When we last left our story, my finger had just been viciously sliced open by a broken glass bent on assassination, I had been hastily patched up in a Frankenstein fashion by the finest crazy doctor in all the land, and then I was sent out on my merry way.
Because this all occurred early in the morning, I went immediately from the emergency room to my office, now wildly late for work. Trying to navigate anything with my mummified finger was tragi-comic and a full hour hadn't passed before I reached my frustration threshold.
Luckily, it was lunchtime, so I could drop everything where it was and wander out to find some emotion-soothing food. And there is no better option for such a thing than sushi. Specifically, sushi from the home of Sushi Girl. Comfort food and flirting. Cannot go wrong.
(Minor update: We totally made up after our last (in my mind) argument. Turns out she was training to work with the chefs that day and was in a bad mood. We'd been back to the status-quo flirting since then for some time. Although I hadn't been there in a couple of weeks.)
So I call my order in to her and take off for the restaurant, cradling my wounded arm as inconspicuously as possible. I get to the restaurant and Sushi Girl (okay, just to be clear, I did learn her name, but really she will always be Sushi Girl to me.) greets me and runs over to get my order.
We have our normal banter about raw fish, which you know must be very scintillating and full of wit just based off the subject alone. When she goes to hand me the food, though, she sees my wounded hand and wants to know what happened. I try to think of a very manly and impressive battle story, possibly involving a bar fight and/or a motorcycle gang terrorizing me with broken glass bottles, but my imagination is slow and I end up telling her the full-on boring story of a rogue glass and a malfunctioning sponge.
She is still suitably impressed and condolence-y, for which I love her even more.
And then.
She says, "Well you know, I have something with my hand too." (Broken English = Very cute)
And then I realize that throughout this whole thing she has sort of had her hand hiding behind her back. So I'm all "What?!" Full of questions and concern.
She whips out her hand, and has on the biggest damn diamond ring that I have seen in a very long time. "I am to be married!"
....
Yep, that's right, not only has Sushi Girl been cheating on our fake love affair, she has gotten engaged. To a boy!
"Aww! Congratulations!" I say, as my heart breaks into a million tiny pieces. I feel lightheaded, but that could just be the blood loss from earlier in the day. As she begin to tell the story of her fiancee, my internal monologue falls through the thousand little steps accompanied with a traditional break-up.
"He's in the fish market."
(Anger: Fish market? I have a better job than that!)
"He likes to go sailing."
(Jealousy: He has a boat?!)
"He's on a soccer team"
(Bargaining: I could join a soccer team for you. I would be awesome!)
"We're buying a house in Mesquite!"
(Depression: I could never afford a house. I'm such a loser.)
(Business sense: Wait, buying a house? Do you need a mortgage? My office is very competitive.)
By the end of her spiel, I am both heartbroken and completely jealous. I want to be all "Ohhh, well, yeah, I'm totally engaged too! To someone equally awesome! I just don't have a ring because our union isn't recognized by the state!" And then I would probably run from the restaurant sobbing.
Except, okay technically at this particular moment I haven't been on a date in 6 weeks and I'm too disoriented from her revelation and my near assassination earlier to come up with a good story on the fly. So she totally beats me. I have to deal with her infidelity to our fake-love and have no comeback of my own. Only a busted hand and a crushed heart.
It is a long walk of shame out of her sushi world and back to my office building.
So now we are definitely fake broken-up for good. It's for the best, after all. We were from two different worlds really. Hers all full of sushi and boat-owning soccer players, and mine full of rainbow flags and gaping hand wounds. Would never have worked out.
I'm totally over her.
*sniff*
Totally.
Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I seem to have something in my eye.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
The Long Drawn-Out Story (Part Two)
(Part One)
I get up on Monday morning, full of confidence for the day ahead. Except, my hand fucking hurts. For serious.
I shake it off, and go do the whole showering/morning ablution sort of thing. Once all of that is done, I decide to go ahead and change the dressing on my finger that morning, since I will be at work until about 6:00. Only, I can't physically get the bandage off. It is stuck to the cut, and I am doomed. Finally, after softening up the attached part with some water, and a little intense pain, I get free of the accursed adhesive. And omigosh, does it look horrible.
