Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Road to Recovery
Apparently I did not do anything particularly ridiculous while I was coming out of anesthesia. It appears that I mainly just lay on the couch and alternated between playing Mario Kart and watching America's Next Top Model reruns on Bravo. Take out the painkillers, the gauze in my mouth, and the half hour facial icing sessions, and it could be any other day. Okay, maybe there was a little bit of stumbling about when I first woke up in the recovery room, but nothing that didn't constitute a typical Saturday night for me just a few years ago.
That doesn't mean, however, that nothing hilarious happened. First of all, the receptionist forgot that I was getting anesthesia when she called to remind me about the procedure and told me to "eat a good breakfast" first, which most assuredly would have been deadly. Then when I got there, she asked me if I had ever had twilight before, which I took not as a reference to the type of anesthesia I was having but as an unwelcome invitation to discuss Edward and Bella. When I finally got into the operating room, the nurse insisted on taking off my flip flops and my glasses for me, even though I was totally conscious and had not been given any sort of drugs of any kind at that point. Then the magic IV began and I drifted off right in the middle of answering the doctor's question about whether I considered myself a heavy drinker. (Define heavy, please.)
Afterwards, I did get rolled out to the car in a wheelchair, which was fairly humiliating, given that the surgeon's office was located in Water Tower Place, so we had to roll past a Starbucks and an American Girl Place on the way out. Of course, I was still in a bit of haze at that point, so I was mainly trying to navigate the difficulties of small talk with the nurse.
Anyway, I have to head off for my 11 o clock facial icing. Painkillers to follow at noon. What a fantastic life!
Apparently I did not do anything particularly ridiculous while I was coming out of anesthesia. It appears that I mainly just lay on the couch and alternated between playing Mario Kart and watching America's Next Top Model reruns on Bravo. Take out the painkillers, the gauze in my mouth, and the half hour facial icing sessions, and it could be any other day. Okay, maybe there was a little bit of stumbling about when I first woke up in the recovery room, but nothing that didn't constitute a typical Saturday night for me just a few years ago.
That doesn't mean, however, that nothing hilarious happened. First of all, the receptionist forgot that I was getting anesthesia when she called to remind me about the procedure and told me to "eat a good breakfast" first, which most assuredly would have been deadly. Then when I got there, she asked me if I had ever had twilight before, which I took not as a reference to the type of anesthesia I was having but as an unwelcome invitation to discuss Edward and Bella. When I finally got into the operating room, the nurse insisted on taking off my flip flops and my glasses for me, even though I was totally conscious and had not been given any sort of drugs of any kind at that point. Then the magic IV began and I drifted off right in the middle of answering the doctor's question about whether I considered myself a heavy drinker. (Define heavy, please.)
Afterwards, I did get rolled out to the car in a wheelchair, which was fairly humiliating, given that the surgeon's office was located in Water Tower Place, so we had to roll past a Starbucks and an American Girl Place on the way out. Of course, I was still in a bit of haze at that point, so I was mainly trying to navigate the difficulties of small talk with the nurse.
Anyway, I have to head off for my 11 o clock facial icing. Painkillers to follow at noon. What a fantastic life!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Oral Majority
I'm having oral surgery on Friday! It's called an apicoectomy and there's pictures of it on wikipedia. It's the sequel to the root canal, sort of like a Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. You get it when your root canal has failed, sort of like a Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit. The hope is that it will put an end to my recurrent issues with searing tooth pain and facial swelling up to twice the normal size, sort of like a Kelly Clarkson size. Of course, that was the hope three years ago when I had the root canal, but who's counting.
The good/bad news in all of this is that they're putting me under for it, which means that I'll have a few hours of utter insanity when I come out. After my wisdom teeth were extracted, I kept spitting out my pudding and screaming about how I couldn't focus my eyes before finally falling asleep under the dining room table and dreaming I was Oprah. I don't know how I can possibly top that performance, but God knows I'm going to try. I'm thinking something from the original cast recording of Jesus Christ, Superstar maybe.
