1/23/2003

(Welcome to the Amish Tech Support Blog A Day Tour! Today's post is short, but not sweet.)

I'm writing this post yesterday for today. Or, you can say I'm writing it today for tomorrow. Depends on your perspective: when I wrote it or when you're reading it.

One of the things that people say a lot is "At least you've got your health." Well, I've got that. But Hal doesn't. And so he's going in for surgery tomorrow. (Which to you is today, for me is still tomorrow, and I guess Australians will call it yesterday now that I think of it)

I have no idea how long it's going to be tonight when we go over to Hal's for the pre-hospital visit and then how long it will be tomorrow as we wait in the Waiting Room. I guess we're not allowed to wait anywhere else or it'll violate something i nthe insurance carrier or something. Folks gotta wait in the Waiting Room instead of spending time at the Sonic Drive In or humping away in an open bed in the E.R.

Folks aren't supposed to eat before surgery. I was going to bake up a loaf of bread with bright blue food coloring in it. At least then I could be giving a loaf of bread as a pre-surgery present and then he wouldn't want to eat it. I mean, blue bread. Who would want to eat blue bread?

That one's tamer compared to all my other attempts at light humor. I've got a whole list, but in the end they all miss the mark. I figure I'll just be like everybody else, nod when I'm supposed to nod, smile when I'm supposed to smile, like some gigantic scroll of paper is running through my feet and my toes pick up on the holes like some human player piano.

Anyway, I'm sending this post a little early to D.C. so at least the Tour isn't interrupted. I figure that if we get home tomorrow (today) after everything goes well, I'll have something to post.

Of course, if D.C. has to post this pre-submitted piece, this means that nothing will get posted to my own site that indicates that the Tour is stopping here. Until I get home to post, that is, which means sending him this early really doesn't amount to squat, right?

I'll think of something. Y'all are clever, you'll figure it out tomorrow.

I mean today.

1/22/2003

There are few feelings more wondernous than saying, at 6:00, "I'll just lay down until dinner, someone will wake me up," then waking up at 9:42 realizing that dinner has been missed entirely, and that all you're going to do with what's left of your evening is stumble downstairs, pour yourself some Special K with Red Berries, and update your lonely little blog.

Today was a half-day, meaning anybody who was anybody got out of school at a little before noon, and went to Vaquero's, which is actually Spanish for "Sketchy Yet Delicious," for lunch. I know I did. Then came back to school to rehearse the competition one-act, which we're performing for the second time in a conference setting this Saturday. I still have to get work off for that. We ran the show twice, and I wasn't needed on crew for the next mainstage, so I ended up leaving school around three, which is an anomaly. I half-expected flying pigs to block out the sun as I drove to the gas station.

Even more uncommon, I put twenty bucks worth of gas in my tank, which means the needle is now completely to the right of the "F" line. F for full. I know, I'm just as shocked as you are, especially considering it's usually about that distance to the left of the "E" line, E for Earn more money so you can put more than five bucks worth of unleaded in me at a time, jackass. Every ride in my truck raises a million life-or-death questions. Will I make it to then next location without having to get out and push because I put off getting gas for too long? Will the windshield de-fog and allow me to see the road that I'm hurtling across at forty-five miles an hour? Why am I driving like this thing handles any better than a Civil-War era ironclad battleship? What's that smell? I drive completely in italics, by the way. Usually on the wrong side of the road.

Even more uncommon than a full gas tank, I went and got a haircut. This only happens every two months, on average. I know, because they ask me every time I come in, when they see the overgrown mass of dark blonde they're going to have to wrangle into something half-decent, if they want to earn their eleven-ninety-five. I always get it cut from the haircut-neglecting teenager look down to the spiked in the front, now-I'll-be-able-to-neglect-a-haircut-for-a-really-long-time look, which has been dubbed "The Admiral." It's not that I hate getting a haircut. Really. I just hate doing anything where part of the protocol is something called "tipping my stylist." I'm having a hard enough time retaining my Man Card when the last three sodas I've had have all been Diet.


Sometimes I don't see why you'd want to listen to anything but JEW, Saves The Day and Coldplay. And it's good to know at least one Madpony girl agrees with me.

Basketball player in my Creative Writing class on Ernest Hemingway's short story "Hills Like White Elephants" yesterday: "Nothing's better for your relationship than getting drunk and talking about abortion." I wasn't drunk, but I did jokingly refer to their attitude toward their unborn child as "the catch and release program." Take THAT, anniversary of Roe V. Wade! ZING!

While I Was Sleeping: Trevor and Alecia were having what looks to be a kickin' RN Party. All I know is that when Trevor's psuedo-six-pack is involved, you can't NOT have a good time.



If more seventeen-year-old girls would make out with Holocaust survivors, the world would be a better place. I mean, can you imagine how different Elie Wiesel's Night would be?



Thanks to Meryl and The Carnival of the Vanities today is the all-time high for hits here at HFT. If these trends continue, we should top out at around 230 or so hits for Wednesday. To the slew of people who don't usually wonder around in here, I would promise you that I'm usually way more interesting than this. But there's the archive link over at right, so you can immediately disprove my hypothesis. Although I encourage you to do so, leaving as many comments, e-mails, links, and Indecent Proposals as you can in the process. Go now.