Sort of how it looked yesterday, only infinitely more, ...well pale and gross. And also, again it is gushing blood like no other. Plus, this time, it hurts. Uncontrollably hurts. And again, I can't bind the damn thing. I then realize that maybe (like always) Devon was right and I should have gone to the hospital. I decide to bow to her wisdom about 14 hours too late, and recruit Frank from his sleeping to come bind me up so's I can drive to the hospital without getting blood all over the TOM. Not only does he get me fixed up, he even comes with to the hospital, to make sure I don't die in transit. It's touching, really.
The hospital is only like 5 minutes from my house, which is nice, but the emergency room is hidden unlike anything else in the world. At one point there are literally three signs at the same stoplight pointing in three different directions, each of which says Emergency. Eventually we find two signs which seem to correspond and then hoof it down from the parking lot to the emergency room entrance, through winding miles of construction. And did I mention that it is also raining during this time too? Awesome.
Considering my previous experience with emergency rooms, this time moved pretty smoothly, though. Get triaged in short order. (I got to read the nurses description of my condition when she got up to answer the phone. Apparently I am 'mature' and 'cooperative' and 'healthy for [my] age.' Score! I also apparently 'denied [my] injury was the result of any domestic violence.' Meaning, I guess, that Frank didn't knife me for not cleaning the kitchen? I dunno.)
They send me over to Minor Emergency, saying that since it has been more than 12 hours, they probably won't stitch anything up, they'll just clean the wound. I am cool with this, so long as they do something about the wild pain running down my hand. I get called into the exam room pretty quickly after that and I leave poor Frank to the mercy of the waiting room and that hideous Rachel Ray talk show that they've got going on the television nowadays.
Once in the exam room, they pry off the bandage I've been using to staunch the flow of blood, to my unending yelps. Because that shit hurt like nothing else. Once it was clear, the nurse wiped it clean and told me to leave it untouched on this pile of gauze so that the doctor could come in and examine it in its natural state. I am unconvinced of the wiseness of this plan, as already blood is starting to gush, but eventually relent.
By the time the doctor gets in to look at it, the gauze (and the pile of white sheets the gauze is resting on) are soaked through with blood. I must look a little jittery because the doctor is all "Are you nervous or something?"
I don't know, YES, maybe? What with the LAKE OF BLOOD on the table in front of you?
Only I was a little more civil in my response.
She decides, though, that it definitely needs to be stitched up, number of hours be damned, and tells me to wait for the nurse to come back and set up the sterile table for her stitching. Oh, and no pressure on the wound.
Seriously, I start to actively wonder how much blood is contained in my body. Because I lost a lot yesterday and there goes a whole bunch more right now. And if I faint in the exam room in front of a bunch of medical professionals over a small cut on my little finger? I may never fully recover from the humiliation.
Eventually the sterile field is created, I get a tetanus shot (because you can never have too many of them apparently), and the stitches get stitched. With a minimal amount of pain, surprisingly; she numbed my hand up but good. Final tally: 7 stitches covering maybe two inches on my finger, sort of curving around at the top like a really angry backwards question mark.
I make it into work by 11:00, although my hand is bandaged up with enough gauze to make a mummy jealous and I can't type or do much of anything, really.
The following days are easier, since I get to remove the gauze and just use Band-aids, but the hand is still basically useless. Have you ever tried to type without moving your pinky finger? It's practically impossible. And of course, I am left handed, so writing is a joy. My handwriting looks like it was done by 3rd grader, or one of those robots that hold pencils in their little claws. Overall, an awesome week.
------------------------------------
Update, the current: I'm back in full control of both hands and the stitches get to come out on Friday. Still ridiculously unpleasant, but at least I can function in most normal settings and can actually type with only mild pain.
I would like to say that some sort of lesson has been learned from the entire ordeal, but the only thing I can come up with is "Never do the dishes." Which seems like a bad moral.
Maybe "Don't Be a Dumbass?" That sort of works.
Tune in later, when I reveal how my heart got stomped on, practically minutes following my horrible hospital ordeal. Oh, my poor fragile emotions!
