Predicting the Future via Butt Pimples

Your love is like   Dayquil and Nyquil as meal replacements

Sad Realities 2022: Google rolling out Air Raid Alerts app for Ukraine

Today I identify as  sweaty sheets

HER: I feel bad for asking, but would you help me put this necklace on?

HIM: Don't feel bad, it makes me feel like I'm strangling you. I like it.

I just saw a picture of Robert Plant, with what can only be described as a sort of impotent man bun.

It really has me questioning many things about my life, loves, and goals.

Forward, Back, or left? 

We're very pleased around here that Mrs. lefty remembered the time change. My mom used to call and remind us, but that ain't happening again. Is this a female thing, cuz I certainly didn't know it. She went around the house, changing the clocks. Then she realized she changed them in the wrong direction, so she went around the house, changing the clocks again. The positive parts of this is that all the clocks that didn't get changed last time are now correct, like the car. Oh no, wait, I just fixed the car, so I'll have to re-fix it again.

Starve a cold? Feed a fever? Shovel the food in regardless? 

I felt weird(er) last night, and gave it some Serious Thought<tm>. Then I gave it some Serious Digital Thermometer. My temperature was either 94, 99.8, or 105 depending on where I took it.  I'm thinking this isn't acceptable, because Medicine tends to operate a bit more accurately. I have electronic test equipment like this; where one component will have three values, depending on which meter I use. I don't think it's helpful in either case. The following morning, it was several different readings also, so I called in the Big Guns: WIFE. Mothers and Wifes have a magic ability to get past several different readings and cut to the chase: "You've got a fever, oh yes, I'll get some aspirin." It makes me feel sorry for bachelors... they have to visit their mom or another woman to figure out if they have a temperature.

My medical knowledge can fit in the (non-existent) ashtray of a new car, but my understanding is that the body raises its temperature in order to kill the infection. If this is true, why do we take fever reducers?  I have a vague memory of not feeling well, going to the hospital, having my temp taken, and the nurse saying, "104, time to panic." Fortunately I was seeing things and in my own little universe, so I didn't truly grok the reality of rectally-installed aspirin. I'm just not that kinda guy.

Being some sort of sick ironically provides some relief, in chores and Stuff needed to be done round the house. I have an excuse for not doing things, as opposed to Fat and Lazy, which is my go-to. Obviously I have a job too. In another weird irony, I don't like to miss work, and will generally work until my head crashes down on the keyboard (from passing out or sheer boredom). If you remember, I have to be forced to take vacation days, or I lose them. I'm at my desk like Bernie Sanders is thinking of more 'free' things to 'give' people. If I take off, my boss gets worried, because he knows it must be serious. He figures I'll be there long after I retire and possibly after I die. So with 9,457 accumulated sick days, it's pretty much up to me. 

As best I can tell, I got sick out of spite, or to break up the boredom.

Next day: I heard my alarm go off, so it was Decision Time. Mrs. lefty said STAY HOME. I didn't want to go 'in' because I might get my team sick (we all work from home).

I have no idea what's happening, but I seem to be cycling between 'I'm feeling eh' and 'OMFG, every hair on my body hurts,'  We've all had days when it's been difficult getting up, but this puts an interesting twist on it.

ME: Ok, I need to get it together to call out sick.

Also ME: Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

HER: What did you do?

ME: Tried to open my eyes.

HER: It sounds awful.

ME: You probably want to leave - I have to try to get out of bed.

HER: What is that noise? It sounds like the radio. Do you have the radio on?

ME: You can hear that? That's each individual body hair, reporting in, in pain.

You know I have my phone set so nobody calls. It's a gift.

So naturally this morning, I became very popular. The Tree Guy wanted to come out to cut off some dead tree. I asked him to check on the dead area over my neck, but he said that would be another estimate. I told him to come on by, then spent then next 45 minutes trying to figure out how to get out of bed and leave his payment on the door. Fortunately Mrs. lefty was up and said she'd take care of it. Well, if she'd take care of it, why was *I* getting the calls? Come to think of it, she seems very excited when he comes out. I was too sick to care.

