And the vending machine taketh away

Wow, as I'm reading over the September 2003 posts, I'm getting a little freaked out. Because:

1) I thought about the pajamas invention last night, and the night before that. And I think about the botulism thing just about every day. I'd forgotten where I'd heard it, though.

2) Last Saturday, a friend of ours who was visiting from out of town picked up this book and was looking at it.

3) And last night, in the shower (where I get lots of thinking done at the expense of not being able to remember if I've washed my hair and thus where I spend a lot of time washing and re-washing my hair) I was thinking about whatever happened to I, Asshole! and wondered why she never called anybody an assscarf.

4) I wasn't craving a listen to "Stairway to Heaven," though.

Indiana Boys/Indiana Nights

It's cold today, which of course makes me wistful and very, very happy. And I really want to hear that song, but I can't find the greatest hits album that I have, and maybe it got packed away during the frenzied birthday cleaning. Maybe Ill just buy another copy, because really until you have four or five you really can't have to many. Two, and you can't even find one, forgetaboutit.

God damn I wish I could find that though.

So I'm pawing through all these mixed cds, thinking maybe I burned the song onto something, and have come across one made on September 30, 2003. It doesn't have Mary Jane on it, but that's probably only because I couldn't find it.

I can be predictable about some things.

The Vending Machine's Writing Checks that the Vending Machine Can't Cash

See it, get it, my ass.

Prosecutors Will Be Violated

So, yea long time ago, my sitemeter company decided it was legit enough to start charging for its services, and I, who have never spent any money on the blog, decided I didn't really need a sitemeter. Then I kept hearing people refer to their referral logs, and I went on a quest to try to find my referral logs - because I also haven't invested any mental energy in how the old blog-o functions - and realized that you need something keeping track of it. So I found another site, through blogger, I think, that does it for free still.

And then my new sitemeter has dilligently e-mailed me stats for the week, and it appears that there are actually people somewhere who read this site. So, I wonder: Who are you people? Judging from the referral log, um, do you speak English?

Because I don't like when other people do it, I've tried to restrain myself greatly from talking about being sick on this website. Though I've mentioned it, and bitched a little bit, I've tried to keep it as something you might hear in passing, like, "I have a wretched sinus infection. Have you noticed Bush is a simpleton? Despite its texture, I have discovered that I like cottage cheese."

But. After an extended course of antibiotics - the Biaxin was replaced by another whole course of Keflex, which I stayed on because I still felt a bit like I had a wretched sinus infection in the mornings - it seems to be coming back. How is this possible?

My mom loathes going to the doctor so much that it will take a serious, possibly persistent medical condition to get her there, and I'm starting to understand why. I do not want to go back to another doctor. I'm sure there are some nice doctors out there in the world, but none of them apparently live near me - or my mother - judging by the delightful escapades of Other's whompin ear infections and my recent sinus infections. (Is there something about knowing anatomy in amazingly great detail that gives you the ability to actually look right through a person sitting in front of you?)

I realize, judging by my stints working in a pharmacy, that we can't unleash the ability to buy antibiotics over the counter on the American public. I realize that there would be a health crisis as the world had never seen in, like, a week. But god damn it I wish I could just go buy some damn antibiotics and not have to talk to a doctor about it.

Well, just so long as we're still better than everyone else

http://www.suntimes.com/output/laney/cst-edt-laney19.html

That's SO last Tuesday, between about 3:30 and 5pm.

I have rediscovered Hershey's syrup. It is a chocolatey blast from the past.

I had more to say, but I concentrated so hard remembering the thing about the Hershey's syrup and blogger took so damn long to load that it is gone. Luckily, the Hershey's syrup thing was the better of the two. The other thing was probably on par with some boring fact about socks.

News Flash

"Janitation" is a word.

And then it hit me: I don't own yam-colored shoes.

I just wanna be walkin aroun in my Murphy-Browns.

Not Yer Gramma's Creationism (Probably)

Yesterday, my new job took me to the local zoo at an unholy hour of the morn. Much of the day was work, but part of the day was an opportunity to go stare at some monkeys. (I think this job is going to work out well.) Of course I ended up observing the people as much as the animals themselves, noting how many people (well, men) found it acceptable to spit in the relevant native flora displayed in front of the animals' areas, how much people like to count things (say, like monkeys), and how speedily they moved past the exhibits.

I was taking my time, knowing that my job would bring me back to the zoo soon, and because I realized I'd never sat and watched monkeys for extended periods of time. I ended up on a shady bench in front of an enclosure of especially active Lion-Tailed Macaques. (There were three of them.)

Lots of children and strollers and sweaty parents trouped by, stopping to count the monkeys, and in some cases to declare that they were ugly or compare their appearance to that a relative. Just about nobody read the educational signs about Macaques. Nobody stuck around for more than two minutes, even if the monkeys were doing something especially interesting, like flinging themselves around the treetops or sitting pensively on the rope swing.

Because part of the program that I work for is about helping children value their own curiosity, it was disheartening to watch all these families stroll by and not inquire about anything. So when a traditionally dressed couple of Muslim women with 4 or 5 children in tow came by and seemed to indulge the young boy's curiousity, I was really happy to see it. They pointed out what the monkeys were doing, talked about the fruit in the cage and concluded that the monkeys must like oranges, and read the signage. Then, they had this exchange:

Mother: And who made the monkeys?
Boy: Allah.
Mother: Good.

