Went to see The Day After Tomorrow. I think it helped that I went into it with such realistic expectations. Going “oooo” at big, shiny special effects was my most important entertainment goal, tempered by the realization that the writing would undoubtedly be sub-par. So I was pleasantly surprised.
Rummaged out the old webcam that we’d put away after we got the new computer. Installed it and took a few shots of Hobkin being a lap skunk. Not great resolution, but it was quick n’easy:
Matthew and I watched several episodes of Coupling (the BBC one, not the atrocity which was the American adaptation that died quickly–as it should have). And when we were done wiping the laughter tears from our eyes, we watched Secretary.
I totally missed Secretary when it came out in 2002. Despite winning the 2002 “Special Jury Prize for Originality” at Sundance, I hadn’t heard much about it.
It’s a must-see for happy little BDSMers everywhere. I’ve thought James Spader was cute, quirky, and a bit sexy from his roles in Stargate and Wolf, but after seeing him in Secretary, ohmygod! He has, in a single bound, jumped up to the top of my drool-fetish-male-fantasy list. *swoon* I must see Sex, Lies, and Videotape now.
Secretary is marketed as a “dark romantic comedy” but I think that’s mostly because they didn’t know what niche to stick it into. It’s a wicked, naughty, sensual movie of power, relationships, and self-affirmation. Better than Story of O. Much. It was absolutely delicious.
The bronchoscopy happened. According to my doctor, everything looked fine–nothing worrisome or abnormal. So it seems even more likely that stress is the culprit of my breathing difficulties. Why does that not make me feel better?
On the whole, the procedure experience was unmemorable. Literally. They gave me anesthesia and sedatives both locally and intravenously. There’s a bruise forming on the top of my hand from the IV. I wish they wouldn’t put the things there. I much prefer the inside elbow location for an IV. Hurts less. Anyway, one of the effects of the anesthesia is short-term memory loss. I remember breathing the lidocaine gas and my tongue and throat going numb. And I remember the anesthesiologist injecting something into my IV. Then nothing until I opened my eyes in recovery to see Matthew grinning down at me.
Apparently, though, I was awake and responsive throughout the whole thing. Matthew assures me that my eyes were wide open when they wheeled me into recovery. And I was speaking and responding to questions. But the interesting thing is, I kept asking the same questions over and over again, as though I’d forgotten that I’d asked the question and what the answer was. Which I had. Things like “what time is it?” and “when will the anesthesia wear off so I can eat?” I remember the last time I asked those questions . . . at which point I stopped asking. But couldn’t figure out why Matthew kept chuckling at me. Appears he’d been answering me in something of a loop for a while there.
Weird drug that. It basically zapped my extremely short-term memory so I couldn’t retain anything. Before I went in, the nurse told me that amnesia was one of the effects, and I determined to try to hang in there as long as I could, try to see what I could remember. Nope. Out like a light. Or rather, not out, but insensibly awake like a light.
Also interesting that my brain works in such a predictable fashion that I ask the exact same questions over and over again, coming out of a medical procedure.
Aside from an odd sensation in one of my sinuses, that was a wholly unpainful procedure. Don’t even have a sore throat.
But I do wonder if I was in any pain or discomfort during the bronchoscopy–considering they stuck a tube up my nose–but I simply can’t remember it. ‘Course I also had a lot of numbing agent, so the odds of me feeling anything even if I could remember it are slim to none.
Weird.
First thing I did as soon as I could swallow and therefore eat/drink again, was have a big cup of coffee. Tube-in-nose notwithstanding, I was hurting for my caffeine fix.
But I did check the Abyss & Apex site and while it seems that part ii of issue #9 is still in the process of being published, “Inside the Witch’s Oven” is up, as is a poem by Tim Myers. The link to the short by Bruce Boston, however, is still not functional. I’ll be sharing a TOC with Bruce Boston! Eventually.
I’m also amused that “Witch’s Oven” is the opening story of part ii. Very cool.
