substitute

When your preset synth track is played at 48K instead of 44.1K, do not attempt to play bravely through. No one and no thing can save you.

If the Medical Establishment doesn't get its ass in gear by about, oh, noon tomorrow and deal with my problem I am going to carry out the first completely left-handed mass murder in history. Currently I have had no useful help from my "primary" internal medicine physician, a physical therapy clinic, a neurologist, and a pharmacy. My best improvements have come from Home Science investigating my shoulder and what makes it feel better. I have, I think, successfully diagnosed a rotator cuff inflammation or tear. If they'd just fucking tell me whether it's a tear or not I'd write them a check.

Last week the neurologist, who is currently "investigating" me and ordered the MRI, was out of town. No one told me this and I was leaving increasingly testy messages on his scheduler's voicemail. She didn't call me back. Finally I called the internal medicine office, because he'd said: If they don't call back, don't worry. The doctor is great but the office is a nightmare. Call me. Two minutes after that call, the schedule for the neurologist called me back. Why is this all being done Soviet style?

Currently I am self-medicating with alcohol. Yes, I know that's stupid. Tomorrow I shall explain to any doctor who answers or returns my calls that I am sliding into Under the Volcano and I need either medically approved relief or a plan for fixing the problem: preferably necessarily both.

Otherwise I will show up wild-eyed and unshaven at the emergency room demanding some combination of opiates, steroids, acupuncture, inaccupuncture. sodomy, and surgery. I've had it! So, it'll be fixed I'm sure.

Finally I'd like to say that I have only been reading back a screen or so a day of the LJ because after I've done work and blathered my own posts and had 8.9 margaritas and hugged the cat I still can't do that much web browsing without flailing and moaning in pain. Yes, that's self-pity. Yes, it's for real.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: bodies are overrated.

My shoulder is trashed. It really hurts, just about all the time. Doctor on Friday. I feel like an idiot for not going weeks ago when it wasn't that bad. I hope I don't have double secret rotator cuff explosion requiring Civil War surgery with a saw.

I have a bad habit of doing the boiled frog and making something like this normal until I suddenly realize that it's very abnormal. In this case I was feeling a bit nauseated from pain and unable to find a comfortable position ever before I called the doctor. Doh.

Ow ow, OW.

Going from a half dose of two antidepressants to no dose of any antidepressant is a ride. And by "ride" I mean "rusty Tilt-A-Swing-A-Clank-A-Whirl operated by carnies at the County Fair."

I woke up at 3:30 pm today feeling hung over. The day went slowly for three hours while caffeine and my last remaining head pill (Adderall) took effect and I got some minor stuff done and dorked. I showered, felt better, and needed to go for groceries; my brother was arriving for a visit for a few days and a full larder was a necessity.

Then I went to Trader Joes to get food. As I was checking out my stuff I got the sweats, blurry vision, stomach upset, headache, and total exhaustion. It was like a sugar low plus jet lag plus the flu, all at once.

I made it home, stuffed the freezer and fridge things in their place, and told my brother and mom that there was easy food there for them to eat. I then drank a liter of Orangina and ate some yogurt and collapsed.

There's a Dead Man's Party in my hippocampus and you're all invited!

One of our internal webservers at the office blew up. It's an intricate and bizarre hack on a little-used platform, and we're terrified of it dying because our knowledge of the internals is bad. I was pretty sad about it, and especially so because I had to fix it.

A careful search of the internet found a mailing list thread in which many, many other people had the same problem, all starting after 2006-05-12.

The thread starts here: http://www.mail-archive.com/aolserver@listserv.aol.com/msg09812.html

What turned out to be the problem? All these systems failed at the same time, exactly one billion seconds before the 32-bit Unix epoch ends in 2038. The timeouts set for database threads caused the software to look ahead, gasp in horror and died.

Ladies and gentlemen I'm in a select club of the first victims of the Year 2038 Bug.

My job is weird.

My Indian/Arabic Beauty - m4w - 28
Reply to: pers-160362531@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-05-13, 4:36AM PDT

Who are you? I ask myself. It was just another Friday; bunch of friends hanging out, hoping to meet that one person that will change their lives but knowing that most likely that would not happen. Because of this, expectations were low and passing time was the goal. The first 2 hours played out as expected: the conventional few drinks and common questions. How’s your week? Is your boss still a prick? What’s your plan for tomorrow?

I was about to call it a night, when I decided to get my last drink at the Shark’s Club. Then it happened. That moment that will cause me to stay up till 3 AM and write this letter.

As I waited to order my drink, I bumped into you at the bar. Even though shy by nature, I felt compelled to at least say one phrase to you. Maybe; hi, how are you? To be honest, I don’t remember what was said, but I knew we hit it off instantly as we began to talk about favorite alcoholic beverages. You, I presumed are a Coke and Vodka fan. You asked me to share a drink and I refused at first since I was the designated driver for the night. But your easy-going personality and mixed Indian and Arabic beauty gave me no choice but to relent. As we continued the generalities of an introduction, the connection became stronger. You know that feeling that this might be more than just coincident. Maybe this will go beyond the casual encounter.
I mentioned to you that my favorite concoction was a Jaegermeister and a Red Bull mix and you laughed. Some may take it as nothing more than impoliteness; however, I felt totally connected. It’s that feeling that you might have found that one person that will at least be worth a second or third date. I decided to introduce you to my buddy and he thought you were cool. Maybe too cool since you scared away the girl that he was hitting on. We began to talk and you mentioned that you like trance music and you were going to a place called Avalon in LA tomorrow. Where is Avalon I would normally ask? However, it turns out my buddy knows the place and had planned for us go there tomorrow. Ask I stared at you again, I kept on thinking about that magic word that people always use: connection. You made fun of me and I thought how cool. What girl makes fun of a guy at first sight and drags him out to the dance floor? Still half dazed and confused, we went to meet your friends on the dance floor. But as fate would have it, as we move through the crowded joint, we got separated.

Believe me when I tell you that I frantically searched every corner for you. Maybe it was only a few minutes; maybe more, however, it felt like an eternity trying to find you. During that time, part of me imagined that you too are also looking for me. But the pessimistic side said: bad omen. Here comes another Friday: one where frustration rules and hook-up with the wrong person is the norm. Eventually, I saw you again near the bar, talking to two other guys: one shaved and looking like he served our country well. My heart dropped: a precipitous fall from its once high. We eventually made eye contact but instead of coming back to me, as I would have wished, you continued to talk to the interloper. Believe me, when I say, my whole being just wanted to approach the player and kick his ass; however, some stupid moral constraint prevented me from doing the instinctive.

Here I stand, in a state of denial; unable to cope with the loss of the Indian/Arabic beauty that haunts my sleep; angry at her for not reciprocating my desire for her and worst failing to get her number. It’s now 3 AM and I am writing this letter in hopes that YOU somehow get this message and write back. I know it is a small chance, but what alternative to do I have?

* this is in or around Costa Mesa
* no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Laptop use is popular on the outdoor patio at Diedrich, especially since the free wifi went in. There's only a couple of working plugs at one end of the place, so people who want to sit elsewhere have brought in an indoor/outdoor extension cord. It usually snakes through the bushes and over to the other side and sits near a table.

And then it rains, and the end of the extension cord sits in a puddle. And then a partial solution occurs, kinda at the wrong end for a solution. Yes, I did go unplug it after I shot this.

Russia Produces 7 Foot Tall, 323 lb Boxing Champion



Thanks to do_not_lick