If I get really adventurous, maybe I'll blog during my recovery. I'm not sure if that would be a new high or a new low.
I'm having oral surgery on Friday! It's called an apicoectomy and there's pictures of it on wikipedia. It's the sequel to the root canal, sort of like a Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. You get it when your root canal has failed, sort of like a Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit. The hope is that it will put an end to my recurrent issues with searing tooth pain and facial swelling up to twice the normal size, sort of like a Kelly Clarkson size. Of course, that was the hope three years ago when I had the root canal, but who's counting.
The good/bad news in all of this is that they're putting me under for it, which means that I'll have a few hours of utter insanity when I come out. After my wisdom teeth were extracted, I kept spitting out my pudding and screaming about how I couldn't focus my eyes before finally falling asleep under the dining room table and dreaming I was Oprah. I don't know how I can possibly top that performance, but God knows I'm going to try. I'm thinking something from the original cast recording of Jesus Christ, Superstar maybe.
If I get really adventurous, maybe I'll blog during my recovery. I'm not sure if that would be a new high or a new low.
Monday, July 26, 2010
In Which I Am Pathetic
I saw Inception last night. It was pretty enjoyable. Ken Watanabe sometimes sounds like he has marbles in his mouth and Ellen Page seems like she's saying every line sarcastically, but at least Leonardo DiCaprio isn't trying an accent this time. The visuals are pretty great and I was honestly never bored, which is saying a lot with a two hour plus running time. I wasn't even that irritated by the fact that the person behind me kept kicking the back of my chair. Although the lady who was talking about her cats during the previews got a little bit of a shushing, let me tell you.
The weird thing, though, was that the damn thing kept me up most of the night thinking afterwards. Well, that and the dryer, which buzzed loudly three times around one in the morning. I tried to go back to bed, but I couldn't keep my mind from racing, and I wasn't just thinking about what to do about the zit on Marion Cotillard's forehead. I seriously started wondering whether I was really awake or if I was still dreaming, although I was pretty sure I was awake because I kind of wanted a burrito. Then I became convinced that there was an intruder in my house hiding behind the clothes dryer waiting to bludgeon me, and then I turned on the TV to try to calm myself down, and then it turned out that You, Me & Dupree was on, and that certainly didn't help matters. I think I finally passed out around 4 when it shifted over to an infomercial about some storage system for sweaters, which may also have starred Kate Hudson.
So just to recap, the movie got me overstimulated and I couldn't sleep. I am officially a five year old.
I saw Inception last night. It was pretty enjoyable. Ken Watanabe sometimes sounds like he has marbles in his mouth and Ellen Page seems like she's saying every line sarcastically, but at least Leonardo DiCaprio isn't trying an accent this time. The visuals are pretty great and I was honestly never bored, which is saying a lot with a two hour plus running time. I wasn't even that irritated by the fact that the person behind me kept kicking the back of my chair. Although the lady who was talking about her cats during the previews got a little bit of a shushing, let me tell you.
The weird thing, though, was that the damn thing kept me up most of the night thinking afterwards. Well, that and the dryer, which buzzed loudly three times around one in the morning. I tried to go back to bed, but I couldn't keep my mind from racing, and I wasn't just thinking about what to do about the zit on Marion Cotillard's forehead. I seriously started wondering whether I was really awake or if I was still dreaming, although I was pretty sure I was awake because I kind of wanted a burrito. Then I became convinced that there was an intruder in my house hiding behind the clothes dryer waiting to bludgeon me, and then I turned on the TV to try to calm myself down, and then it turned out that You, Me & Dupree was on, and that certainly didn't help matters. I think I finally passed out around 4 when it shifted over to an infomercial about some storage system for sweaters, which may also have starred Kate Hudson.
So just to recap, the movie got me overstimulated and I couldn't sleep. I am officially a five year old.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The Juror
In keeping with a summer that has brought me a solid month of twelve-hour workdays, an IRS audit, and oral surgery, I received a summons for jury duty a few weeks ago. Now, it was only standby duty, so I retained the glimmer of hope that I would not actually have to go. That hope was extinguished yesterday when the automated voice on the call-in line informed me that last names beginning with I-S actually had to show. Stupid having to do things. Not doing things is so much better.