Absolutely had to post this! Filched from brithistorian by way of hilarypoet:
This is a short poem made up entirely of actual quotations from George W. Bush. These have been arranged, only for aesthetic purposes, by Washington Post writer, Richard Thompson.
I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It’s a world of madmen and uncertainty
And potential mental losses.
Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet
Become more few?
How many hands have I shaked?
They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.
I know that the human being
And the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope,
Where our wings take dream.
Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher!
Make the pie higher!
(Pass this on. Help cure mad Cowboy disease in the next election!)
So I got a phone call from my Pulmonary doctor yesterday asking me if I was ready for my bronchoscopy today. I knew we were going to schedule one, but I hadn’t heard back from him on when, so this came as something of a surprise. Seems he left a message on our machine that we apparently missed.
Going into the hospital this afternoon. Should be a fairly routine procedure. They’re going to anesthetize me groggy, but not out, and then stick a tube into my bronchial passageways to see how they look. I’m trying not to dwell too much on the tube-sticking part. When it’s over, I go home, then get to lounge around on the couch, letting the anesthesia run its course through my system. I expect there will be napping.
I’m not supposed to eat or drink anything. Midnight was the last time I could put anything in my stomach. I drank a lot of water then so I could put off dehydration for as long as possible. Now, I’m fighting to not to dwell on food. And coffee. I’m really craving coffee.
I’m not phobic about hospitals or medical procedures, but they’re not my favorite things either.
Saw on the Nightshade discussion board that next up at Sci-Fiction will be a novella co-written by Gardner Dozois, George R.R. Martin, and Daniel Abraham. Ellen Datlow is publishing it as a serial in three parts. It’ll be interesting reviewing this one. Also, there was a little commentary on my Tangent reviews, which is cool. Nice to know I’m being read.
Hobkin has problems understanding skirts. I wore a long skirt to work today, and all morning as I was swishing through the kitchen, making his breakfast and packing my lunch, he kept standing up on his hind legs trying to lean his front paws on the hem of it. But, of course, it just yielded under his weight, and he’d flop forward at my feet, often with a perplexed expression on his fuzzy face. Silly thing.
He fell asleep with me last night on the couch. Very deeply asleep. A couple times he rolled over so suddenly I had to lunge to catch him or he would’ve rolled right off the couch. And he started to snore once with his nose right next to my ear. He has a good life.
I need to take more pictures of him. But our digicam is so damn clunky. It’s such a pain to get out. I need something sleek and svelte like the adorable camera wicked_wish has. Covet covet covet.
I keep forgetting what day it is this week. Undoubtedly a common mind glitch on Monday-holiday weeks. The headache I’ve been sporting since lunch hasn’t helped either.
Heard from the editor of Blood Lust, a UK gay erotica vampire anthology that I submitted a reprint to. My original submission was almost a year ago. I’d totally forgotten I’d sent it to them. They said they’re still working on final selections. So I guess I’m still in the running.
Desperately engaging in Cricket Magazine Group rejectomancy. I’ve got two submissions with them cresting or over the all-important 100-day mark. The one at Cricket is going on 111 days, and the one at Cicada is just hitting 100. With only one exception, everything I’ve sent to either of those markets that’s made it that long I ended up selling to them. I really could use another juicy sale to pick me up out of my funk. Well, actually I don’t know if it’ll get me out of it, but I’d be ecstatic for a bit, sure enough.
And finally, ring the bells and sound the trumpets! I cranked out 1200 words on a new fantasy piece. At last, I’m making writing progress once again. About slogging time.
We celebrated Hobkin’s 2nd anniversary over the weekend. It’s been two years now since the wee fuzzbump came to live with us. I can’t imagine life without him.
Hobkin got Sara Lee carrot cake again, which he gobbled up enthusiastically, then went bouncing through the house on a skunky sugar buzz, before crashing out on my lap, paws and muzzle sticky with cream cheese icing. We also bought some summer peaches, which he’s also quite enamored with. I gave him a slice with breakfast and watched him lick the plate clean, going after every last drop of peach juice.
