Never invite a tiger to tea
for it will want some meat
but if you do not give it some
you are what it will eat.
(more from the boy . . .)
The lion’s more vicious
and finds you delicious
regardless of whether
you serve meat with your tea.
Oliphant Parts
Reframing Reality
Archives: August 2006
Tiger a-la Lils
Stiff-necked
It is the end of another week, and the tweaked neck still lingers. The boy-child is wandering through the house singing “Everybodywants to be a cat” and reciting his latest dinner-party advice: Don’t invite a tiger to dinner, because after he finishes his dinner, the tiger will finish you. Good advice, although I don’t know that I will need it anytime soon. I don’t know all that many tigers.
Anyway, the neck is why I haven’t written anything lately: It hurts too damned much to just sit in a chair. It also hurts to lie down, but only if I try to roll over or sit up. If I lie perfectly still and ignore the bits of me that start falling asleep and screaming for a rollover, I am perfectly happy. Please, pity me.
I’m thinking of writing some new greeting-card slogans.
Dating/Dieting:
So I’ve heard you recently gained some weight/Is that why you swallowed your dinner date?
Darn, I think that’s it. I should have written them down.
Damned Lazy
It’s Thursday already? The whole reunion thing really threw me off my stride here . . . Well, I don’t have anything to post yet; I’m still working through my reactions to the whole thing (but am glad I went). So in the meantime, I will leave you with the following links from a WWDTM show a few weeks ago:
1. ipanywhere.com
2. speedofart.com
3. penisland.net
4. powergenitalia.com
So, do you have any other examples of web sites with poorly-chosen domain names? The above are for 1. a pcAnywhere companion product, 2. some guy who may or may not be artistic, 3. a pen company and 4. an Italian company that makes batteries. I’m wondering when the Italian flea market site Pisa Crap will register their domain . . .
A Painful Burning Sensation
I’m being buzzed by a fly — must be time to bathe again. Either that or quit wearing lamb-chop undies. Ew. Anyway, I need to get some work done and pack; I leave for the reunion thingy in a few hours. I’m guessing that there is a reason I haven’t talked to most of these people in the past twenty years, but we will have to wait until tomorrow night to figure it out.
Sing Me To Sleep
Sleep, that teasing slut, showed up late and left early last night. I will try not to pass out at my keyboard today, but everything is fuzzy and far away. I want sleep. Replacing sleep with chocolate and caffeine does not work any more. Am I getting old? On the plus side, my neck and shoulders have siezed up, so if I do start to nod off, the excruciating pain should wake me before my forehead hits the desk. Sure, there will be some awful screaming for the first few minutes, but it should keep me awake.
Famous Last Words
The funk that has hung over me for the past week has finally lifted. Actually, both funks. It’s most likely coincidence, but not only do I no longer feel like a complete slug emotionally, but after bathing, I feel quite refreshed physically as well. I really need to work on this cleanliness thing.
It was a busy weekend — hopefully I will get it all down in the computer and not just on paper. Right now, I’ve got bits of conversations going through my head. Mixed in with Otto Zehm’s last words (“All I wanted was a Snickers”) before being murdered by Spokane’s finest is my son trying to explain a Lego toy to his cousin.
“Kyle! Hi! I think you forgot a Lego toy.”
mumblemumblemumble (I couldn’t quite make out the other side of the conversation, so I’ll just fake it here).
“It has a big gun that you have to kick after each shot and pull apart . . . ”
It’s good to know the boy listens even when I am not talking to him. He’s got the description of the 50 cal. down perfectly, at least as I remember it from my brief time with the 82nd Airborne. Shoot-jam-kick-swear-disassemble-unjam-shoot-repeat. It was always a little scary knowing that we were considered combat-ready with only three of seven of those buggers functional, and by functional, I meant at a point where they were able to perform the shoot-jam-kick. Not my problem any more, thankfully.
So what’s new with you, reader? The cat makes writing this difficult — pushing against my hand, purring loudly and drooling on the keyboard in a play for attention — so I think it is time to go. Hopefully I will get some pictures up, admit defeat on the whole blowing s**t up idea (the woman-wife refuses to drive me to the hospital when I blow my fingers off, she says) and type more drivel in. I love drivel. . .
Conscientious Objector
I believe pharmacists and health-care providers have a right to make choices of conscience, or moral decisions, about the care they provide, regardless of the medical necessity of that care. I also believe that, as licensed professionals, they should make sure that all potential customers and patients are aware of the potential moral lambasting and lack of care that they will receive from said professionals. To that end, I propose the following signs be required anywhere that health care and services may be made unavailable due to moral objections:
“Attention (potential) customers: Your care here will be dictated by our moral judgement of you. Should you be found wanting, whether by your actions or our misinterpretation of your actions, we will not supply you with the care you want or need. Yours faithfully in closed mind(s), xxx.” (the “xxx” should be replaced by the names and phone numbers of each person who objects to supplying said care) The signs will be large enough to be easily read by all (potential) customers who pass by. In addition, on the off-chance that a customer may miss the sign, all greetings (phone or in-person) should begin with the wording from the sign. I think this will clear up a lot of confusion and hardship on both sides of the debate.
License
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