Anyway, I reported this morning as required, and it turns out that most of jury duty is just sitting around waiting to see if you're going to get called to go down and be questioned about your eligibility. (They actually do call it eligibility, as though it's some sort of contest everyone is dying to win.) I spent the whole morning reading my book and trying to ignore the sound of The View blaring from across the room, which they informed us would neither be turned off nor changed to another program. If they would have let me keep my blackberry on, it would have been relatively non-oppressive, but apparently they're very concerned about potential jurors e-mailing their friends about the high production values of the "Introduction to Serving as a Juror" video. Or about Whoopi's hilarious quips, I don't know.
But yeah, so the morning was wholly uneventful for me and I was starting to think I was completely out of the woods when I was called down for a panel at 2. I got asked a lot of questions, mainly about the fact that I am a lawyer, which I was unable to deny. I did also have to confess that I have been the victim of a car break-in and that I rear ended someone when I was in high school, but none of that seemed to strike anyone as too scandalous. I think in the end I just ended up being too much of a lawyer for them and I was excused. Or maybe it was the fact that I almost got stuck in the jury room bathroom. They have to have some sort of standards, god knows.
In keeping with a summer that has brought me a solid month of twelve-hour workdays, an IRS audit, and oral surgery, I received a summons for jury duty a few weeks ago. Now, it was only standby duty, so I retained the glimmer of hope that I would not actually have to go. That hope was extinguished yesterday when the automated voice on the call-in line informed me that last names beginning with I-S actually had to show. Stupid having to do things. Not doing things is so much better.
Anyway, I reported this morning as required, and it turns out that most of jury duty is just sitting around waiting to see if you're going to get called to go down and be questioned about your eligibility. (They actually do call it eligibility, as though it's some sort of contest everyone is dying to win.) I spent the whole morning reading my book and trying to ignore the sound of The View blaring from across the room, which they informed us would neither be turned off nor changed to another program. If they would have let me keep my blackberry on, it would have been relatively non-oppressive, but apparently they're very concerned about potential jurors e-mailing their friends about the high production values of the "Introduction to Serving as a Juror" video. Or about Whoopi's hilarious quips, I don't know.
But yeah, so the morning was wholly uneventful for me and I was starting to think I was completely out of the woods when I was called down for a panel at 2. I got asked a lot of questions, mainly about the fact that I am a lawyer, which I was unable to deny. I did also have to confess that I have been the victim of a car break-in and that I rear ended someone when I was in high school, but none of that seemed to strike anyone as too scandalous. I think in the end I just ended up being too much of a lawyer for them and I was excused. Or maybe it was the fact that I almost got stuck in the jury room bathroom. They have to have some sort of standards, god knows.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Heat is On
I'm stuck at home this morning waiting for the furnace guy to finish up with his six month checkup. My heating and cooling system now sees its doctor more regularly than I see mine. As I know I have documented before, this is a horrifically awkward process in which I am repeatedly expected to engage in small talk about various aspects of my air conditioner. Just now I had to express an opinion on the state of my freon. I felt pretty good about it, I don't know.
Anyway, what's really shocking to me now is the state of daytime television. I used to think staying home was a paradise of Seventh Heavens and Lifetime movies, but now it seems like it's mainly infomercials and terrifying extra hours of the Today Show. It turns out that after What I Like About You ends at 8:30, ABC Family shows The 700 Club! And I'm as much of a fan of psychic prayer as the next person, but Pat Robertson is no Nick Zano. Robertson has a lot more range.
So I've parked myself on HBO's fifth reairing of Clueless in as many days. Hopefully the furnace will be done before Cher decides she's in love with her brother and things get all creepy again.
I'm stuck at home this morning waiting for the furnace guy to finish up with his six month checkup. My heating and cooling system now sees its doctor more regularly than I see mine. As I know I have documented before, this is a horrifically awkward process in which I am repeatedly expected to engage in small talk about various aspects of my air conditioner. Just now I had to express an opinion on the state of my freon. I felt pretty good about it, I don't know.