I get up on Monday morning, full of confidence for the day ahead. Except, my hand fucking hurts. For serious.
I shake it off, and go do the whole showering/morning ablution sort of thing. Once all of that is done, I decide to go ahead and change the dressing on my finger that morning, since I will be at work until about 6:00. Only, I can't physically get the bandage off. It is stuck to the cut, and I am doomed. Finally, after softening up the attached part with some water, and a little intense pain, I get free of the accursed adhesive. And omigosh, does it look horrible.
Sort of how it looked yesterday, only infinitely more, ...well pale and gross. And also, again it is gushing blood like no other. Plus, this time, it hurts. Uncontrollably hurts. And again, I can't bind the damn thing. I then realize that maybe (like always) Devon was right and I should have gone to the hospital. I decide to bow to her wisdom about 14 hours too late, and recruit Frank from his sleeping to come bind me up so's I can drive to the hospital without getting blood all over the TOM. Not only does he get me fixed up, he even comes with to the hospital, to make sure I don't die in transit. It's touching, really.
The hospital is only like 5 minutes from my house, which is nice, but the emergency room is hidden unlike anything else in the world. At one point there are literally three signs at the same stoplight pointing in three different directions, each of which says Emergency. Eventually we find two signs which seem to correspond and then hoof it down from the parking lot to the emergency room entrance, through winding miles of construction. And did I mention that it is also raining during this time too? Awesome.
Considering my previous experience with emergency rooms, this time moved pretty smoothly, though. Get triaged in short order. (I got to read the nurses description of my condition when she got up to answer the phone. Apparently I am 'mature' and 'cooperative' and 'healthy for [my] age.' Score! I also apparently 'denied [my] injury was the result of any domestic violence.' Meaning, I guess, that Frank didn't knife me for not cleaning the kitchen? I dunno.)
They send me over to Minor Emergency, saying that since it has been more than 12 hours, they probably won't stitch anything up, they'll just clean the wound. I am cool with this, so long as they do something about the wild pain running down my hand. I get called into the exam room pretty quickly after that and I leave poor Frank to the mercy of the waiting room and that hideous Rachel Ray talk show that they've got going on the television nowadays.
Once in the exam room, they pry off the bandage I've been using to staunch the flow of blood, to my unending yelps. Because that shit hurt like nothing else. Once it was clear, the nurse wiped it clean and told me to leave it untouched on this pile of gauze so that the doctor could come in and examine it in its natural state. I am unconvinced of the wiseness of this plan, as already blood is starting to gush, but eventually relent.
By the time the doctor gets in to look at it, the gauze (and the pile of white sheets the gauze is resting on) are soaked through with blood. I must look a little jittery because the doctor is all "Are you nervous or something?"
I don't know, YES, maybe? What with the LAKE OF BLOOD on the table in front of you?
Only I was a little more civil in my response.
She decides, though, that it definitely needs to be stitched up, number of hours be damned, and tells me to wait for the nurse to come back and set up the sterile table for her stitching. Oh, and no pressure on the wound.
Seriously, I start to actively wonder how much blood is contained in my body. Because I lost a lot yesterday and there goes a whole bunch more right now. And if I faint in the exam room in front of a bunch of medical professionals over a small cut on my little finger? I may never fully recover from the humiliation.
Eventually the sterile field is created, I get a tetanus shot (because you can never have too many of them apparently), and the stitches get stitched. With a minimal amount of pain, surprisingly; she numbed my hand up but good. Final tally: 7 stitches covering maybe two inches on my finger, sort of curving around at the top like a really angry backwards question mark.
I make it into work by 11:00, although my hand is bandaged up with enough gauze to make a mummy jealous and I can't type or do much of anything, really.
The following days are easier, since I get to remove the gauze and just use Band-aids, but the hand is still basically useless. Have you ever tried to type without moving your pinky finger? It's practically impossible. And of course, I am left handed, so writing is a joy. My handwriting looks like it was done by 3rd grader, or one of those robots that hold pencils in their little claws. Overall, an awesome week.
