Hair of Some Dog, Somewhere...

Obviously, the best thing to do after a weekend of barfy sickness, is to go to a smoky bar and drink a bunch of beers.

I feel as though I am expressing solidarity, is the thing; when your three best friends in the world redefine the terms of your relationship/fuck you over/abandon you, regardless of the reality of the situation, you need someone to be there for you. Apparently, that guy is me, and I couldn't be happier to be that guy, because someone (you know him here as Martian Molly, and permutations) was there for me when I was in a similar situation, and I owe him my sanity.

That said, I am drunk as shit, and very much hoping that I am well enough to weather this. We shall see. I am optimistic.

I'm in a weird position, though; I feel like I don't have the whole story, and that bothers me, even though it's not surprising; but at the same time, I won't abandon someone who is adrift, not just because I've been there myself, but because I know how words have a way of not meaning what you intended, and because situations are almost always more complicated than they appear. And if I don't recognize that, who will?

That said, I don't think there's enough water can be drunk to make me useful at work tomorrow. Here's hoping!

UPDATE: Not too bad. Aside from leaving the house wearing a light green shirt and olive khakis, and having a bit of a headache, I am officially not dead. Hooray!

A Fine Waste of a Long Weekend

After the usual predictable JWER Family Thanksgiving (every year we alternate hosting dinner at my parents' house or at close family friends' house, and every year dinner starts a little earlier; soon, we'll be having cranberry pancakes and turkey bacon), things got interesting.

Friday I got up early and went to my parents' house to continue dismembering the parts car; it now has no actual parts whatsoever on it, except the license plate lights and heater core. It also has no roof, doors, windows, carpet, wiring harness, fenders, or, oh yeah, radiator cross-member. The engine is completely disconnected from everything and ready to go. We worked on the car from about 9:30 to 4:30, then called it a semi-productive day. I was sore as hell by the end, and went home to take a shower and anesthetize myself with beer. I ate a plate of leftovers and got on the phone around 8 pm, exhausted and laying on the bed. When I hung up the phone, I immediately passed out until 11, at which point I decided to give up and go to sleep. I then proceeded to wake up at 1:30, 2:30, 4:30, and 5:30 with increasing heartburn. Finally at 5:30 I decided I was going to have to get some water to tame said heartburn, and got some, and drank a couple sips, and... uh oh.

I did make it to the toilet in time to throw up everything I'd eaten since June (and let me say, while the Cranberry Chutney recipe I discovered came out surprisingly well, it also came out surprisingly unpleasantly). I managed to sleep until about 8, then got back in the car to head back over to my parents' to remove the engine. 12 miles, and I almost made it before realizing that there was no way in hell that my day was going to go as planned. I swung by anyway, because I was already most of the way there, but I couldn't get home and back into bed fast enough (at least partly because my mother, a nurse, and a giant fucking noodge, wouldn't let me leave without attempting to ply me with every possible remedy; sometimes, I just want to go home and get in bed, OK?). I spent pretty much all day yesterday in bed, much to the consternation of the cats, and definitely took my time getting up today. Good times. I feel a million times better today than yesterday, but I'm still not sure I won't call in sick tomorrow, mostly because I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, and my brain isn't working quite right.

It felt like the flu, but the flu is by no means a 1-day-in-bed-to-recover affair for me; the flu is actually the only thing that has ever required me take a full week of sick time. I checked with the other participants in the dinner, and all of them had at least a really bad headache, which doesn't rule out food poisoning, except that my nephew, who probably ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at best, was the sickest of all, which leads me to believe that I had rug-rat poisoning. I swear, these little germbags, what the hell? It's not enough that I have to work in closed, poorly-ventilated quarters with a bunch of smug inoculated parents that think nothing of the classic throw-up-in-the-mouth, but now I have to be exposed to the little Typhoid buggers on vacation, too? Apparently I need to lick more doorknobs, or something.