I think this guy uses lasers or something - the last time he took down two trees and I never heard him.

So it was back to bed.

RADIO: Arm hair #22476, pain

Back hair #43720, pain

Nose hair #77345, pain

ALL HAIL- we have a 90 degree turn to portward, sometime in the next 90 minutes.

This went on for half an hour.

I was up at the decent hour of 3pm, regardless of spring ahead, fall backward, or 'change the fscking clock.' I can tell the time is correct when 2 clocks match. This after all the hairs checked in again; I was on the Pain part of the cycle, but at least it only took an hour to get out of bed. The dog is sympathetic, or at least I think so. She's heavy-lidded, napping on her mommy's new pillow. It's not like I didn't take her to the vet when we suspected cancer.

I'm hungry. I can tell by my stomach, which gave up growling when I ignored it, and is now singing loudly. I think it's Joe Cocker. The problem here is that we're completely out of candy bars. We have lots of soup, but it has to be heated. This is not do-able, as it hurts to think of it. The dog is still refusing to heat anything for me. I'd go back to sleep, but the singing would keep me awake.

It's 4am, I'm sweaty, and I don't want to remain sleeping. I think I need a Coke (my needs are few and simple, not counting the guitars that cost more than my house). After only 45 minutes, I manage to haul myself out of bed, not even using the winch, or any of the other high-powered equipment in the bedroom, but now's not the time to go into that. My body hair is at only 50% hurting; I think this is a good omen. In the living room, all is normal at 5am: the dog is comfy and asleep on the couch, and the wife is 'cleaning'' like mad. When I say 'cleaning,' I mean something like a modified pinball game. You pull the lever, which launches the ball, which bangs around and goes DING a lot, all over the place. So if you took the balls and made them explode, leaving a lot of debris all over the place, you'd have her 'cleaning.'  Bathroom: DING, explosion, debris. Kitchen: DING, explosion, debris. Normal people would look at the procedure and say 'that's not cleaning - it's creating more dirt.' This is why they're normal people and don't live at lefty Manor. The dog can't take any more following her mommy all over the place, so she remains asleep. 

I got my Coke, and sat up for a bit. The tv was on, as it always is, and I was astounded at the lineup of alleged shows. It was so bad, my brain protected me by making me forget it. Mrs lefty continued her cleaning, this time leaving debris in the basement. I had noticed her eventually sitting on the couch, quickly followed by her falling forward and snoring on the couch. You can't fool me, so I suggested maybe she go to bed. She completely ignored me, so I knew everything was normal. This continued for an hour or so, then I went to bed. The doctors told me arguing will only raise my blood pressure, as Mrs. lefty does not observe many of the laws of physics. My favorite is when she goes to sleep with her head 4" above the pillow.

When my alarm went off, I was assured I still had a fever, but only 25% of my body hair hurt. I took this as a good sign, calling out of work another day. By 4pm, the next time I got up, my body hair didn't hurt at all. It only took me 30 minutes to plan and execute getting out of bed. I kept pulling at my body hair, trying to make it hurt, just in case, but it wouldn't. As my wife had finally made it to bed, after only 3 days of not sleeping, she snored. And when I say snored, I mean it sounded like there was heavy construction and tearing up the street in front of the house. She stopped, asked if I felt ok, and I asked to check my temperature. I'm not going to say she was tired, but she said ok, then fell asleep with her arm halfway to my forehead.

According to the wacky thermometer, my temperature was either 32, 98.5, or 98.6. I found out if you add them and take the square root, you have way too much time on your hands. As two of the results were pretty close, I was fever-less! So at 4pm, I finally had my morning coffee. The dog loves coffee, but smartly stayed in bed, where she is somehow able to ignore her mommy's use of heavy equipment.