------------------------------------
Update, the current: I'm back in full control of both hands and the stitches get to come out on Friday. Still ridiculously unpleasant, but at least I can function in most normal settings and can actually type with only mild pain.
I would like to say that some sort of lesson has been learned from the entire ordeal, but the only thing I can come up with is "Never do the dishes." Which seems like a bad moral.
Maybe "Don't Be a Dumbass?" That sort of works.
Tune in later, when I reveal how my heart got stomped on, practically minutes following my horrible hospital ordeal. Oh, my poor fragile emotions!
The Long Drawn-Out Story (Part One)
So it's Sunday afternoon and I finally cave in and decide to clean the kitchen. I held out longer than usual, bolstered by my weekend trip to St. Louis, so when I actually go in for the cleaning, it is truly horrifying. I get rid of the trash, empty the dishwasher, and basically get everything done but the wiping down of the counters and the washing of the dishes.
Just so you know, I hate doing the dishes. More than any other chore. Because when it comes down to it I sort of like cleaning, since the end result is so satisfying. Afterwards you have a sparklingly pretty house to look at. But dishes, there's no satisfaction. You're just going to get them dirty again in like 10 minutes. And it makes your hands all soggy and rough, and it smells bad. Totally unredeemable. Which is usually why I put it off for so long.
Anyways, I get to work on the dishes. Despite it having been like two weeks since the last round of cleaning, I manage to get all the dishes but 4 into the dishwasher, thus easing my burden immensely. I turn the washer on and go to handwash the remaining four glasses that didn't make it in.
On glass number 4, I'm sponging out the interior of the glass when it breaks along the rim. The nice sharp edge goes directly through the side of my pinky finger on my left hand. As I don't do well with blood and am basically a 12-year old girl, I hop up and down and shriek and panic, because I have no clue what to do and my finger is, like, spouting blood everywhere. I finally decide to make a mad dash for my bathroom to put a bandage on the gaping/gushing wound. Because that will work, right?
Leaving a lovely trail of blood in my wake throughout the entire apartment, I make it to my bathroom, pull out my box of Scooby-Doo themed Band-aids and attempt to apply one, or two, or forty to the problem at hand (Heh. At hand.). Unfortunately, every single bandage is soaked through with blood before I can successfully even get them out of the wrappers. Not necessarily panicked yet, I decide to try some pressure on the wound to see if it will slow the bleeding enough so that I don't die of a goddamn pinky wound in my (really gross) bathroom.
After about 10 minutes there is no slowing, and I'm pretty sure some sort of intervention is going to be required before I pass out. Of course, the only thing I can think of to do is call Devon, who I know is first aid certified and also awesome. (My first aid certification sadly expired in July, which is just as well, seeing as I probably would have had to have it revoked after my performance with this tiny wound.) Devon, also sadly, is literally driving to work at that exact moment. But perhaps sensing that I am on the verge of a blood related nervous breakdown, she turns around and heads back to my apartment to bravely rescue me (the damsel in distress, as it were).
By the time she gets there, the blood flow has indeed slowed considerably, possibly because most of the blood has already gushed out onto the floor of the bathroom. (Incidentally, while she is on her way over, I still had the presence of mind to clean the carpets of the trail of blood that I initially tracked everywhere. Showing that while I may panic over minor injuries, I will always remember to treat stains before they set.)
Devon takes a first-aid look at it and says that I should probably go to the hospital for some stitches. I say "Bah," and ask her to bind it up. The blood has stopped crazy flowing and I don't want to incur the wild expense that will so likely come with an emergency room visit. She is skeptical, but binds it up quite nicely, especially considering the only tool she has at her disposal is a tiny first aid kit from my car with roughly 2 bandages and a two inch square of gauze. She is my hero.
The finger only mildly hurts all day long, and I figure all is well. After work Devon comes back bearing gifts: A real-live first aid kit and a lovely first aid pecan pie. Hero doesn't even come close to describing it.
So I go to bed on Sunday night, figuring all is well, and ready to follow Devon's instructions to change the dressing tomorrow to ward off the infections and whatnot. All is good.
...Or is it? Dun-dun-dunnnn!
To Be Continued...
