I like Nyquil

The coy experimentations of a child raised Mormon? Whatever the reasons I've always been a fan of Nyquil's soporific affects. I play a little game I like to call "How long can I stay awake". Counted among the results of this game are several scars and broken articles of furniture. A ways back someone turned me onto Theraflu. "How long can I stay awake" isn't to be played with Theraflu. Where Nyquil gently massages warmed sleep into your tender places Theraflu stuffs bottles of single malt sleep into a pillow case, comes from behind and beats you over the head until you pass out. I now use Theraflu.

Bug

I'm sick. For the second time this year I have myself nice little infection building in my sinus area. I usually have the constitution of a Middle-Earth Dwarf but we all have to get knocked on our ass every now and then and the siren song of fever-induced dimensia calls me. I never go to the doctor's when I don't have anyone to get me off my ass and I grew up doing manual labor outdoors; as a result I have an immune system that is virtually bullet proof. So when a virus or bacteria does make it's way through and I start to get sick I can count on having my ass handed to me for a few days.

It's when all the strength is sapped from my body that I most miss the companionship of a good girl. They take care of you like no man can. Last time I was sick I was broken and completely laid out and what did Jimbo offer me? A throat lozenge. I'm laying there, moments from walking toward the light and I get a lozenge.

Alright, I should drink fluids.

Dr. AirWair Watson

Everyone has experienced it. Freezing a program in Windows is increasingly difficult but still very easily done. To regain your computer you have to ctrl+alt+del and click "End Now" to terminate the offending program.

Don't you think "End Now" is rather misleading? Shouldn't it be "End Whenever I Goddamned Well Feel Like Ending" or "Placebo"?

Lost is Losing Me

I don't know about everyone else, but I've been sorely dissappointed with the recent episodes of Lost. They seem to be missing the snap of the previous season. Add to that the recent release of a page from the script of episode 7 that mentions Zombies and I just shit my pants.

Seriously, if I ever see a "Zombie" on Lost, I will never watch a TV show produced by ABC again.

I hold out hope though. I'll keep watching for a few more episodes to see if it gets better. Lord help me.

Cheapy Post

I was in the middle of a long, winding, rhetorically complex retelling of "The Pumpkin Incident" when I realized the story ends very anti-climactically and so isn't very good. So I erased all 7 paragraphs and opted for this easy-out:

5 Things About Me
1. I like Miller Lite and accept all shame associated with that fact
2. I read to escape loneliness
3. I tell jokes to hide insecurity
4. A King's ransom for an end to my bitterness.
5. No one likes a sad clown.

I'm a Liar

And as such, every once in a while I feel it's good to wax repented and publicly rectify the greater of my many lies. I am, however, a coward and as a result favor a very vague approach to my airing out. So here are my lies rectified:

1. Yes, I did
2. No, she wouldn't
3. Only on sundays
4. I am absolutely not
5. It is absolutely not
6. I forgot too until just yesterday
7. They don't know anything about it
8. The sky is not going to fall on our heads (heh...that one was told to a young cousin)
9. I would love to
10. I really don't
11. Not nearly that many
12. She's over there
13. He's is looking for you
14. That sandwich did have tabasco (funny story)
15. I never saw that
16. I never did any of those things
17. Nope..just average size...
18. Didn't like him very much
19. No, she wasn't and you're an idiot
20. Yeah right, like I have that kind of patience!

Whew, feels good to get that stuff off my chest.

I need a banana

On Friday night, after a good hour and a half of hard-ass DDR, I got a minor cramp in my calf. Normally that doesn't happen but I was playing with a fellow 9 footer and we kept choosing impossibly hard songs to put the other down. It wasn't a big cramp, but I stopped playing, ran to take a shower and get ready for other stuff.

This morning I am lying in bed in a very contemplative mood (strange ceiling, anyone?) and I feel that that muscle is ready to cramp up at the slightest provocation. So I gingerly stretch it and rub it and do all those things you remember the trainer doing in JV Basketball. I thought I was out of the woods and decided to shake off my rumination, get up, and get down to some reading.

On the first step of my stairs my leg cramps up worse than I have ever experience in my life. 1 night of heavy drinking, another night of not so heavy drinking, a lot of phyiscal exertion and not a single glass of water. I imagine that has something to do with it.