And yet here it is, Sunday evening, and I've blown the whole fucking weekend. Great. Back to bed it is!

JWER No Es In Casa

I am off for an exciting week in exciting OC with my exciting family.

I'm guessing I am not going to be willing to fork over for expensive Intarweb access while there, so y'all have a nice week, y'hear?

Cautious Optimism

I think I'm with everyone else that is breathing a sigh of relief, but not too deeply, just in case the waves find a way to come crashing down again.

It's great, if not terribly surprising, that the Democrats regained control of the Legislative Branch. If there's one constant in American politics, it's that the filthy unwashed electorate has a strong "throw the bums out" mentality. There's no way of knowing what might've happened were the Dems the bums in question, but given how coin-flippy most elections are these days, I suspect that if they'd run a similarly flawed government for the past 6 years, they'd be the ones secretly wishing for a job redecorating the new House Speaker's office.

No, I don't think the Democrats would've invaded Iraq, but I do think that there are an awful lot of people in decision-making land that have lost their grip on reality, and earnestly believe that ends are all that matters, and that people en masse are less important than The National Interest. I have news for them, however: the people ARE the National Interest.

I think everyone would do well to pay a LOT of attention to James Webb; my impression thus far is that he is the fantasy political action figure that everyone has been desperately hoping John McCain and Colin Powell were going to magically transform into. The difference is, he's already there. Hopefully he can continue to modulate his tone enough that they let him stick around enough to show them what an honest, determined individual can accomplish. The fact that he barely won election in our Fascist Neighbor To The South is not encouraging, but you never know.

The Minimum Wage seems set to rise, which would be great, and long, LONG overdue. However, Bush clearly sees letting that one go as a key to hornswoggling the Dems into re-discussing raping Social Security, and there is some precedent of the Dems being a little TOO bipartisan when it isn't necessary. Bush's threat of continuous veto doesn't concern me, because a) he's now the lamest of lame ducks, and b) the Republican members of Congress still up for reelection have got to be smarter than to let him pull that kind of shit.

In other news, not only do we now have more female members of Congress than ever before (not an inherently good thing, considering they could all be weasels like Hillary, but about goddamn time nonetheless) but we also have our first Muslim (bit of a stretch, since I think his background is actually Nation of Islam, which hasn't moved any closer to Islam since it assassinated its own best member, to my knowledge), plus a wind power expert and an organic farmer.

The pieces, they are all there. Let's just hope that they can do some good, and avoid their much-favored footward shooting. If I'm holding my breath, it's only because I'm still afraid of the waves.

Oh. My. God.

That was a travesty wrapped in a debacle surrounded by a layer of democracy at its finest.

Bluh.

One Thing's For Sure

I am definitely NOT Farmer Material.

I am secretly hoping that when it's slow, they'll let us roll out mats and nap, like in kindergarten...

Oog

The alarm clock, she is set. For 4:15 am.

Good, as they say, times.

I plan to stay awake on Benadryl and root beer. Wish me luck.

Vote early, and vote often. Especially if you're dead.

Wheee

Today was a good day for progress, but a bad day for congestion. I woke up early, but not as early as yesterday, and not as early as I'll have to get up on Tuesday (must... report... at 5:45...) but early for a Sunday, I suppose. I walked the dog through the godless Bolton Hill, where no one was stirring, carried her poop around for 20 minutes, then slapped her in solitary (actually, not solitary, because I'm sure the cats come by at regular intervals to mock her) and went to meet my parents at the Double-T Diner. Not the one that's always been there, but the satellite one that they put right next to the Forest diner because, apparently, they're assholes. After some lackluster (and more importantly, lackcoffee) service, my dad went off to tank up their car and I got to drive 100 yards to the Petco, which took a surprisingly long time. MAN is that part of 40 a labyrinthine mess.