Just so you know, I hate doing the dishes. More than any other chore. Because when it comes down to it I sort of like cleaning, since the end result is so satisfying. Afterwards you have a sparklingly pretty house to look at. But dishes, there's no satisfaction. You're just going to get them dirty again in like 10 minutes. And it makes your hands all soggy and rough, and it smells bad. Totally unredeemable. Which is usually why I put it off for so long.
Anyways, I get to work on the dishes. Despite it having been like two weeks since the last round of cleaning, I manage to get all the dishes but 4 into the dishwasher, thus easing my burden immensely. I turn the washer on and go to handwash the remaining four glasses that didn't make it in.
On glass number 4, I'm sponging out the interior of the glass when it breaks along the rim. The nice sharp edge goes directly through the side of my pinky finger on my left hand. As I don't do well with blood and am basically a 12-year old girl, I hop up and down and shriek and panic, because I have no clue what to do and my finger is, like, spouting blood everywhere. I finally decide to make a mad dash for my bathroom to put a bandage on the gaping/gushing wound. Because that will work, right?
Leaving a lovely trail of blood in my wake throughout the entire apartment, I make it to my bathroom, pull out my box of Scooby-Doo themed Band-aids and attempt to apply one, or two, or forty to the problem at hand (Heh. At hand.). Unfortunately, every single bandage is soaked through with blood before I can successfully even get them out of the wrappers. Not necessarily panicked yet, I decide to try some pressure on the wound to see if it will slow the bleeding enough so that I don't die of a goddamn pinky wound in my (really gross) bathroom.
After about 10 minutes there is no slowing, and I'm pretty sure some sort of intervention is going to be required before I pass out. Of course, the only thing I can think of to do is call Devon, who I know is first aid certified and also awesome. (My first aid certification sadly expired in July, which is just as well, seeing as I probably would have had to have it revoked after my performance with this tiny wound.) Devon, also sadly, is literally driving to work at that exact moment. But perhaps sensing that I am on the verge of a blood related nervous breakdown, she turns around and heads back to my apartment to bravely rescue me (the damsel in distress, as it were).
By the time she gets there, the blood flow has indeed slowed considerably, possibly because most of the blood has already gushed out onto the floor of the bathroom. (Incidentally, while she is on her way over, I still had the presence of mind to clean the carpets of the trail of blood that I initially tracked everywhere. Showing that while I may panic over minor injuries, I will always remember to treat stains before they set.)
Devon takes a first-aid look at it and says that I should probably go to the hospital for some stitches. I say "Bah," and ask her to bind it up. The blood has stopped crazy flowing and I don't want to incur the wild expense that will so likely come with an emergency room visit. She is skeptical, but binds it up quite nicely, especially considering the only tool she has at her disposal is a tiny first aid kit from my car with roughly 2 bandages and a two inch square of gauze. She is my hero.
The finger only mildly hurts all day long, and I figure all is well. After work Devon comes back bearing gifts: A real-live first aid kit and a lovely first aid pecan pie. Hero doesn't even come close to describing it.
So I go to bed on Sunday night, figuring all is well, and ready to follow Devon's instructions to change the dressing tomorrow to ward off the infections and whatnot. All is good.
...Or is it? Dun-dun-dunnnn!
To Be Continued...
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Sabbatical
Not dead, just injured.
I'm stupid, cut my hand, needed stitches. It's an incredible hassle to type now, so I'm taking a posting break for a while. Maybe a week or so.
Y'all play nice while I'm gone.
I'm stupid, cut my hand, needed stitches. It's an incredible hassle to type now, so I'm taking a posting break for a while. Maybe a week or so.
Y'all play nice while I'm gone.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Random Television Awards
To follow up on my Fall TV Round-Up (of like 4 posts ago) I now feel well versed enough in the new shows and the new season to begin handing out made-up awards like so much delicious Halloween candy. Mmm, candy corn.
Best New Show
Friday Night Lights - Okay, this one is hardly fair, since it wasn't even in the round-up, and I hadn't planned on watching it at all. But there was a preview on the night before the premiere during Heroes, and I had just finished the book I was reading so I had some time to spare and. . . I don't know why I feel I have to rationalize this one extra hour when I'm already watching enough TV to fry my brain like an egg.
