLY] year I was making Ds and Fs on my report card.)
3. I’m a thumper, not a shaker.
4. We (er, I . . . this supposed to be about me, right? Whatever, I’m multitasking.) Anyway, I went to Atlanta this weekend (with my family) and it was a really good trip, even if we didn’t see CW (probably BECAUSE though). In the interest of product/cultural evaluation, here are some semi-related one-line reviews: Ru-San’s (nighttime home of shouts of “SAKI BOMB!”) was great and never have I had so much fun eating sushi in a punk-rock establishment . . . or being surrounded by punk rockers in a sushi establishment; it’s funny (but tasty) to order Asian food on the outside patio of Cheesecake Factory in the very shadow of P.F. Chang’s, although I really wanted more peanut-butter cookie dough in my slice of chocolate cheesecake; and the new Interpol album is at least as good as Antics, while the new Editors disc does not quite rise to the bar set by The Back Room.
5. On that topic: As you know, I’m all about “alternative” music, and I like and respect Nirvana, owning all of their albums (either on vinyl or CD). But the only song of theirs I have on iTunes is “Moist Vagina.”
6. This isn’t about me, per se (I’m running out of things), but I think it’s obvious that, considering the country seems split between fighting (the REAL) Al Qaeda and “cutting and running,” wouldn’t it be GAME, SET, MATCH for the Democrats to put forth a plan wherein we’d rotate soldiers to Afghanistan (remember that place?) and work toward getting soldiers home for longer stays? Bush is really pounding the “victory over Al Qaeda” drum quite a bit and, y’know, maybe we should actually engage THEM. Where they are. So, rather than looking like defeatists, maybe the Democrats can frame their proposed “redeployment” as actually engaging the enemy, RATHER THAN having Al Qaeda hanging out with their Taliban friends and kidnapping and murdering innocent South Koreans?
7. Remember when I’d do quizzes and give away mix CDs to the person/people who did the “best?” That’s a lot more fun than this, and I’ve been thinking of doing another one. It’s just time-intensive and, lately, my job (and the ominous pressure to get things done and/or prove I’m not just slacking off [i.e., blogging]) hasn’t provided me much time for that. And when I get home, all I want to do (after getting Mia to bed and IF I don’t have band practice) is drink beer, maybe eat a popcicle, and watch Olbermann.
8. Is this the last one? I think it is. Hey, we’re going to DISNEY in two weeks. It’s a trip we’ve been planning for months now. The in-laws are going, too (driving and staying separately, though). We’re gonna be there three nights. I’m excited, but kinda afraid. Pray for me . . . er, us.
Here’s the part where I’m supposed to link eight other people. I’ve seen this meme on a couple other blogs I read, so I’m feeling that maybe there’s no-one left for me to link. Seriously, this Eight Things meme is akin to fucking Paris Hilton’s mouth or hitting the almost-even money on Ho-Han’s chance of ending up back in “rehab” . . . everyone’s done it. So, I’ll just tell my wife to do it on Vox when she takes a break from Guitar Hero: The 80s. She’s been playing three days and I think she’s about to start the “expert” level.
The highlight had to be the part where we found three full-size coolers buried beneath junk in the outdoor storage area. Coolers jam-packed with liquor and wine. As the bride’s father tells it, their older daughter was drinking all their booze so he put it all in coolers and hid them outside. Twenty years ago. And then forgot about them. That’s how I came to be in possession of some aged-in-glass-bottles quantities of Jack Daniels (1.75 liters!) and Crown Royal. I’ll be hoping this isn’t my last post ever over a tasty Crown and Ginger.
* There will inevitably be others . . . based on what’s left to be done.
In other news, this application process to get Mia into kindergarten is quite . . . involved. Birth certificate, social security card, shot records, physical form, two proofs of address, DNA sample, Purity Test results, and multiple application forms. Okay, so a couple of those things are optional. But, yeah, as we were gathering the materials to submit, I realized that we had never gotten Mia’s birth certificate.
I had a sneaking suspicion a while back that this might be the case. One day, for whatever reason, I’d been half-searching for it and found some half-letter-sized, blue carbon of Mia’s birth information and some vague instructions about obtaining additional copies of the certificate. Was THAT the birth certificate? (No.) The last time I saw it was at my office, and I’ve yet to see it since switching offices. I did another search at home for the same blue paper, but I couldn’t find it. However, I DID find some social-security instructions that mentioned not being able to get a card until we name our child (which we did right at the get-go . . . and we got the social security card [which I managed NOT to lose]). But on the second page of the social-security instructions, there was a paragraph that said our birth certificate would not AUTOMATICALLY be provided. See, I don’t understand that. You figure with all the pointless forms and pamphlets and copies of pointless forms, you’d get a birth certificate from the hospital. I even found some keepsake thing with Mia’s foot prints and lots of blanks for us to fill out her birth info.
This is all why I didn’t post about Scooter Libby earlier (timelier). Because I had to drive across town to the County Health Department to get Mia’s birth certificate. The OFFICIAL one. And, finally, Thursday, we can turn in her kindergarten application.
Right after she finishes taking the Purity Test.