Your Local Hospital...

Hospitals are truly a wonderful place. They purport to be about health and wellness. I'm sure that's a part, but perhaps not in the way they expect. Hospitals are a great place to be miserable, both physically and emotionally, while you spend vast sums of money and simultaneously realize that the human body is quite disgusting.

I just spent four solid days, and parts of two others, in the hospital with a rather nasty case of cellulitis. This nasty little bug had me essentially bedridden since late Friday. The hospital stay was unpleasant. Let's enumerate:

1. On the first day, every few hours, some well-meaning nurse would trot in, introduce herself, and ask me the same twenty questions the previous nurse had.
2. Next, that same nurse would invariably jab me with something pointy and either insert or draw out fluids, and tell me it's for my own good. My upper body is a road map of nasty bruises, now.
3. Visiting Hours. It's like I'm eight years old again with my mother telling me my friends have to go home.
4. After three days, I was apparently well enough to be removed from my private room and placed with other sick people. My room mate? A large hairy man who looked like he might once have been a circus strongman. He was every bit as noisy as his appearance would suggest.

After this, my primary motivation in getting well was to get the hell out of there. I'd rather do nothing at home than pay many dollars to do nothing in a hospital. There's more, I'm sure (ask me about PICC lines), but I don't have the energy to continue at this point. You see, I'm sleepy. I spent last night in a tiny little room with a naked man who frequently shouted in his sleep, and twice managed to soil himself in the night.

Music is my refuge

Sometimes a few minor lyric changes can change the entire focus of a song. Let's take "Hurt", for instance. I first heard this by NIN, but when I hear this version in my head, it sounds like Johnny Cash.

I hurt my spouse today / To see if he can feel / I focus on his pain / The only thing that's real / The words they tear a hole / The old familiar sting / Try to kill those dreams away / But I remember everything

What have we become / My sweetest friend / Everything I do goes awry / In the end /And you used to have it all / My empire of dirt / I feel so let down / I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns /Upon my liar's chair / Full of broken heart/ I cannot repair / Beneath the stains of time / The feelings rip and tear / I’m with someone else / While you are still right here

What have I become / My ex-best friend / Everyone I know goes away / In the end /
And you could have had it all / My empire of dirt / I feel so let down / I will make you hurt

If I could start again / A million years away / I would keep you for myself / I would find a way

My Delusion of Grandeur

Now that Trevor and I have spammers, or perhaps the singular form is more appropriate, I have an oddly inflated sense of self-importance. I have an irrational notion that there may be at least one person out there, not directly associated with me, who might have read this. The fact that my total comments are my spammer, my sister, and my weevil lead me to believe otherwise, however.

Unfortunate. In the course of this posting, I've managed to burst my own bubble.

ME? I think it's you.

I got my first spammer today: the day after I started being associated with your blog. My mom always did say hanging out with tall, dark men would lead me to ruin. I was so excited, I though someone I wasn't related to had read my blog of their own free will (rather than because they felt obligated).

yummy down on this...

I made pasta and cheese sauce with cumin and fresh cracked pepper and you're bitching because I didn't make nachos? What, the pasta wasn't crunchy enough for you? Next time I won't cook it.

Seriously, though, what's for dinner, Zombie man?

We both know what I want to have for dinner, and it's exactly the inverse of "What's good for that."

Ha! That's funny. Think about the inverse of "that". Well, I think it's funny.

It's About Damned Time!

I think I've finally arrived. I have spammers posting in my comments. Hooray me.

I'm thinking I can blame you, Trevor. No sooner do I invite you to post here, and you bring the riff-raff in with you. Some people. This is what happens when you leave the door open. Anybody can just walk right on in.

And before you ask: No. We can't keep them. I don't care if they did follow you home. I know how this is going to end up. You'll talk a big game, say all the right things. But in two weeks I'll be the one stuck feeding the spammers, taking them for walks, and cleaning up after them. Sure, you'll still call them your spammers and use them to pick up chicks, but I'll be the one left doing all the work.

No!

You can't make me make nachos. I'll make pasta with cheese sauce instead.

Feed me, Seymour

That's right, Brain Weevil. Make me some nachos, bitch.

From the Mouths of Babes

She's hot, I'll give her that. The problem is, she hasn't got a fucking clue. It's OK, though, because she's hot. She'll be fine. For a couple of years, anyhow.

No experience in my life has been as continually frustrating as my media class. It seems every day there is some bright-eyed, narrow-minded, idealistic 19-year old spouting off some nonsense that causes fuses in my head to pop. I swear to god that I actually smelled ozone this afternoon.

The discussion today was about the different schools of media control, libertarian and authoritarian. If you aren't familiar with these terms in this context, here's the down-and-dirty. Libertarian media control is basically a free market of information where, ideally, the good and worthwhile ideas are accepted and thrive, while the worthless ideas and noise essentially wither on the vine. Think of everything great the internet could be, rather than what it actually is. Authoritarians are all about controlling the information, either to protect the audience, or exert control over the audience. Censorship is quite appealing for the authoritarians.

So, while we are discussing this, Barbie pipes up with "I like the authoritarian side, because I like censorship." It is at this point that cognitive function ceases for me. I never thought I'd hear that last triumvirate of words spoken sincerely. It was like I suddenly had a headache that was so exquisite and perfect that it was both blinding and deafening at the same time. It passed in an instant, and I was left speaking a single word.

"Why?"

"Well, things like violence and pornography are wrong. Those should be censored."

I could have torn her pretty little head off with the vitriolic tirade that sprang to mind. However, it was clear that what amounts to her mind was already made up, and that every other student in the room was staring at her like she was wearing her ass on her head.

I would have liked to see that. She seems to have a nice ass.