Anyways, this show is amazing. I have never been as hooked into a show this quickly that didn't have a teenage vampire slayer involved in some way. There have only been two episodes and I'm already so invested in a damned fictional high school football team that it is sad beyond words. Great acting, directing, writing, even the freaking sound track is excellent. Sure it's as formulaic as anything could possibly get, but the details are there and they are right. I am a sucker for realism in my fiction, and there is nothing that I know better than small town Texas life. And they have nailed it flawlessly.
Which also means that it will be cancelled by January. Sigh.
Runner Up: Heroes - The ever-expanding plot threads continue to appeal to me and I really like the format so far. These are the only two new shows that have become Required Viewing for me. What's up with all the hot people on this show, though? Are they trying to say that only the attractive will get super powers? Unfair. Although Greg Grundberg can hear people's thoughts, so I guess that theory is out the window, thank God. But still, crazy high hotness quotient in this show.
Best Returning Show
Grey's Anatomy - God help me, but I'm really enjoying this season. After all the over-the-top-ness of last season's finale I expected nothing but drop off. Instead it's gone back to form - excellent humor and drama while the plot continues to move. They artfully got through the horror that was Meredith/McDreamy infidelity and right onto a nicer path. Also, good goddamn, Chris O'Donnell is the hottest person on the planet.
Runner Up: The Office - Quite possibly better than ever, but I missed last week's episode and didn't even think about it until just now. Which is like a crime against humanity but may mean that its power over me is weakening.
Individual Awards:
Best New Character: Hiro (Heroes) - I love him more than a box of puppies. He's a space and time bending super-hero and quite possibly the biggest nerd in the world. When he teleported to New York from Japan and then ran down the street yelling 'Yatta!' and 'Britney Spears!' my dark and frozen heart actually melted a little bit. The brightest spot in a rather dark show.
Best New Actress: Sarah Paulson (Studio 60) - Deep and abiding love. She had a brilliant tiny role in Serenity back in the day, and she is amazing on this new show. On the show-within-the-show, she's the only person who is actually funny which is sort of vital to. . .everything they are trying to accomplish. I could do without the entire Chandler Love Plot, but she carries it very well (and she and Matthew Perry play well off each other.) Also, the combination of her Holly Hunter impression and her bear joke last week form an unbreakable bond between us (RAWR!).
Worst New Show: Jericho - Such promise, such sucking. There had better be some damn fallout zombies coming soon, or this whole show is a waste.
Most Surprisingly Funny Show: The Class - Yes, it's sort of lame, but seriously I can't stop laughing at it. I know, I know, I'll show myself out. Is this what it's like to be one of those people who like Everybody Loves Raymond? (Also: Sara Gilbert? Woot!)
Most Effective Use of Awesome Supporting Characters: Ugly Betty - This category was initially called Most Effective Use of a 12-year old Efeminate Boy As Comic Relief, but then I realized that I didn't have a category for my other favorite new character on TV, Evil Marc (from the same show), the conniving personal assistant to Vanessa Williams. I love him and his wild outfits and goofy facial expressions unconditionally. He and Betty's little gay nephew steal this show so bad, it should be a crime. Really, when it comes down to it, the casting is amazing for UB. The storylines thus far have been a little lame, but the character actors pull it out and keep me entertained.
---------------------
Tune in next week, when all the awards get reassigned or changed up entirely as my mood shifts like a paper boat in a current.
Best New Show
Friday Night Lights - Okay, this one is hardly fair, since it wasn't even in the round-up, and I hadn't planned on watching it at all. But there was a preview on the night before the premiere during Heroes, and I had just finished the book I was reading so I had some time to spare and. . . I don't know why I feel I have to rationalize this one extra hour when I'm already watching enough TV to fry my brain like an egg.
Anyways, this show is amazing. I have never been as hooked into a show this quickly that didn't have a teenage vampire slayer involved in some way. There have only been two episodes and I'm already so invested in a damned fictional high school football team that it is sad beyond words. Great acting, directing, writing, even the freaking sound track is excellent. Sure it's as formulaic as anything could possibly get, but the details are there and they are right. I am a sucker for realism in my fiction, and there is nothing that I know better than small town Texas life. And they have nailed it flawlessly.