To top it off, Mother Nature decided to get even with me by making the last two days absolutely beautiful. Walk around without a coat beautiful. To show you how glad I am to be getting over being sick, I almost look forward to taking out the trash. Slow down, lefty. As a warmup, I might put my shoes on and get the mail.

It should be interesting when Wife gets up, which could be any time within the next few days. It looks like while cleaning the fridge, the BANG happened, and the debris was a shelf, which spilled its contents onto the floor. Have you ever had a shelf expel its cold contents onto the floor, possibly throwing them at you? Half the powdered creamer is now on the floor, spelling out HELP ME. We now have purple silverware. And someone finally found my toothbrush. It tends to stray, but this time it got moved during cleaning and no one knew where. At least they took the cereal out of the fridge. When Wife finally wakes up, she's going to ask what happened and who made the mess. I think I need motion-sensitive cameras in the house.

I tried to keep my activity to a minimum, like I do every day, but this time I have a reason; not getting re-sick. So I only took the trash out and carried stuff all over the house. This might not have been a smart idea, like running a marathon without a leg. Here's another phrase you don't hear often: I can't wait to go to work tomorrow.

That's not a Divot, it's a Small Aircraft

Your love is like  drinking bleach to kill the Flying AIDS

• Don’t be afraid to shoot for the stars. Even if you fall short, you could make it to the moon! Sadly, the nature of its atmosphere would kill you almost instantly. Have a nice day, anyway.     --Pat Sajak  [@patsajak]

Today I identify as  a CIS trans lesbian

In the Late to the Party department, the groundhog did its thing, as it is wont to do. As usual, it was horribly depressed, saw clouds, and thought about shooting itself to end the pain. It thought better because it might miss the important parts of its brain and render itself still alive, but a cripple.

Because the Sun Never Shines in Philadelphia.

I feel accomplished or something. I finally got a look down the shirt of a dental tech where I go. It was not my fault - she bent over. Naturally she wasn't the good looking one. But still... boobs is boobs.  This office is weird. Maybe because they're all skinny or size their uniforms correctly or, heaven forbid, don't want to show off their mammalian protuberances. I can't even see their faces because of the damn breathing arrestors (masks). You know the most beautiful eyes there don't show that she has a mustache. Judging from some of the arm hair, it's thicker than mine.

Don't call me sexist - every tech there is now complaining about their patients being ugly, like lefty. "Maybe he should keep his breathing arrestor ON."

While I'm waiting for my emergency dental appointment, I don't really care what they look like - just that they're really good at what they do. The tooth that hurt like hell now doesn't. The pain has migrated to a different tooth, as well as the palate. And a headache that feels like someone with an industrial drill took a 3/4" bit and has been drilling for hours. If huge amounts of ibuprofen didn't help, I'd be in the emergency room.

UPDATE 

The dentist spent too much time discovering I needed a lot more numbing than normal people, drilled a bit, and told me it had to come out. I sincerely hoped she was talking about the tooth. Afterwards, she patted me on the back and said that was it. I had to speak up, because apparently my tears weren't sufficient to get the point across. IT HURT. REALLY BADLY. I begged for ibuprofen. So they gave me acetaminophen. Which covered about 20% of the pain. At home, a handful of ibuprofen later, and I could at least function. And it hurt. Really badly. I may have to dip into my 497 sick days. I also have to remember that antibiotics can mess with birth control pills....

• Don't forget - it's Black History Month
• still no left handed history month..
• by the way - if you wish to celebrate Black History Month at work, I wouldn't go with anything but a button. Many were disciplined for wearing Mexican hats on Mexican History Month. No dreads. No fro. No rap getups. No lamp chains around your neck. Nothin. And please, God, no watermelon.

Flying AIDS News 

Community furore after police stop St Bernadette’s Glendalough church service to check masks

Ottawa Fears Vaccine Protest Has Morphed Into an Occupation

Omicron BA.2: What we know about the Covid sub-variant

Europe entering Covid pandemic 'ceasefire', says WHO

For T-cells, omicron is nothing unusual

A faulty immune response may be behind lingering brain trouble after COVID-19

I just went past a car with two occupants, both wearing masks.