The blackberries are beginning to ripen in the backyard. Matthew and I waded through the weeds and brambles and picked a dozen or so berries. It’s still going to be a while before they really come in, but it promises to be a bumper crop. Those things really do take over quickly. And goodness they’re pointy! Matthew paid his sacrifice of blood to the blackberry gods.
Wrote maybe 100 words yesterday on a brand new SF short story concept. Normally that’s not even enough to count as progress, but considering my current dry spell, I’m inclined to acknowledge any new wordage I can.
Also did a Critters critique. And fiddled around some more with Excel spreadsheets. Plugged in the numbers for the hardcopy submissions I’ve mailed out thus far in 2004. Total postage costs: just shy of $80. That’s fairly comparable with last year’s and 2002.
I feel terribly unproductive on the writing front. Makes me angry with myself.
The rain and occasional grumbles of thunder woke me this morning. And here I was, thinking I’d get to sleep in today. How silly of me.
Watched Shrek 2 at the theater and Big Fish at home yesterday. I enjoyed both of them. Escapism, rah.
Shrek 2 was clever and silly, with the pop references, classic rock soundtrack, and anachronistic humor that made the first one so new. But it suffered the shortcoming of most sequels in that no matter how cute it was, it wasn’t truly fresh anymore. And I’ve never really liked Eddie Murphy’s brand of humor. It helped that he was a CGI donkey, but I got tired of his antics before they were done. Still fun.
Big Fish was lovely and lavish. Distinctively Tim Burton in look and feel, it actually had more story and substance than most of his works end up with. I liked the fantasy fusion with reality. So many movie makers try that in an attempt to be surreal and artsy, and instead it comes out pretentious and/or fragmented. But Burton pulls it off better than most since his vision is so lush. Plus, I think Ewan McGregor is yummy.
Matthew and I made seitan again, with the requisite “Satan brain” jokes. Mashed potatoes and Satan brains. Mmmmm.
Also forced myself to exercise. Grumph. Started out with some yoga asanas. Nothing terribly strenuous, just a couple sun salutations and standing warrior poses to get me warmed up. Then I decided to do a few ballet barre exercises. Again, nothing terribly tricky, just some demi- and grande pliers, easy relevers, and a few forward and backward cambres. My leg muscles actually cramped up when I was doing grande pliers. My God. I can’t believe I’m in such bad shape. These are ballet warm-up exercises! I should be able to do these for hours without getting out of breath, much less have shooting cramps spasm through my thighs. These were nothing! Very sobering and disheartening that was. So now I’m dealing with strident opposing urges. One wants me to really push myself to get back into shape, exercising every day, yadda yadda ya. And the other one wants me to just give up the ghost and go flop on the couch, too depressed about what I’ve lost to deal with it. History warns me that the second will inevitably win out, entropy and all. But we’ll see.
So I’m very sore this morning. And still moody.
Had a lovely evening last night with newlyweds britzkrieg and rigel_kent. We went to the Shakespeare Tavern to see A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Much laughter, good food, and excellent company. I definitely needed that.
Hobkin was in a clingy mood when we got home and spent much of the night curled up with me. There’s skunk fur everywhere as he’s still shedding up a storm. This morning he was in a playful mood, and I have the welts on my arms to prove it. Pointy beastie.
Had some very vivid and disconcerting dreams last night. Nothing that I can remember clearly, except I was furious with my parents about something. Woke up with free-floating, unfocused irritation. Going to try to caffinate it out of my system.
Actually, overall I’m having some weird mood issues. I’m feeling disassociated and unmotivated in general. It’s not enough to call “depressed” but I don’t feel balanced or energized. I’ve been seriously procrastinating on everything and sleeping either too much or not enough. This might be one of those times where I just need to force myself to engage in activities I know I either ought to do, or that will help to jar me out of my funk.
And I haven’t been writing anything, which royally pisses me off at myself. This nice long weekend and so far I haven’t written a single word. Crap.
I did, however, fritter away an hour or so making a new icon from these folks.