What do you mean you're not reading Katie Hall's blog? What? That's the dumbest excuse I've ever heard.

1/21/2003

I got four hours of sleep last night and then I kicked the gym's ass this evening, so I only have a few things to say before I collapse in a lump:



Carnival of the Vanities #18 is up on Meryl Yourish's blog. It's sort of like a blog mix-tape of sorts, this being the eighteenth tape in the series. And guess who's the opening track? Thanks, Meryl.

Also: Hosemonster is a king among men.

That is all.

1/20/2003

Nicole: Ha. I notice that after that entry about possibly writing more honest entries, and everyone commenting about how they want you to write honest entries, you wrote two almost completely de-personalized ones.
Nicole: Hurrah!
Aperockets: ha. I didn't notice that
Aperockets: That's awesome
Aperockets: Take THAT, audience!
I'm tired of reading and talking about the war in Iraq, there's going to be one, it's going to be bad. Because it's a war, and wars are bad. Wars are not things to be entered into lightly, wars cost money, time, and the lives of soldiers and civilians. But it's going to happen, and when it does, I will shed no tear for Saddam. I'd say he's earned it.



And I'd say 5,000 Kurds would agree with me, if they hadn't been gassed by Saddam in a "Chemical Readiness Test" back in 1988 while 495,000 of their countrymen had the comparable privilege of merely being rounded up and slaughtered. The distant relatives of those people might agree with me, if their speaking up wouldn't get them tossed in an acid bath by Saddam's henchman. The families of Israelis murdered in suicide bombings would probably agree with me, too. You'd probably feel the same if your child died after some maniac blew himself up in a bus station, lodging nails and glass in your kid's flesh, and then you found out that the family of that maniac was getting twenty-five thousand dollars US from Iraq for strapping the bomb to his chest in the first place.

The guy wants to bring these spread these dubious diplomatic practices all over the world. And he's not even sticking with his old methods. He is seeking the means to perpetrate his acts of unspeakable evil in a new venue: ours. It's not that he wants to. It's that he keeps actively trying to find ways to do it. And that's why he has to be dealt with.

Said Donovan, in response to the previous post:

You're quite the war-mongering fascist for someone who has never lived through or seen a war. Be careful who you accuse of being self-righteous...


Ah, what a brave new world this is where supporting the military disposal of a real-life war-mongering fascist MAKES you a war-mongering fascist. These are some heady times, friends. Note that I stopped short of calling anyone against the war in Iraq a ideologically opportunistic lilly-livered Euro-bitch. War is hell. There are people with principled objections to bombing Baghdad (Radley Balko, one of my favorite bloggers, for one). I don't share those views. Although somehow being strongly in favor of taking out one of the world's bloodiest dictators makes me just as bad as the guy I want to fight. Maybe better word choice might be in order next time.

This isn't directly related, but it's brilliantly done: ANSWER was in charge of organizing many of this weekend's largest protests. They're a front group for a huge socialist organization, an organization that's come out directly in favor of well-intentioned socialism's greatest hits, like Tianenmen Square, Kim Jong-Il's regime, and Yugoslavian ethnic cleansing. Some, shall we say, interesting points are made pertaining to this fact here.

Well, that's enough pontificating for one evening. Sleep well and have a pleasant tomorrow.

1/19/2003

All-time record hits today, thanks to totally unexpected, make-my-morning linkage from Mike at Cold Fury, combined with the fact that I'm still inexplicably at the top of Tony Pierce's page. Tony's also added Goldstein and Trevor to his permalinks. Damn, we comin' up in the world. Before you know it we could be the JV version of all those LA bloggers that seem to know each other. Except, without all that...what's it called...oh yea. Talent.


It seems the news talked about nothing this weekend but the worldwide anti-war demonstrations. If nothing else, at least one thing they can shut up about now is the "silencing of dissent." Yea, you wish. Thousands of people take to the streets, some of them with signs depicting our president in Hitler garb. The news media freely (in some cases, gleefully) reports it. Man, the military-industrial complex really needs to light a fire under the Dept. Of Muzzling Alternative Viewpoints, because they're doing a really shitty job.

I may have to mention here that I have a distaste for shrill, self-righteous, self-important opportunistic reverse-racist anti-war scensters who are in it for the revolutionary chic. Maybe it's from one too many ska shows spoiled by smelly kids with jackets safety-pinned to the hilt with clever slogans. No, I don't think dissent should be silenced. But they could at least have the courtesy to Lysol the protest ground afterwards.
I had three Blogger "edit your blog" windows open. Three. I'd keep opening them and getting distracted. Then I finally clicked one, and started writing about how I had three Blogger windows open. Three. Then Internet Explorer crashed. Fuck this shit. Let's revert back to buggy-whips and quill pens. Why the hell not.

Although then again, you could never have AIM conversations with two girls who just moved into a new townhouse, one of whom is drunk as drunk can be and another one who's just tipsy enough to be interestingly confrontational.




Aperockets: We write for different reasons. You write to get your thoughts and feelings out and just document things. I write for an audience. You may be envious of my clever little entries, but I guarantee yours is far more honest
Nicole: You're definitely right about that one.
Nicole: You should write more honest entires. I'd be interested to see what those are like.


Yea. Me too.