These people are allowed to drive on the same roads as the rest of us.

• Woman applauded after giving birth on transatlantic flight
• Unfortunately a fight broke out because the baby wasn't wearing a mask 

The UK is spending 1.4 billion pounds (14 grams Canadian) on a Space Laser "to bolster our interests in space." Boy will they be sorry when they realize they have no interests in space.

Between the spy satellites, the communications satellites, the Chinese satellites which can literally devour other satellites (James Bond, anyone?) and the Space Lasers, we have created a Space Traffic Jam the likes of which no planet has ever seen. Yes, we militarized space, but then we took our poor road planning and traffic jams there too!

Once again, the aliens watching us are shaking their heads. No other planets or associations want to meet us because of what we've done to the planet. Their only interest is keeping us from getting out past the Moon, to do damage elsewhere. As if monitoring our television and seeing The Masked Furry wasn't enough. The gray aliens will continue to stick things up our butts and the black aliens will continue to date Kardashians. Other than that, it's Hands Off.

Speaking of which, Israel is developing a laser-based interceptor, to demolish more local threats, like drones. Even poor African nations are getting into the Space Weapons Race. The United Nations has a rotation of Space Traffic Reporters to let all countries know if they can proceed and using what routes. 

Welcome to UN radio. We'll get right back to our feature, Fauci Said I Had to Wear a Mask to Bed, after this traffic report from our ace reporter, Johnny 'Slowdown' Bugger. Johnny?

There is a bad Space Jam on planet route 95 due to volume. There is no alternate route, so expect your satellite to take quite a while to orbit. Route 87 has a four parsec backup due to a Chinese satellite with a flat antenna. We recommend using the bypass. Finally, Interplanet 78 has random slowdowns because Space Force is hiding behind internet satellites and giving out speeding tickets. Back to you, Bob.

• do you have the [whatever it takes] to wink at someone?
• much like dancing and sports, I just look stupid.

NSA watchdog finds 'concerns' with searches of Americans' communications

You had no say in a special court and they ignore it anyway. This is not the government you signed up for. Are you shocked yet?

Havana Syndrome may be caused by ‘directed energy’

A very short time after it was declared to be caused by things equivalent to swamp gas, all of the sudden it may be caused by 'directed' energy. Of course it's something like directed energy. It's what they've always done. To put it down to a psychological cause is disingenuous. 

International Space Station will plummet to a watery grave in 2031

• Expected to come down in the Pacific, maybe, but other countries are still in the running. NASA has an unofficial poll, with a $50 entry fee.
• NASA says to 'just ignore' those radioactive bits - it will dissipate in a few million years
• stay away from the Russian section - they were always short of toilet paper
• it's about the size of a football field, so if it misses the Pacific Ocean, you're pretty much screwed.
• the plant growing experiments got a little out of hand, so if one of them talks to you, you should probably leave it alone.
• does not come with the attached alien ship, batteries not included, do not fold, spindle, or mutilate, without the express written permission of the NFL

When someone with multiple personalities watches "Three Faces of Eve" or "Sybil," does it set up a feedback loop and change reality as we know it? 

Tesla should put together a weekly newspaper because of all their problems. Hey, wait, ThermionicEmissions is kinda their weekly newspaper. This week we feature the recall of 817,143 vehicles because the seatbelt chimes are rather more silent than they should be. If I owned a Tesla, I wouldn't take it back: I don't want to hear from my car if the seatbelts aren't in use. Seatbelts seem to be useful for getting caught in the door and not allowing it to close (plus holding your dead body in the car). These are particularly amusing, as they freak out if you have a dog in the seat. At twenty-some pounds, they can't decide if someone is sitting in the seat or not. 

They Tell Me it's Against the Law to Shoot Your Dentist

Just when I think I have the perfect solution, someone comes along and ruins it with talk of the law or morals or some such stupid thing....

