Wow, the bus I almost took home was stopped ahead of the bus I actually took home this evening because of some kind of medical emergency. It stopped ahead of mine and there was a fire truck and an ambulance next to it. They let most of the people off the bus and I saw a defibrillator and a gurney trucked out. I guess a passenger had a heart attack, although I didn't stay to see -- when my bus was stopped behind that other bus, the driver opened the doors to let the other passengers on, and I got out and walked home, since it was close enough to get there.
Exene's still sick, as I said; she may be reacting to the antibiotics she's taking, although we'll see. The doctors are still up in arms about what exactly is wrong with her; she's going to see another specialist next week. Weird shit.
B2 accidentally stomped on my bad toe this evening, which made it bleed (again). Aargh! I knew what was gonna happen!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Bus
There's a guy on the bus who is terminally preppie, and who somewhat resembles what's his name -- Christian Bale -- the kid totally looks like him except that it's is "American Psycho" incarnation. Anyway, it's disturbing to me, as he often hits my morning or evening commute, and he really calls to mind "American Psycho." This morning, I saw that he has a tattoo of his frat's letters at his ankle (which I could see because he's wearing his loafers without socks). That's astoundingly lame, like the lameness trifecta: ankle frat tat. And that he looks so "American Psycho," it adds to that psycho vibe even more.
Oh, and remember that couple I saw on the bus a few times, the leonine babe with the odd cheek piercing? (sorry, I'm not back-linking on it -- it was a month or so ago) I was wondering their ethnicity? Well, the guy is French, so odds are she is, too. I saw because he had his ID badge at his belt and I saw his name and where he works, and he's definitely French. I was pleased that I saw that, answering my own question.
Oh, and remember that couple I saw on the bus a few times, the leonine babe with the odd cheek piercing? (sorry, I'm not back-linking on it -- it was a month or so ago) I was wondering their ethnicity? Well, the guy is French, so odds are she is, too. I saw because he had his ID badge at his belt and I saw his name and where he works, and he's definitely French. I was pleased that I saw that, answering my own question.
More on Wonder Woman
SALON's Broadsheet groused about the new Wonder Woman duds, which I understand. Wonder Woman without her characteristic look is less wonderful! I wonder how long this look'll last?
Bored.
Let me just come out and say it: I AM BORED. Fucking bored. Damned bored.
I got used to that fix of World Cup action during my workday, and now I have to wait until Friday for the next match. WTF? Seriously. I'm so bored, I'd watch Brazil v. Portugal again. I'd watch England v. Algeria. I'd watch Paraguay v. Japan. Just to have something on during the workday.
I don't know what I'm going to do when the World Cup's over (July 11). How'm I going to possibly navigate my workday?
Oh, and you sourpusses who're like "How about doing your job?" -- I would point out that I came up with an elegant system whereby I actually managed to be more productive than normal while watching games. I worked it out.
But right now, I'm fucking bored. I'm going to be super-bored tomorrow, too. Lordy.
The last World Cup, I had my first real blogs (both of which were immolated by me around 2007, in a fit of blog-loathing). So I don't even have that to fall back on for comfort.
Another coworker and I were joking about it, talking about how we felt listless and irritable without our soccer fix. And then I found out that FIFA's store were apparently out of the Cameroon t-shirts I ordered. Yes, Cameroon were out of it (unfortunately -- I liked how they played, and it's fun to say "Cameroon" -- try it. Say it. Fucking SAY IT. See? "Cameroon."), but I can't even get a shirt? It's like the terrorists have already won. FIFA fucked me on that Cameroon tee as surely as they fucked England with that goal against Germany.
So, here I am, drinking water and eating a little bag of Cheetos, and I'm completely fucking bored. Oh, I guess I'll get back to work.
Also, I'd tune into NPR, but they're doing a fundraising drive, so there's THAT, too. WTF? It's like the Cosmos is busy trying to bore the fuck out of me, just to see what I'll do next.