And they moved on. I got the impression that the boy had heard and correctly answered the question many times already. Of course it's not surprising that they teach their children their version of the creation story; who doesn't? It was jarring in this context, though, because the zoo takes evolution almost completely for granted, with displays of skeletons and descriptions of how whatever that was has evolved from or whatever it evolved into relates, and because every single other family that had passed was utterly uninterested in reflecting on what they saw any more than if they had been channel surfing through the exhibits.

Also, I learned that children are FASCINATED by monkey butts.

CAN Find Server

Like a good citizen, I am still taking Biaxin, no thanks to the doctor's office, where "yes" means "actually when it gets right down to it, no. Maybe tomorrow." I explained how it is worse at night (it is awful, awful - I have dreams about it) but apparently that was not persuasive enough.

Macs, Biaxin, and An Argyle Sweater, not in that order

I don't mean to be a Consumo Von Consumerson the Third here, but I would really like to own this Argyle Cardigan. Before I started this new 8-5 office job, I was thinking that I'd be all like this formal but kind of funky dresser at the office, but as a significant chunk of my wardrobe is clothing that barely even qualifies as clothing anymore, and the rest is either grad student clothes or a bland mishmash of office-y shirts and pants, this has been difficult to achieve. I also don't want to spend too much time or thought on my clothes. Or money.

So. That might not really work out, then. That is, unless I can get my hands on that kickass sweater.

On to the Biaxin.

Two days ago I would have sworn up and down to you that all I wanted was to get some damn antibiotics to get rid of the band of mucus around my throat and the headaches and sniffles, but Biaxin sucks. For five years I worked at a pharmacy where the pharmacist would tell people that about 50% of the people who take Biaxin get a funny metallic taste in their mouths from it, but I had never experienced it until now. YUCK. Five days of sucking on Lifesavers and Certs and chewing gum so much that my tooth sockets get sore, here I come. Can you get diabetes in five days?

On to Macs.

You know how mice can be trained to run through mazes, and how once a mouse has done a partciular maze many times, the course seems to become natural and rote? Well, my PC-trained self has run my little snout into so many of these damn walls. Not only am I trying to get Microsoft Word to use Avery Label templates, a trying task in any situation, I'm doing it on an operating system that keeps going about everything in a sleeeiiightly different way.

Also, while I'm willing to admit that Macs are 94% superior on every possible rubric, there is the issue of the single-button mouse. Not only does this preclude playing Minesweeper, in my opinion it represents a terrible lack of foresight regarding my clicking needs.

50 Thousand Ways To Leave Your Lover

If my ears are to be trusted, and they probably actually aren't right now, I have a really cool Scarlett Johanssen thing happening with my voice. Unfortunately, this is the kind of sore throat that actually hurts, a lot, and hurts even more when I say stuff. So I will have to spend my Scarlett Johanssen cachet wisley.

We watched the movie Gladiator last night, in an effort for Other to connect with his students, several of whom called it their favorite movie. And I must say, if this is your favorite movie, you are a Sick Individual and should Seek Help. It's a gross-out movie masquerading as a deep historical picture. If it's about Rome, it must be intellectual and worthwhile, right? And seeing people's heads smashed in with maces and 4" swords jammed into people's guts is educational. Uh huh.

We had the subtitles on for much of the movie because these people, acting in a deep historical picture felt the need to mumble, and because of this we noticed that a hefty percentage of the dialog consisted of the line "Aah!" which is the noise one makes when being slaughtered.

The only halfway redeemable reason for any person to like this movie is because Russell Crowe is in nearly every one of the hundred thousand scenes, and he is good-looking. While this would make you fall somewhat short of Sick Individual status, you need some advice, which is: Go buy a People magazine and a vibrator.

Please no talking plants or animals.

While I do not really know what to say about the hurricane, I feel like I should say something. So, check out the flogging it's getting at Salon. Or donate money or something.

I will also say that it's unfortunate for Bush that he can't sling his arm around a uniformed public servant of some kind and vow vengeance on Katrina through a megaphone. People might not be noticing his complete incompetence if he could do that. While a lot of bloggers seem pretty upset over his reaction, I can honestly say I've lost all ability to gauge how a president's doing. Who am I to know when to cut short a vacation in Crawford? Who am I to tell whether a person's speech is sensical or grammatical? I'm not even kidding about that; everyone's been pretending for so long that he's not an incompetent, incoherent boob that the idea occurs to me as if it's new each time I see or hear him talking. I'm like - hey, that didn't make sense... that's weird...


Last weekend, when I went home to see most of my dear family, my dear brother got my dad and me sick. So I was sick for my first day of my new job. And went home after an hour. I'm already very popular.

So, I do have a job (yea!) and all that entails; no more whiling away 8 hours at a time on mini-quilts or knitted projects or whathaveyou, we get to go to the dentist, I get to get new lenses and maybe even contacts. I have to actually use Excel.

I did go back on Friday and work every hour that I was supposed to work, and didn't screw anything up. I also got to meet the Office Beagle, and rescued him from the fire drill. So I guess it's looking pretty good on that front.

I'm feeling a little better now, too, although I still have no appetite whatsoever and my throat still feels like it's about the width of a coffee stirrer. And hurts. Hopefully, though, I can ride this lack of appetite right down into a size 2!