Once we got back to their house (I must give my mom props for not whimpering as I drove up their street; my brother basically wet the seat last time, although I was going a little easy on her), I resumed the process of stripping the parts car while my dad tried to get that stupid subframe bolt out that I fucked up last week. I would've done it, but given that I'm the one that screwed it up in the first place, I figured fobbing it off was the better idea. While he did that, I got the front two seats out (I had a great deal of trouble last week; it's always important to remember a mantra while working on Mercedes: "if it's not easy, you're not doing it right") and all the door panels and seatbelts, etc. I have the back seat at my house, with plans of making some sort of car-nerd sofa for which I will be mocked for the rest of my life. Good times. When all was said and done, my dad got the bolt out, but hosed the threads, so we had to use a longer bolt and a nut on the other side (don't worry, it's only the suspension...), and I got almost everything done on the car besides the engine, which means that next time we work on it, we can yank the engine and then cut up the body for scrap. Unfortunately, since my parents are going on vacation next weekend, that is probably going to be a very cold operation. Ugh.

After I had injured pretty much every part of my body, I came home and walked the dog at a distinctly slower pace (hopefully she hasn't noticed that I'm taking her on pretty much exactly the same walk twice a day), then watched a couple more episodes of Smallville, complete with silly lump of coal manually compressed into perfectly faceted diamond gimmick, then ripped up the remaining carpet in the back bedroom, sneezed a lot, vacuumed a whole hell of a lot of dust, cat hair, plaster bits, what-have-you up, sneezed some more, made a drink, carried some shit down into the basement, cleaned the cat litter, watched the Simpsons thru Family Guy, took the dog out again, and here we are. Yeeha.

Did I mention how much I am NOT looking forward to my 5:45 am to 8 pm day on Tuesday? Really, REALLY not.

Blorp

This morning started early, with a very cold dog walk around Bolton Hill, where I noted, not for the first time, that there are no goddamned trashcans anywhere. So the dog drops trou, I do my civic duty, and then I have to carry a bag of excrement around for twenty minutes like a particularly foul purse. I assume that this is part of Bolton Hill's "thanks for stopping by, now get the fuck out; touch nothing" outreach policy to the rest of the world, but if it makes ME want to throw trash all over the place, I can't imagine what someone more prone to littering might get up to. I'm sure Bolton Hill retains the services of a SWAT team for the truly undesirable. Part of me wants to see just what I would need to do to get a police escort back to The Wrong Side of North Avenue, and part of me just thinks people that live in BH are giant wankers (good friends living there notwithstanding).

This odyssey was followed by a trip to Federal Hill (or, rather, part of Locust Point that has been assimilated by the more realtor-desired label "Federal Hill" like Highlandtown is "North Canton") to buy a Mysterious Christmas Item for some member of my family. The woman I talked to and her sister grew up in the house they're living in, which I think is pretty damn cool. They've more or less totally rehabbed it into the sort of place that simpletons with lots of their parents' money are all over, but which thoughtful people with some taste would also covet. The woman I talked to is moving into the county because she has a job up there, and she was definitely not happy about moving that far Snayward (not because of Snay, just because he lives in BFE, and she is a city girl). Good work. I then schlepped said MCI over to my parents' house, had a bunch of coffee, and still almost fell asleep on the drive home.

My mother had been threatening a giant get-together of a bunch of their friends (mostly from a place my dad worked in Annapolis when we lived there, ie: before I turned 12) with a ridiculously over-the-top menu, which she described to me in great detail this morning for about the fourth time. Much like the last three times, I completely forgot everything she told me. It's better that way: more of a surprise. I had about two hours of freedom. Naturally, I watched two episodes of Smallville. They moved the plot along, but there were no silly moments of the sort that make me happy. They do seem to have killed Brainiac, which might prove tricky later, but then, Brainiac could easily be one of those villains that they reviewed and said, "naaaaah" like the producers of all Batman efforts since the 60's series have done with King Tut (and rightly so). Also, several mentions of Zod, who I happen to know features heavily in the current season. KNEEL BEFORE... oh, ahem: getting ahead of myself... last night after I posted, I watched a little of the commentary track on the vampire episode, and the writer was like, "yeah, this was the worst episode I've ever written" and basically acknowledged that it was very popular on teh intarwebs and that it was basically their response to the network's demand for a Halloween-themed episode (and also an excuse to have Spike say, "there're no such things as vampires". Nice.

