For a change, good news! Well, mostly...

Yesterday afternoon, during a break from resting on the divan, I noticed that my sister had sent me an instant message advising me that my dad's new employer had let him go with no real reason given.

My immediate thought (and that of my sister as well) was that the employer had somehow gotten wind of my dad's cancer and gave him the sack to avoid insurance premiums down the road when he became eligible. Naturally, this did very little to improve my mood.

Sometimes words just don't suffice and one needs to start saying things with brickbats and broken bottles...

Fortunately (for them), some good news came along — which, I must say, was a welcome change. It's very tiring being perpetually screwed up in anticipation of something awful popping out at you when there's absolutely nothing at all that you can do to make things better. But, I digress.

Dad had an appointment today to have a bone marrow biopsy after which he met with the doctor who went over the results of the CT scan from yesterday and today's biopsy.

The CT scan and biopsy were both very, very good.

It turns out that the cancer has NOT spread like they initially thought. In fact, the cancer is localized in his skin on the spot on his leg. If I recall correctly, Mom said the doctors called it cutaneous large cell lymphoma. Or something. Regardless, it can be treated with Prednisone and localized radiation therapy. Mom also said that the doctor said that he (Dad) would die of other causes long before the cancer would carry him off — which, of course, is very, very good news.

Maybe I'll finally get a relatively decent night's sleep for a change instead of lying awake and worrying about my folks and being angry about the fucked up health care system (or lack thereof) in this country. Well, no, I'm still angry about the ghastliness of the American health care system. Clearly (as one political cartoonist put it), the President thinks it is better that we're sick than socialist.

Meditating on Being and Not Being... Or 'Look, Alex, a post!'

Have you ever had moments where you contemplate being and not being? F'rinstance, thinking about how and who you are (and why). Conversely, I find it makes me wonder about not being and how it would effect things and people and why — how have I effected my friends and colleagues. Would they be any different by not knowing me if I didn't exist? Why would it? Do we (or I) really have that much of an impact on anyone that it'd matter a jot if I were to disappear into nothing tomorrow ? Would anyone notice? Would anyone give a faint half damn?

Anyway.

Dad went into the oncologist yesterday. My mom was a trifle distrait — between my nephew M. having an accident and knocking out two permanent teeth and damaging four others and having to get him to the dentist and the oncologist, it's no wonder... — but sent me a link to some information on what the doctor thinks is what the guv'nor has: click here.

From what I understood my mother to say, dad has Stage IV of this stuff. For years, he's had problems with dry skin and whatnot that dermatologists just prescribed various ointments and creams. No one thought anything about it as his job has him creeping about in buildings pulling wire and whatnot and everyone just figured that it was owing to contact with unpleasant chemicals or substances and whatnot. I dunno.

At any rate, he's schedule to go in for a bone marrow biopsy on Friday afternoon.

In other (more pleasant news), I'm finally buying my new Docs on Friday. I decided that I needed to splurge and give myself something I will enjoy for my birthday. Besides, a little retail therapy always helps brace one up.

Alex sent me this link.

I have to say it. I know people will be shocked, appalled, horrified and take me to task; but, the murderers need to be hanged. Yes, they're teen-agers. Does that matter? No. They murdered someone and viciously attacked someone else. No amount of remorse, snivelling, 'they came from broken homes, drinking parents, etc.' will change the fact that these monsters (and monsters they are) killed an innocent woman and viciously attacked her boyfriend. Like rabid animals, they should be put down - both as an example to others that this sort of behaviour will not be tolerated and as a measure to protect society from any further actions on their part. Besides, a length of rope, a scaffold, and an executioner are far less expensive than maintaining them in prison and teaching them how to make tapestry drink coasters for the remainder of their natural days.

On a much brighter note: clickeh.

I'd like to go give her a pat, too. :)

Marcus Brigstocke Takes On The Abrahamic Faiths

I think this sums up my position quite nicely.

Enjoy!

These Boots Were Made for Stomping and Why I Hate Push-Cyclists

The above is a picture of the wonderful Doctor Marten Triumph 1914 fourteen eye Black Boot of Doom that I have decided that I Simply Must Have.