I got used to that fix of World Cup action during my workday, and now I have to wait until Friday for the next match. WTF? Seriously. I'm so bored, I'd watch Brazil v. Portugal again. I'd watch England v. Algeria. I'd watch Paraguay v. Japan. Just to have something on during the workday.
I don't know what I'm going to do when the World Cup's over (July 11). How'm I going to possibly navigate my workday?
Oh, and you sourpusses who're like "How about doing your job?" -- I would point out that I came up with an elegant system whereby I actually managed to be more productive than normal while watching games. I worked it out.
But right now, I'm fucking bored. I'm going to be super-bored tomorrow, too. Lordy.
The last World Cup, I had my first real blogs (both of which were immolated by me around 2007, in a fit of blog-loathing). So I don't even have that to fall back on for comfort.
Another coworker and I were joking about it, talking about how we felt listless and irritable without our soccer fix. And then I found out that FIFA's store were apparently out of the Cameroon t-shirts I ordered. Yes, Cameroon were out of it (unfortunately -- I liked how they played, and it's fun to say "Cameroon" -- try it. Say it. Fucking SAY IT. See? "Cameroon."), but I can't even get a shirt? It's like the terrorists have already won. FIFA fucked me on that Cameroon tee as surely as they fucked England with that goal against Germany.
So, here I am, drinking water and eating a little bag of Cheetos, and I'm completely fucking bored. Oh, I guess I'll get back to work.
Also, I'd tune into NPR, but they're doing a fundraising drive, so there's THAT, too. WTF? It's like the Cosmos is busy trying to bore the fuck out of me, just to see what I'll do next.
Grumble
I'm jonesing for some fucking World Cup, and have to wait until Friday for my fix. Sigh. Next to the Olympics for me is the World Cup -- I love the international events, makes me glad to see the rest of the world. The US is so insular and parochial -- it's nice to see us out in the big, bad world.
So, Exene's still sick. She responded somewhat to the meds they gave her, but the symptoms haven't vanished -- still swollen glands at the neck, night sweats, sore joints, fever, loss of appetite. She's 121 lbs. right now. She's got some follow-up appointments with doctors. She's peeved. We'll see how it develops. All of the infectious disease tests they did (and they did a lot) came up negative. Not sure what to make of it all, exactly.
There's the Exene people think they know, and there's the Exene I know/knew, and there's whatever she actually is, somebody nobody but her actually knows. I know her better than anybody (including her family), but even I only know a sliver of whatever is actually going on behind the mask she wears. That Exene (or those Exenes) will be colliding in the face of something serious, healthwise.
I've been productive on some prose fiction -- a book I'm working on. I shelved the screenplay; it was nagging at me, and I don't want to pay to enter it into a competition only to lose and be out that money at a time when money's at a premium for me. I'm comfier in short story writing and novel-writing, so I'm staying in that primarily at the moment, even though the opportunities for me to be noticed seem as remote as ever. We'll see.
So, Exene's still sick. She responded somewhat to the meds they gave her, but the symptoms haven't vanished -- still swollen glands at the neck, night sweats, sore joints, fever, loss of appetite. She's 121 lbs. right now. She's got some follow-up appointments with doctors. She's peeved. We'll see how it develops. All of the infectious disease tests they did (and they did a lot) came up negative. Not sure what to make of it all, exactly.
There's the Exene people think they know, and there's the Exene I know/knew, and there's whatever she actually is, somebody nobody but her actually knows. I know her better than anybody (including her family), but even I only know a sliver of whatever is actually going on behind the mask she wears. That Exene (or those Exenes) will be colliding in the face of something serious, healthwise.
I've been productive on some prose fiction -- a book I'm working on. I shelved the screenplay; it was nagging at me, and I don't want to pay to enter it into a competition only to lose and be out that money at a time when money's at a premium for me. I'm comfier in short story writing and novel-writing, so I'm staying in that primarily at the moment, even though the opportunities for me to be noticed seem as remote as ever. We'll see.
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