Which also means that it will be cancelled by January. Sigh.
Runner Up: Heroes - The ever-expanding plot threads continue to appeal to me and I really like the format so far. These are the only two new shows that have become Required Viewing for me. What's up with all the hot people on this show, though? Are they trying to say that only the attractive will get super powers? Unfair. Although Greg Grundberg can hear people's thoughts, so I guess that theory is out the window, thank God. But still, crazy high hotness quotient in this show.
Best Returning Show
Grey's Anatomy - God help me, but I'm really enjoying this season. After all the over-the-top-ness of last season's finale I expected nothing but drop off. Instead it's gone back to form - excellent humor and drama while the plot continues to move. They artfully got through the horror that was Meredith/McDreamy infidelity and right onto a nicer path. Also, good goddamn, Chris O'Donnell is the hottest person on the planet.
Runner Up: The Office - Quite possibly better than ever, but I missed last week's episode and didn't even think about it until just now. Which is like a crime against humanity but may mean that its power over me is weakening.
Individual Awards:
Best New Character: Hiro (Heroes) - I love him more than a box of puppies. He's a space and time bending super-hero and quite possibly the biggest nerd in the world. When he teleported to New York from Japan and then ran down the street yelling 'Yatta!' and 'Britney Spears!' my dark and frozen heart actually melted a little bit. The brightest spot in a rather dark show.
Best New Actress: Sarah Paulson (Studio 60) - Deep and abiding love. She had a brilliant tiny role in Serenity back in the day, and she is amazing on this new show. On the show-within-the-show, she's the only person who is actually funny which is sort of vital to. . .everything they are trying to accomplish. I could do without the entire Chandler Love Plot, but she carries it very well (and she and Matthew Perry play well off each other.) Also, the combination of her Holly Hunter impression and her bear joke last week form an unbreakable bond between us (RAWR!).
Worst New Show: Jericho - Such promise, such sucking. There had better be some damn fallout zombies coming soon, or this whole show is a waste.
Most Surprisingly Funny Show: The Class - Yes, it's sort of lame, but seriously I can't stop laughing at it. I know, I know, I'll show myself out. Is this what it's like to be one of those people who like Everybody Loves Raymond? (Also: Sara Gilbert? Woot!)
Most Effective Use of Awesome Supporting Characters: Ugly Betty - This category was initially called Most Effective Use of a 12-year old Efeminate Boy As Comic Relief, but then I realized that I didn't have a category for my other favorite new character on TV, Evil Marc (from the same show), the conniving personal assistant to Vanessa Williams. I love him and his wild outfits and goofy facial expressions unconditionally. He and Betty's little gay nephew steal this show so bad, it should be a crime. Really, when it comes down to it, the casting is amazing for UB. The storylines thus far have been a little lame, but the character actors pull it out and keep me entertained.
---------------------
Tune in next week, when all the awards get reassigned or changed up entirely as my mood shifts like a paper boat in a current.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Doom of the Serious Kind
We are T-minus something like 18 hours until I am scheduled to be on vacation in St. Louis, hopefully with a mimosa in my hand by 8:55AM. Approximately 15 minutes ago, my iPod broke. I feel like falling to my knees and cursing at the sky. Happy now, God!? You have successfully crushed my spirit.
How is one expected to live through a plane ride without music? When my sinuses begin to try to escape from my skull through my eye sockets at 20,000 feet, the only thing that keeps me from breaking down into a sobbing puddle of goo is some sort of musical number that I can dance along to in my head until my body properly pressurizes. Usually a showtune, maybe something from Chicago, or Oklahoma, or Dreamgirls. But that's all been taken away from me and I am so very bitter now.
Because not only did it break, it spectacularly broke, in a manner befitting something owned by me. I went to unplug it from its USB port on my computer this morning and instead of it sliding out like usual, only the exterior plastic part of the iPod came out. The rest, the shiny innards and soldered bits of metal and the thick ribbons of wire and all those "CPU's", all stayed dangling from the computer like some sort of demented strand of garland. Mocking me.