They are, as Dr. Echidna said, 'sexeh.' Best of all, they're only $150.00. I can't wait to get 'em. Next month, I'll be sporting the above boots and so will be prepared to kick people in the face or neck as the situation warrants.

Oh, and I hate push cyclists with a passion.

After work, I occasionally ankle my way across a bridge to go catch the No. 15 or 18 Downtown rather than take the ghastly 31 over to the University District where I transfer to another bus after an interminable wait and then transfer to yet another one at Jefferson and 23rd. It's an irksome commute that way.

Anyway, there is a narrow little flywalk for pedestrians across the bridge. Every evening, without fail, as I'm beetling along I hear a faint 'on your right' or 'on your left' or 'garble garble guh' from behind as some fucktard push-cyclist is riding along ON THE PEDESTRIAN PATH IN DIRECT CONTRAVENTION OF THE LAW.

Now, I don't claim to be overly concerned with whether or not people obey the laws. What they choose to do is their own concern and as long as it doesn't interfere with my day-to-day existence I couldn't give a faint half damn what they do.

Yet when some health nut decides to ride his push-cycle along the narrow pedestrian walkway rather than slither through traffic, I become irritable. It's not just there, either. You see them swerving in and out of pedestrians on sidewalks all over the bloody place. I've taken a Schwinn amidships because I hadn't an earthly that the fucktard was behind me.

And it isn't just them riding on the sidewalks that irks me. They irk me when they zoom along in their obnoxious swarms behaving like menaces to pedestrians and traffic. May their differential gears all rust and send them flying head over handlebars into a drainage ditch!

A pox upon their houses!

Monday Musings

Today is my roommate Peter's birthday. Thus, I'll take this opportunity to wish him a very happy anniversary of his nativity. I trust he'll have a pleasant year.

Yesterday, Peter and I put together the bookcase and I've restored most of my books to their home. Sadly, I need more shelving to contain them all. I hate leaving books in boxes. It seems quite criminal. We also wrangled my awful, rickety old computer desk into position and got Maude all set up which meant that we're now able to eat like normal human beings instead of grubbing over our food at our respective computers. Civilisation is so wonderful.

Tonight, my favourite former Marine, Brad, will be coming over to help me hang the curtains in the house. This will make the place look more homelike and less we've-just-moved-in-excuse-our-dust,-please. I also need to hang a few pictures and place various other objets d'arts.

I also really need to get my vacuum cleaner out of storage. Unfortunately, it's in Post Falls, ID - 300 miles east of Seattle so collaring it will be something of a treat. I'll have to check with various and diverse people to find out when they'll next be going over there or headed here. New carpets tend to shed a bit and I'd love to give the place a good hoovering.

I had the dickens of a time getting out of bed this morning. I was up late playing EQ2 (later than I should've been to be honest) and when I finally did go to bed the Hottentots in the apartments next door were carrying on regardless. Someone apparently was incapable of parking their Ford Behemoth 2007 without a ground crew to direct them - the direction consisting of bawling, 'Bring the wheel over! No! The other way!' at the top of their lungs in an open garage at 2 in the ack emma accompanied by the squealing of fan belts and tires on pavement. This went on for what seemed like a veritable geologic epoch.

I hope that their Behemoth 2007 flips and bursts into flames like the Canyonero. Preferably ONTO the ground crew.

Jackasses.

What do you want to bet that these are the same people who listen to their infernal house music at incredibly high volume at all hours?

I hope they catch elephantiasis, sprue, a raging quinsy, AND dropsy!

I think I'll start keeping a supply of bricks on hand so I can bung them in their general direction as needed.

Ramblings

I'm tired to-day.


The last several days have been appallingly hot. Wednesday was over ninety degrees and made one curl round the edges like St. Thingummy on a gridiron. Thursday was a trifle better but I didn't go to bed until midnight because my room was a bit too warm for my tastes.


It is almost pleasant today. I'm going to go out this evening but I'm feeling lackluster.


It's Peter's birthday on Monday so I'm going to make him a cake to-morrow. A lemon cake.

I've discovered that the neighbours up a floor and over a building annoy me. They're listening to godawful club music with shrieking divas at volumes that would stun a police dog at fifty yards. Meanwhile, I'm trying to be a good tenant and not blare my music at earsplitting levels. I think I may just give up and blast Funker Vogt at them. I hate guys that are TGTF.