Anyway, my leg cramps up and I do my best not do double over in pain, but my heroic efforts were met only with a loss of my brilliant balance. So now I am falling down a flight of stairs, what I am I? 80? You know when you are flying through the air with know hope of landing gently and you actually have time to think to yourself, "shit, this is going to hurt". During that airborne moment I noticed in my landing area my racquetball racquet handle up. I decide that would hurt and frantically try to reposition, mid-air, so I wouldn't land on it. I only manage to get my knees up by my ears and my spread-eagle ass zeroing in on that racquet like it was being guided by laser.

So now am on the floor, with a massive cramp, a racquet up my ass and every inch of my body bruised by stairs. I'm bleeding so I decide to get off the carpet and tend to my wounds. I engage in a hunched over little shuffle that involved my left leg as little as possible. I looked like an 80 year old diabetic "running" to the bathroom before their incontinence gets the best of them. I didn't make it to the bathroom. I tripped in my FUCKING BIRKENSTOCKS and land face first into a 24 pack of bottled water.

I then realized that God was punishing me for being such weak, horrible person and just laid there and waited for the grandfather clock to fall on me and finally ended my pathetic little life. It never happened. Y'know when you are standing over a man you've defeated in battle and are about to kill him but don't because he's not worth it? That was fucking me. So now I want to drink but I can't because it's 12 noon and I am alone and alchoholism runs in my family. So I am here, still lying on the floor and gurgling my own blood and blogging, my one escape.

What Comes Before Part B?

PARTAAAY!

Not really. I had a few folks over for Drinks, DDR, Karaoke, Chatting and Spicy Salsa. The plan originated while I drove with Tarang to get some Dim Sum for lunch. We were jamming out to Miserlou from the Pulp Fiction OST and decided that watching Pulp Fiction while making drinks would be fun. So I sent out an email to my closest friends informing them of our plans and inviting them to join us.

The whole thing wound up being DDR and Karaoke and Tarantino's work never made an appearance, though I did get one request for him in the wee hours of the morning. I feel this is worth blogging because I couldn't help smiling from ear to ear the whole night. Every once in a while I would look up and see a set of good friends chatting and having a good time and warmed the cockles of my heart. Playing host is fun.

Also through the night I had my bum patted, my nips twisted and was savagely tickles by people I only recently realized are without ruth. That helped the smile as well.

Jim is Out of teh Hizzy!

Jim has left town for the weekend. I now have the entire condo to myself for 4 glorious days. And you know what that means, right? Well, besides soul-crushing emotional desolation and stark relief given to my natural dependency on company I will be completely myself without any social artifice. Spend an entire day watching really bad movies? Done! 4-hour DDR marathon with no interruptions? Done! A meal consisting of milk, cheese, yogurt, cream, and every sauce imaginable? Done! Every fucking window open and the heat off? DONE! No artificial light and a shit-ton of candles lit all over the house? Well, I gotta draw the line somewhere, thats a fire hazard.

I have never lived alone in my entire life. So the few windows afforded me are usually much appreciated, though I usually finish them glad I don't live alone. I can't imagine what that apartment would be like. Closing scenes from PCU spring readily to mind.

Hypothetical squalidity aside, if you stop by my place and hear someone belting out Tina Turner, just walk away, for I've gone to a much better place and I am probably in my underwear.



I might even buy another hamster.

4 8 15 16 23 42

Our obsession with "Lost" grows without inhibition. Though some of us are far beyond help our little troupe of obsessive media consumers will quickly become a codependent insanity that I don't know I can extricate myself from without professional help. Though I readily admit our geekiness there are occurances that an educated, logic-minded man such as myself would have trouble reconciling.

An Example: Jim has this old slot machine in the house. Thats odd enough as it is, but we tacitly accept his addiction to gambling and move on, hoping he finds someone who will be willing to help him with his inevitebly bankrupting obsession. I've played this machine a few times when bored or inspired and found it fairly mundane. It has 4 buttons, 1 for starting the machine and 3 for stopping each individual slot.

Now, putting that aside for a moment lets discuss Hurley's numbers. If you watch the show you know that the set of numbers {4 8 15 16 23 42} has, within our little world of suspended disbelief, magical and likely sinister properties. Hurley used them to play the lottery, won the lottery, and subsequently everyone around him began having bad luck.

If you used this sequence of numbers to choose which button on jim's slot machine to hit in which order, you have roughly a 70-80% chance that you will get three in a row. Not only will you get 3 in a row, but you will get 3 /islands/ in a row.

Wrap your head around that little tidbit.