December 28th, 2003



I was trying to fall asleep when I noticed that my left foot had a tremor. I tried to tell myself at first that it was probably just the vibration from my floor fan several feet away. It's not, though. It's real and it's incredibly distracting. Once I noticed it, I couldn't stop. Now I am up again, and of course rather than simply writing this off as an idiopathic anomaly, I harnessed the power of the Internet--o tempora, o mores!--to feed my hypochondria, logging on and then googling tremors to determine the most likely cause. MS? Parkinson's? Arthritis? All three, perhaps.

Somehow I don't think there's anything you can take for a tremor. Maybe a glass of wine to dull my brain so that I pay less attention to the fibrillation... fibrillation... fibrillation. (It's very rythmic.)

I'm going to die someday. This bothers me.

ETA: I boggle at the boyish, high-pitched voice of Seth Green in "Radio Days" versus his low mellow voice when he hits his prime in BtVS. Boggle, I tell you.


I really never do these silly memes, but the way this one pegged me was uncanny. Un! Canny! Plus it's a pretty pin-up girl.

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There's something I need to do. I think it involves money and paperwork, but I can't remember exactly. Is it digging out old tax forms? Paying my Mastercard bill? I also need to get a haircut and do laundry and angst about work tomorrow, but there's this movie on SciFi, see, about a bloodthirsty crocodile menacing surfers off the coast of Australia. It requires me to recline here on the couch and watch the crazy man chop up giant rats.

I am all spammy and useless today. The pilot light has gone out in my head. Help.

but it's *good* spam

Melymbrosia--she, whose very name means something possibly wondrous that I've never bothered to look up! she of the ever boiling noodle! no, really, I swear that means something!--posted a link to these fabulous, exquisitely tiny stories by some guy named Michael Swanwick, who just became my readerly crush of the day. Go read Mely's post and follow the links. She is a woman of much taste. Far tastier than Spam.

I think it's time for me to go to the grocery store, by the way. One of my purchases will be mayonnaise with which to make a sandwich. And the sandwich will be good and I'll eat it while reading more of these tiny little stories.

ETA: My favorite part of this croc movie is when they crashed the wee little model boat off some tidal rocks and pretended it was a really *big* boat with people inside, not to mention really big rocks, which they really weren't. This is funny. Especially without the sound on. Also, the croc's rubber legs do not detach from its sides. It's propelling itself through the water with the power of its mind! The man inside must have trouble swimming through the sound stage.

ETA 2: Oh my god, I wish everyone could see this beautiful stupid movie because it just had the best scene ever, to rival Bela Lugosi's infamous octopus scene, and I quote: "The comic highlight of Tim Burton's ED WOOD is a scene featuring a stuffed octopus that Wood used as a prop. Since he didn't have the necessary motor, Bela Lugosi threw his body down upon the puppet and, in an attempt to create the illusion of mobility, wrapped the creature's limbs about his torso." In fine cinematic tradition, the gritty psychotic hero of our movie just performed astonishing acrobatics in which he manfully thrust his legs into the styro-foamy jaws of the croc while hanging from a pipe and *pulled* the creature forward to simulate attack. Ha ha ha I really need to leave the house now.

Brussels sprouts.

Has anyone else noticed that even after BBF changed its intro format to remove the "What I will never ever read" question--done, I suspect, to cut down on the prevalance of antislash responses--people have still managed to shoehorn their distaste into what seems like the majority of introductions?

From this day forward I vow to define myeslf only by what I dislike. Please expect to see many posts about Brussels sprouts in the future. I intend to mention them at every opportunity. I need to carve out a territorial niche in the anti-Brussels sprout segment of fandom, and ally myself with like-minded people, hopefully to establish a visible Moral Majority for the benefit of those who might otherwise take my silence for consent. No longer will I sit quietly by and tolerate the casually offensive existence of those round green pellets of putrid vegetable matter, like eggs from some smelly alien or hell-spawned demon god. I intend to make sure President Bush knows my feelings too. I think he'd understand.

It's at times like these that I realize I don't have an icon that says SCREAMMMMMMMM. No need to send me any. I'll just think it.
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