So, this important task accomplished (plus, fine, some more moving of 2nd floor crap into the basement, where I am now sleeping, since the seepy cat is quarantined in the 2nd floor and there's no way the cats and dog would tolerate me locking them all out all night), I headed back over to my parents. I always feel like I'm still 4 years old at these sorts of things, being trotted out in feety pajamas to say Surprisingly Adult Things for the entertainment of my parents' friends, most of whom have known me longer than I've known them (one of them is my godfather, who crossed the Rhine with Patton). Except this time, there's beer, and I get to rant in a tin-foily way about the chaos and wackitude that is our electoral system. Good times.

I drove home possibly slightly too fast for someone who had that much to drink, but my excuse if I had been pulled over would've been, "Officer, I'm terribly sorry, but I REALLY have to take a dump." Once I wound down the window to impart this wisdom, he would've agreed immediately and possibly given me an escort, because that was NOT a good smell. I may have to destroy my car. For a different reason this time, that is.

SuperDork

Last weekend, with not a little shame and embarrassment, I bought Season 5 of Smallville on DVD. I bought that particular season (I own none of the others; it's in its 6th season right now) because I cannot resist the writers' silly silly jokes to slacker comic book nerds like myself.

I've never really cared much about Superman the way I've never really cared much about Batman; so many different people have written their stories, and so many different actors have played them, that it's hard to remain focused on the fact that they are amazing characters of folklore, like Dracula and Prometheus; their stories have, properly written, lessons to teach us about who we are and about what life means. Badly written, they're a stoner in a shiny suit walking slowly while holding a rope, the camera turned sideways.

Anyway, I bought this particular season because while I watched the show fairly regularly when it started, it had gone through a number of years of butting up against shows I'd rather watch, and the character of Lana kind of made me want to punch the TV. Right at the point that I kind of almost didn't care if I ever saw it again, there was an episode that had The Flash on it. Yes, there were lots of interesting interpretations of what a teenage superhero might really be like (ie: a thief who ran all over the country with a bunch of identities) but much more thrilling to my nerdly nerdly self was the scene in which Clark confronted the Flash about who he was, and it turned out that he had about 10 different driver's licenses with different names, several of which (Jay Garrick, Barry Allen, and Wally West) are different Flashes in the DC universe. Even better was when Clark was following Barry out of town, at Ludicrous Speed, natch, and when Barry realized Clark was following him, he started running backwards at the same silly pace and they had a short conversation, which featured the exchange:

Clark: "So, what are you going to do now?"
Barry: "I dunno, form a League or something..."

I may have actually clapped with delight. I am an idiot.

Anyway, in the last few episodes of the 6th season, they've introduced Oliver Queen, who is actually Green Arrow, who I only really know anything about because he was in The Dark Knight Returns (aka the best Batman story EVAR!!!1!!), hence my self-identification as "slacker comic book nerd". I was reminded of how happy I was with the Flash episode, and I remembered that I had missed the episode called "Aqua" which, well, duh. There's also an episode last season in which Lois Lane goes undercover in a strip club (no, I don't know why) and is totally wearing a Wonder Woman outfit. So I watched the first disc over the last week, and the Aquaman episode totally ruled on every possible level, particularly in one of the final exchanges between Our Heroes:

Arthur: "You and I should, like, form the Junior Lifeguards Association or something."
Clark (grins ruefully): "I'm not sure I'm ready for the JLA yet..."

I was already totally clapping with glee at the first line, because I'm good with acronyms, yo. I even know that JLA is not really an acronym, so Campbell, if you've read this far, step off...