Anyway, must dash. Just a quick update.

More and various animal cries

AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

*stops for breath*

I hate packing. It is one of the most odious, tiresome, irksome, aggravating, and generally wearisome projects in the world.

I hate disassembling my house. I've lived here for two years and I've inordinate amounts of tchotzkes, oojahs, doo-dads, old clothes I'll never fit my fat ass into again, CDs I'd sooner sharpen and cut my wrists with before listening to ever again, and I'm feeling overwhelmed with this packing of stuff. And I need to meet the landlady person this afternoon, meet the cable install tech person, and finish tearing up the roots I put down during the last years.

Thankfully, my friend Theresa is coming round shortly to help and to keep me company so I don't go completely mad.

[sigh]

AIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! [gives vent to more animal cries and goes back to work]

Howls From The Wilderness

I would accept as an axiom the following quote by Harlan Ellison, "The two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen... and stupidity." Even with this fact very firmly in front of me, when the Hottentots run amok or the howling savages rise up and make an infernal din - generally over something which should be painfully apparent to even the dimmest of dim bulbs -, I find myself in awe of the sheer stupidity of those involved.

Unfortunately, people have a profound (and startling) capacity for delusion and willful ignorance. I know that we will have reached the End Times when it is the norm for people to see things steadily and seem them whole. Only connect... ¹

I know, I know! I can hear you all now, "Good grief, what has started HIM off? A nasty case of the rams? Is he seeing the Little Mean Man in a yellow slicker on roller-skates again?"²

Rest easy, my gentle readers, it is not a case of the rams nor is it a case of general malaise. It is nothing! A mere bagatelle! A passing moment of angst such as even the most sunny tempered of people (and my exact opposite) would experience every so often.

Hold your horses! Hey! Put down that driving iron! I'm getting to it! Alright! Alright!

I shall begin at the beginning of my tale as I'm told that it is the best place to start.

Of the course of several years, my good friend Patrick of OrangeTV has, like so many others, kept a blog. His blog is a collection of thoughts, reviews, dithyrambs about artists, restaurant encomiums, and bars that he has enjoyed and wished to share with us his friends. It has never to my knowledge and belief been his driving goal to become the next lifestyle writer for such estimable publications as The Stonewall News or even Vogue. No. He's always written candid, interesting, and oft amusing tit-bits for his friends (and whomever cared to read his words). He has never claimed credentials that he hath not. I do not recall him proclaiming himself the Julia Child of Coeur d'Alene nor the Terry Wogan of northern Idaho. Nor has he represented his written efforts as anything other than what it is: one man's take on a certain restaurant, CD, band, bar, or what have you.

Consequently, when one of the editors/writers for the only local daily worth two hoots, The Spokesman Review, took notice of his efforts and suggested he begin writing for the aforementioned paper; we were all pleased for him. By the time that this occurred, I'd moved to Seattle and I continued to read his blog because it is entertaining and it reminds me of old times.

Besides, my fathering and mothering creatures both enjoy reading his articles and I usually get a phone call from them with comments (or questions) about something he'd written.

Now, with the facts in place (no pretensions, no credentials beyond that of a normal mortal), I was more than a little irked when some kadodie hiding behind the ever so à propos nom de forum of "John Duh" decided to take Patrick for task for enjoying complimentary food and drinks at a preview of a new watering hole that's opened in good ol' Bored n'Lame (which, knowing most of what is offered at places in CdA, qualifies Patrick for a Congressional Medal of Honor for Conspicuous Heroism).

I suppose what annoyed me most about this cretin was his disingenuous attempt to cast nasturtiums at Patrick and portray him in an unflattering light as a person puffed on his own self-importance. But then, this is nothing unusual for anyone who finds themselves in the public eye. God forbid should someone have a modicum of success because the howling savages will start to do a species of snake dance and begin whetting their knives.

Further, deponent saith not.

¹ Forster, Edward Morgan. Howards End

² Parker, Dorothy. "Re-enter Miss Hurst, Followed by Mr. Tarkington." The New Yorker 28 January 1928