After much trial and error and constant worry of death by electric shock, I was able to get everything back into its case, but now the USB connector is no longer attached correctly to the chip that talks to the computer. There was no way to reattach it to the plug, I just had to shove it back in to its rightful place. Meaning the iPod will play fine right now, but it will never again charge up or let me change any songs.
This also means I may have a loophole, though. Since it was fully charged when I went to disconnect this morning, it may very well have 8 hours of play left inside its mangled interior, which should easily last me through the weekend. The only question is do I want to take on the risk of carrying around a collection of metal bits and electricity that I myself have inexpertly wired together?
Because you know my luck. The second we reach cruising altitude on our flight up there and they let us turn on our devices, I'll hit play and the entire thing will combust in a huge rain of sparks and fire and I will burn to death with the sounds of the new Killers CD as accompaniment.
And all the news reports will list me as a crazed terrorist who tried to hijack a plane by setting himself on fire. And then the airports won't allow any more iPods on flights as a security risk, and my legacy to the world will be "That guy who got iPods banned from airplanes." And people will visit my grave just to spit on it, and curse my name.
Gosh.
It's just not fair.
How is one expected to live through a plane ride without music? When my sinuses begin to try to escape from my skull through my eye sockets at 20,000 feet, the only thing that keeps me from breaking down into a sobbing puddle of goo is some sort of musical number that I can dance along to in my head until my body properly pressurizes. Usually a showtune, maybe something from Chicago, or Oklahoma, or Dreamgirls. But that's all been taken away from me and I am so very bitter now.
Because not only did it break, it spectacularly broke, in a manner befitting something owned by me. I went to unplug it from its USB port on my computer this morning and instead of it sliding out like usual, only the exterior plastic part of the iPod came out. The rest, the shiny innards and soldered bits of metal and the thick ribbons of wire and all those "CPU's", all stayed dangling from the computer like some sort of demented strand of garland. Mocking me.
After much trial and error and constant worry of death by electric shock, I was able to get everything back into its case, but now the USB connector is no longer attached correctly to the chip that talks to the computer. There was no way to reattach it to the plug, I just had to shove it back in to its rightful place. Meaning the iPod will play fine right now, but it will never again charge up or let me change any songs.
This also means I may have a loophole, though. Since it was fully charged when I went to disconnect this morning, it may very well have 8 hours of play left inside its mangled interior, which should easily last me through the weekend. The only question is do I want to take on the risk of carrying around a collection of metal bits and electricity that I myself have inexpertly wired together?
Because you know my luck. The second we reach cruising altitude on our flight up there and they let us turn on our devices, I'll hit play and the entire thing will combust in a huge rain of sparks and fire and I will burn to death with the sounds of the new Killers CD as accompaniment.
And all the news reports will list me as a crazed terrorist who tried to hijack a plane by setting himself on fire. And then the airports won't allow any more iPods on flights as a security risk, and my legacy to the world will be "That guy who got iPods banned from airplanes." And people will visit my grave just to spit on it, and curse my name.
Gosh.
It's just not fair.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Grammar Love Fest 2006
Oh good lord. This is the sort of thing that my best dreams are made out of. Go read it.
No, seriously.
GO READ IT.
Sars owns the world. And my heart.
In general, I commit only one of those errors habitually (the e.g./i.e. interchangeability) which fills my heart with grammar Nazi warmth.
Also, that one line 'there is no such thing as a "rein of terror,"' gives me a really great idea for a short story about a power-mad horse dictator and his trusty jockey sidekick. Because I just can't resist a good pun.
Anyways, learn it, live it, love it, and I will hold you in high esteem forever.
No, seriously.
GO READ IT.
Sars owns the world. And my heart.
In general, I commit only one of those errors habitually (the e.g./i.e. interchangeability) which fills my heart with grammar Nazi warmth.
Also, that one line 'there is no such thing as a "rein of terror,"' gives me a really great idea for a short story about a power-mad horse dictator and his trusty jockey sidekick. Because I just can't resist a good pun.
Anyways, learn it, live it, love it, and I will hold you in high esteem forever.
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