Anyway, what's really shocking to me now is the state of daytime television. I used to think staying home was a paradise of Seventh Heavens and Lifetime movies, but now it seems like it's mainly infomercials and terrifying extra hours of the Today Show. It turns out that after What I Like About You ends at 8:30, ABC Family shows The 700 Club! And I'm as much of a fan of psychic prayer as the next person, but Pat Robertson is no Nick Zano. Robertson has a lot more range.
So I've parked myself on HBO's fifth reairing of Clueless in as many days. Hopefully the furnace will be done before Cher decides she's in love with her brother and things get all creepy again.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Career Moves
If you're anything like me -- and given the amount of sperm I've donated over the years, that's a growing possibility -- you're still reeling with shock over Amanda Bynes' surprise announcement of her retirement a few weeks ago. Once you get over the initial feelings of betrayal over the fact that it's now all but certain that there will be no Sidney White 2, there's still just the profound sadness that now envelops each and every morning's rerun of What I Like About You on ABC Family. The Garth/Bynes dream team is no more.
And now, just as that horrible pain begins to deaden somewhat, there comes the news that The Wizards of Waverly Place will be ending after the next season. (Selena Gomez wants to focus on making movies that people don't see.) This is terrible news, and not just for the scientists who are trying to study why it is exactly that the Gomez's face never moves. For one thing, aside from the Gomez, we can pretty much guarantee that none of these child actors will ever work again, and that means the crime rate is bound to skyrocket. I would also bet that most of the writers will have to go back to their old jobs drafting the nutritional information that goes on the side of fruit roll up boxes. And for heaven's sake, what am I supposed to do now? I'll die before I start watching iCarly.
If you're anything like me -- and given the amount of sperm I've donated over the years, that's a growing possibility -- you're still reeling with shock over Amanda Bynes' surprise announcement of her retirement a few weeks ago. Once you get over the initial feelings of betrayal over the fact that it's now all but certain that there will be no Sidney White 2, there's still just the profound sadness that now envelops each and every morning's rerun of What I Like About You on ABC Family. The Garth/Bynes dream team is no more.
And now, just as that horrible pain begins to deaden somewhat, there comes the news that The Wizards of Waverly Place will be ending after the next season. (Selena Gomez wants to focus on making movies that people don't see.) This is terrible news, and not just for the scientists who are trying to study why it is exactly that the Gomez's face never moves. For one thing, aside from the Gomez, we can pretty much guarantee that none of these child actors will ever work again, and that means the crime rate is bound to skyrocket. I would also bet that most of the writers will have to go back to their old jobs drafting the nutritional information that goes on the side of fruit roll up boxes. And for heaven's sake, what am I supposed to do now? I'll die before I start watching iCarly.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Karted Away: by Guest Blogger Sister Meg
As any regular reader of this blog knows, Jay purchased a Wii this year. Being Jay's roommate, I understand the allure of this magical device. I once thought my gaming days were behind me, swept away along with my lonely junior high days as a mathlete. But once I learned that I could spend my Saturday flicking three-pointers over the heads of avatars with names and visages that are strange even for the Japanese, I was hooked. Bring on the karaoke revolutions, the sports resorts, and the minor, inexplicable Mario characters (Toadette, anyone?).
But now, I fear, the Wii has spurred a disease: Jay has contracted a late-stage, possibly incurable addiction to Mario Kart. As a trained ethnographer, I believe it my duty to describe this disease and alert the public to its warning signs.
Sign #1: Kart Idolatry. Upon returning home from a hard day's work, Jay frequently reports that he MUST play Mario Kart. Not wants to, but must. Why? Because if you beat all the levels of the game, you get to...wait for it...play all the levels of the game in reverse. That's right...the prize for beating the game is that you get to replay the game. Then, when you beat that, you get to unlock more things that...wait for it...allow you to keep playing the game with different characters and cars. Although many other Wii games are structured like this, Jay only answers to the call of Mario Kart. I can only assume that this game has become some sort of idol for Jay, and he desperately seeks its approval.