I don't really want to shoot Dr. Mengele, my dentist.  It's just because I don't want to see Dr. Mengele professionally.  I can imagine having pizza with him - that would be fine.. he seems like a good guy.  I just don't want to sit in the chair while the good doctor and his assistant Natasha perform all sorts of experiments on my mouth.  Experiments like how many times can we poke him with this pointy implement until he screams or hits?

Today it was the shot.   I have somehow managed not to cringe too badly or leap from the chair and break into show tunes when he puts the needle in my gums and wiggles it about just for the hell of it.  I had a bad feeling about where the needle was going... I remembered a particularly bad time in that location that felt like I was being electrocuted.

Damn my memory.

The guy sticks the needle in, wiggles it satanically, and my eyes went wide.  He asked me if I felt a tingle.  "In a manner of speaking, yes," I wanted to say, but my mouth was full of needle and fingers.  I have been playing with electronics since I was two and am a tremendous klutz, thus I have managed to electrocute myself rather frequently.  This felt kinda like when I electrocuted myself, only it was near my jaw.

So he pulled the needle out and I reaffirmed that I had been hit by lightning.  He went back at it with the needle but this time the lightning bolt was not as severe.  I tried to figure out whether I was lucky or not.  He said he hit a nerve.  It felt more like a transformer.

I seem to remember this procedure not taking too long (in spite of the fact that it felt like four hours).  Turns out I spent about two hours in the chair.  I kept wondering what medicine they give to the cowards who are irrationally terrified of dental procedures.... you know.... like me.  I would have asked but the moment he said I was done, I made a beeline for the door.  I never look back, in case he tries to catch me.

There was a point where I was pretty good with dentists.  Then it all went to hell.  No idea why.  The good doctor seemed pretty confused too.  He kept telling me the worst was over so I had no reason to keep trying to escape.  The guy obviously doesn't understand terror.  And with a name like Mengele.

Then they took turns putting goop in my mouth and waiting to see how long it would take for me to start gagging.  Natasha was watching tv and moving about the room with one hand in my mouth.  I have no idea why.  I was so terrified I couldn't be bothered to look down her uniform (in case you doubt my sincerity).

I didn't like the look on Natasha's face when she pulled the metric ton of gauze out of my mouth.  The doctor explained that pretty much all of my terror was for naught, as the tooth broke and they were going to have to do it all over and put in a post.

A post?

I don't even want to know what a post is.

And Dr. Mengele always laughs when I come in and am not tremendously happy to see him.

This is apparently why people take showers with their clothes on and hide under tables.

On Vonnegut

I just read a brief review of Kurt's biography, written by Charles Shields.  The selling point of the article (possibly the book) is that Kurt was not particularly nice or happy.

My bud-in-blogging, Eric (the Noctornal Slacker) recently did a book report on Kurt's Timequake.  We seem to share a love of Kurt's writing, as did many people.

Let's ruminate on this a second.......

1. Does it really matter what kind of person Kurt was?
2. After reading the review, it's pretty obvious why Kurt might have been a bit off.
3. I submit to you that being a bit off is almost a requirement in the arts.

Quite frankly I never put together much of an opinion on what kind of person Kurt was.  I was happy to enjoy his output. 

I do admit to wondering what might be wrong with Kurt, specifically concerning the time-hopping exercises in his books.  My wife and I wonder if he had multiple personality disorder; it would certainly explain the time-hopping.  She loved his writing and said it made perfect sense to her.

If nothing else, the man certainly had a right to a bit of post-traumatic stress disorder.

As for being a bit off, I spent many years in comedy and rock and roll.  My observation was that comics, as a rule, were among the more miserable human beings I had ever met.  Pain transforms into comedy; both the performer and the audience win.

As a guitar player, performing in front of people is the cheapest and most effective therapy I can imagine.  It has the added benefit of not requiring precertification, copays, or an hour in the waiting room.

And what do we have left?  The legacy of Kurt's writing.