Anyway, I was so fixated on the two aforementioned episodes that I TOTALLY forgot about the introduction of James Marsters' character Professor Milton Fine (this would be Brainiac) and even more totally forgot about an episode that I saw part of, which is the Halloween episode in which Lana pledges a frat in which all the sisters are vampires. Perhaps you can see where this is going... if not, let me point out that the head sister is named, ahem, "Buffy Sanders" and at one point, dude, Carrie fucking Fisher (guesting as EinC of the Daily Planet) gets to deliver the line: "we don't publish stories about slaying Buffy the Vampire."

Oh my. Best ever, though, is when Chloe gets bitten by vampire Lana, and is in the hospital with Clark, and Professor Fine rather gratuitously appears, and asks what happened, and Clark tells him sheepishly, "I think she was bitten by a vampire" beat... beat... and then James Marsters says with an admirably straight face, "There's no such thing as vampires, Clark."

And then, of course, it turns out to be related to Kryptonite, yada yada, and an Evil Secret Project called "Project 1138" which I'm sure is not an accidental choice of number, and good lord did that make me happy. Because I am a simpleton.

I've said before that right before I die, I want to read Finnegan's Wake, and then I'll be ready. The reason I put it so late is that I am a complete sucker for an inside joke or stupid puerile reference (in case you couldn't tell) and I hate the idea that I missed some such jokes or references (which might explain why I spent altogether too much time analyzing The Matrix movies). So I can't read it before then, you see, because that's my best chance at getting all the jokes, after a lifetime of absorbing random trivia and nonsense and so on.

Meanwhile, there's Smallville, and thank god for that, because I am WAY too lazy to read Joyce.

UPDATE: OK, so, next episode was the one in which Lois dresses like Wonder Woman, and boy are my arms tired... oh wait, wrong punchline...

SPECIAL GUEST STAR TOM FUCKING WOPAT!!! That's right, and of course OF COURSE there are several gratuitous scenes of John Schneider and Mr Wopat catching air through some farmland (in, ahem, a Charger, although it's dark blue and convertible) as they discuss their 25 years of friendship... at one point, Bo, I mean Schneider, is behind the wheel, and Luke, I mean Wopat, clambers his old-ass frame in through the window, and Schneider looks at him askance and he says, "What? Damn door's been stuck since I bought the car..." Wheeeeeeee......

Ooooh, Controversial!

I'm sure it makes me a terrible person for posting Ann Coulter's address on teh intarwebs, but, public records, y'all...



Also, she's a shrill harridan who deserves many, MANY flaming bags of dogshit on her front stoop.

Failing that, filling her house with popcorn and training a giant laser on it would be fun, too.

Rut-Prone

I got a ride down to DC this afternoon for work, and then had to take the Metro and MARC home, and I slipped so easily back into my well-worn Baltimore-DC Commuter rut that I walked automatically down the platform and sat down on the train before I realized that I had neglected to buy a ticket. Since I didn't have any cash, I had to walk all the way back to the station (the train I was on was in front of another train, so it was a longer walk than usual). When I finally sat down again, ticket in hand, I very quickly fell asleep, just like I always used to, right down to the panic attack caused by waking up with unfamiliar generic sights out the windows, making me wonder if I had slept through Baltimore (to be fair, I only did this two or three times in a 10 year stretch).

Wow, I just realized this is the most boring post that has ever been cast to the interwebs. Good times. Anyway, I hadn't overslept, yay. And where the hell is The Office tonight, anyway?

Cat Wounds

For the moment, my life is circumscribed by the healing of cats; one of them has a healing abscess on his back, the other one has some sort of weird allergic reaction that's probably just stress, but until they're both fine, I have to be home at certain times to administer medication, and to be nice to them. It's like talking to plants, I suppose, except that talking to plants doesn't necessarily result in cute cat photo ops (which I will not be taking advantage of, because it's not Friday; you know how it is) nor in lots of little holes poked in one's thighs.

You know, anything to justify the gross expense.