Sign #2: Wii/Self-Loathing. When playing the Kart, Jay is often heard to remark, "I hate this game so much," or some other vitriolic hyperbole like "I suck," simply for the crime of being hit by a red shell. It's like I start the day with my generally sweet-natured brother, and end the day with Tiger Woods after a crooked shot.
Sign #3: Intense Interest in the Mundane. Maybe it's my long commute to work, but I simply don't share the same level of interest in playing a game that allows you to do something every person in the country does every day. I mean, my commute doesn't usually involve bumping Baby Peach's "Tiny Titan" into a fiery lake...but, seriously, there are Wii games where you get to hit people off a podium with a jousting stick and sing Taylor Swift's Love Story at the top of your lungs...how is that not way more fun?
As any regular reader of this blog knows, Jay purchased a Wii this year. Being Jay's roommate, I understand the allure of this magical device. I once thought my gaming days were behind me, swept away along with my lonely junior high days as a mathlete. But once I learned that I could spend my Saturday flicking three-pointers over the heads of avatars with names and visages that are strange even for the Japanese, I was hooked. Bring on the karaoke revolutions, the sports resorts, and the minor, inexplicable Mario characters (Toadette, anyone?).
But now, I fear, the Wii has spurred a disease: Jay has contracted a late-stage, possibly incurable addiction to Mario Kart. As a trained ethnographer, I believe it my duty to describe this disease and alert the public to its warning signs.
Sign #1: Kart Idolatry. Upon returning home from a hard day's work, Jay frequently reports that he MUST play Mario Kart. Not wants to, but must. Why? Because if you beat all the levels of the game, you get to...wait for it...play all the levels of the game in reverse. That's right...the prize for beating the game is that you get to replay the game. Then, when you beat that, you get to unlock more things that...wait for it...allow you to keep playing the game with different characters and cars. Although many other Wii games are structured like this, Jay only answers to the call of Mario Kart. I can only assume that this game has become some sort of idol for Jay, and he desperately seeks its approval.
Sign #2: Wii/Self-Loathing. When playing the Kart, Jay is often heard to remark, "I hate this game so much," or some other vitriolic hyperbole like "I suck," simply for the crime of being hit by a red shell. It's like I start the day with my generally sweet-natured brother, and end the day with Tiger Woods after a crooked shot.
Sign #3: Intense Interest in the Mundane. Maybe it's my long commute to work, but I simply don't share the same level of interest in playing a game that allows you to do something every person in the country does every day. I mean, my commute doesn't usually involve bumping Baby Peach's "Tiny Titan" into a fiery lake...but, seriously, there are Wii games where you get to hit people off a podium with a jousting stick and sing Taylor Swift's Love Story at the top of your lungs...how is that not way more fun?
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Disaster
So I have a really great explanation for my absence this time. My computer died. Well, it more went into a coma then died, since it is back with us, but it was definitely moving towards the light. For most of the past week I had to choose between safe mode (which wouldn't let me on the internet) and a black screen with a mouse pointer icon. We tried various home remedies to fix it, such as repeatedly restarting it and tossing some salt over my shoulder while walking under a ladder and breaking a mirror, but nothing seemed to work. I even contemplated taking it back to Best Buy, but since my last visit with the Geek Squad ended in tears and recrimination, I eventually opted for the nuclear option. I saved my files to a thumb drive and reset the thing to its factory settings.
This was 24 hours ago and everything seems fine now. I did have to reload all of my hilarious screen saver images (Vanessa Hudgens in Sneakernight, anyone?) and my wallpaper of America's Next Top Model Anchal as Stedman, but that is minor collateral damage. In fact, everything seems to be running much faster since I no longer have any of the PC games I play for ten minutes and then become tired of on there. It's like a whole new world!
Of course, all is not forgiven. I would be throwing rocks through the windows of HP's executives right now if I knew where to find them. Of course, they've got problems of their own.
So I have a really great explanation for my absence this time. My computer died. Well, it more went into a coma then died, since it is back with us, but it was definitely moving towards the light. For most of the past week I had to choose between safe mode (which wouldn't let me on the internet) and a black screen with a mouse pointer icon. We tried various home remedies to fix it, such as repeatedly restarting it and tossing some salt over my shoulder while walking under a ladder and breaking a mirror, but nothing seemed to work. I even contemplated taking it back to Best Buy, but since my last visit with the Geek Squad ended in tears and recrimination, I eventually opted for the nuclear option. I saved my files to a thumb drive and reset the thing to its factory settings.
This was 24 hours ago and everything seems fine now. I did have to reload all of my hilarious screen saver images (Vanessa Hudgens in Sneakernight, anyone?) and my wallpaper of America's Next Top Model Anchal as Stedman, but that is minor collateral damage. In fact, everything seems to be running much faster since I no longer have any of the PC games I play for ten minutes and then become tired of on there. It's like a whole new world!
Of course, all is not forgiven. I would be throwing rocks through the windows of HP's executives right now if I knew where to find them. Of course, they've got problems of their own.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
That's Entertainment
Did you know that Raven Symone and Joanna Garcia (of Reba fame) are costarring in a TV movie entitled Revenge of the Bridesmaids? I don't think there's been more exciting news in the history of human civilization. Really, this TV movie is going to make Ulysses look like the incoherent scribblings of a mildly retarded first grader. It will be a more impressive accomplishment than the pyramids, and probably require at least one or two fewer slaves to complete (Raven gots to have her entourage). I'm not really sure what the plot will be, but I'm guessing it involves some bridesmaids, likely played by Raven Symone and Joanna Garcia, who exact revenge of some sort on someone or other, with hilarious consequences. Along the way, lessons will be learned about life and enormous facial expressions will be made. There may even be a song.
Of course, none of this is making Lindsay Lohan's day any better. She's probably shedding a single tear as she mentally prepares for the county lockup, remembering how she once turned down Raven's offer to be roommates in L.A., thinking herself too hot a commodity (pre I Know Who Killed Me) to bunk with a former Cosby Kid. Now she's turned into Lisa Bonet. You don't see Raven trying to hide a blood alcohol monitoring ankle bracelet under stiletto boots, now do you? Or even Joanna Garcia, for that matter. The Reba kids are on to bigger and better things, I am sure.
Did you know that Raven Symone and Joanna Garcia (of Reba fame) are costarring in a TV movie entitled Revenge of the Bridesmaids? I don't think there's been more exciting news in the history of human civilization. Really, this TV movie is going to make Ulysses look like the incoherent scribblings of a mildly retarded first grader. It will be a more impressive accomplishment than the pyramids, and probably require at least one or two fewer slaves to complete (Raven gots to have her entourage). I'm not really sure what the plot will be, but I'm guessing it involves some bridesmaids, likely played by Raven Symone and Joanna Garcia, who exact revenge of some sort on someone or other, with hilarious consequences. Along the way, lessons will be learned about life and enormous facial expressions will be made. There may even be a song.
Of course, none of this is making Lindsay Lohan's day any better. She's probably shedding a single tear as she mentally prepares for the county lockup, remembering how she once turned down Raven's offer to be roommates in L.A., thinking herself too hot a commodity (pre I Know Who Killed Me) to bunk with a former Cosby Kid. Now she's turned into Lisa Bonet. You don't see Raven trying to hide a blood alcohol monitoring ankle bracelet under stiletto boots, now do you? Or even Joanna Garcia, for that matter. The Reba kids are on to bigger and better things, I am sure.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
The Fourth Kind
I really need to know what programming genius decided that Americans want to celebrate their nation's birthday with Spider Man 3. I mean, sure, there are unintentional erotic fireworks between Tobey Maguire and James Franco, but Kirsten Dunst's acting is in and of itself a form of treason. And I am declaring my independence from Thomas Hayden Church's sketchy post-Sideways career choices.
I'm sort of out of Fourth of July related puns now, so I guess I'll move on.
We saw my grandma at the home today. Apparently she is on steroids now, but far from experiencing roid rage. In fact, she is about as happy as I've ever seen her. Almost our entire conversation was in the present tense, as opposed to being set in the 1940s, and not once did she exhort us to get married or have children. Plus she's been walking up a storm in her therapy. Isn't it funny how normal life tasks get to be viewed as accomplishments for children and the elderly?
In other news, our neighbors have been setting off fireworks for what seems like about twelve years now, which has sent our dogs into a state of nervous exhaustion. They keep hiding under things and trembling. Which is actually about how I feel after the past couple of weeks, so they better leave some room under that blanket.
I really need to know what programming genius decided that Americans want to celebrate their nation's birthday with Spider Man 3. I mean, sure, there are unintentional erotic fireworks between Tobey Maguire and James Franco, but Kirsten Dunst's acting is in and of itself a form of treason. And I am declaring my independence from Thomas Hayden Church's sketchy post-Sideways career choices.
I'm sort of out of Fourth of July related puns now, so I guess I'll move on.
We saw my grandma at the home today. Apparently she is on steroids now, but far from experiencing roid rage. In fact, she is about as happy as I've ever seen her. Almost our entire conversation was in the present tense, as opposed to being set in the 1940s, and not once did she exhort us to get married or have children. Plus she's been walking up a storm in her therapy. Isn't it funny how normal life tasks get to be viewed as accomplishments for children and the elderly?
In other news, our neighbors have been setting off fireworks for what seems like about twelve years now, which has sent our dogs into a state of nervous exhaustion. They keep hiding under things and trembling. Which is actually about how I feel after the past couple of weeks, so they better leave some room under that blanket.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Trial Period
So my trial is finally over and I'm visiting my parents for the long weekend. There wasn't anything particularly hilarious about the trial experience, except perhaps the physical comedy of me trying to get through security with boxes full of exhibits every day. I guess also probably my complete incompetence when I would get home exhausted every night; I'm pretty sure I tried to put the Wii in the dishwasher once or twice. But fortunately there were smarter people around to keep me in check and I think everything went pretty well. It was a bench trial and we won't get a ruling for some time, most likely, so don't ask. Actually, don't ask regardless.
We made the drive across the state today, which was most notable for the ingestion of something called "chili cheese tots" at the Sonic in Champaign. The trip took almost six hours because IDOT helpfully closed all four lanes of I-55 in Chicago without giving any suggestions whatsoever for what one might do instead. It was just four or five guys with big trucks standing there shrugging and pointing. But we got back eventually, and since then we have been busy, busy, busy. We carried out pizza for dinner. We went to church. We went to the park so I could run. And then we stood in a parking lot and watched the tops of various fireworks displays from across the city over the tops of some very substantial trees. The family that squints together stays together.
Despite the lack of excitement, I am ready for bed. Actually, I am ready for several weeks' worth of bed.
So my trial is finally over and I'm visiting my parents for the long weekend. There wasn't anything particularly hilarious about the trial experience, except perhaps the physical comedy of me trying to get through security with boxes full of exhibits every day. I guess also probably my complete incompetence when I would get home exhausted every night; I'm pretty sure I tried to put the Wii in the dishwasher once or twice. But fortunately there were smarter people around to keep me in check and I think everything went pretty well. It was a bench trial and we won't get a ruling for some time, most likely, so don't ask. Actually, don't ask regardless.
We made the drive across the state today, which was most notable for the ingestion of something called "chili cheese tots" at the Sonic in Champaign. The trip took almost six hours because IDOT helpfully closed all four lanes of I-55 in Chicago without giving any suggestions whatsoever for what one might do instead. It was just four or five guys with big trucks standing there shrugging and pointing. But we got back eventually, and since then we have been busy, busy, busy. We carried out pizza for dinner. We went to church. We went to the park so I could run. And then we stood in a parking lot and watched the tops of various fireworks displays from across the city over the tops of some very substantial trees. The family that squints together stays together.
Despite the lack of excitement, I am ready for bed. Actually, I am ready for several weeks' worth of bed.
