chai-yok
I wonder how this compares to the dukhan.
From Riley.
Friday, December 31, 2010
By Any Other Name
To make copies at my college library, you had to sign out a little box that counted the number of pages. One day, just to amuse myself, I started using aliases: Fred Astaire, Lucille Ball, John Wayne Gacy. I was mildly disappointed when no one seemed to notice. So much for starting a trend.
More than 20 years later, I'm still at it, but the names have gotten a little more creative. If, in your travels through cyberspace, you come across a comment by any of the following, you can be pretty sure it's me. Especially if the comment is inappropriate.
Shaniqua Merriweather Post
Sonny von Droolow
F. Squat Pissgerald
Atticus Flinch, Esq.
Cookie Crackhouse
Lois Lame
Forrest Gimp
The Harlot Gimpernel
Justin Gimperlake
Ashtina Cripplegate
Paraplegis Philbin
Nancy Boy Grace
Closemary Rooney
Halista Clockfart
Perv Griffin
Perry Homo
Dizzi Arnaz
Bling Crosby
Bob Hopeless
Joyce DeWitless
Mario Van Feebles
Rev. Fairy Fallwell
Rev. Anal Roberts
Bentdick XVI
More than 20 years later, I'm still at it, but the names have gotten a little more creative. If, in your travels through cyberspace, you come across a comment by any of the following, you can be pretty sure it's me. Especially if the comment is inappropriate.
Shaniqua Merriweather Post
Sonny von Droolow
F. Squat Pissgerald
Atticus Flinch, Esq.
Cookie Crackhouse
Lois Lame
Forrest Gimp
The Harlot Gimpernel
Justin Gimperlake
Ashtina Cripplegate
Paraplegis Philbin
Nancy Boy Grace
Closemary Rooney
Halista Clockfart
Perv Griffin
Perry Homo
Dizzi Arnaz
Bling Crosby
Bob Hopeless
Joyce DeWitless
Mario Van Feebles
Rev. Fairy Fallwell
Rev. Anal Roberts
Bentdick XVI
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Overheard at the Lake
Dan, scanning a shelf: My god, they already have the George Bush book. George W. Fuckhouse Bush.
Overheard by: Miriam Webster
Overheard by: Miriam Webster
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Out in the Cold
When I was first diagnosed, I walked around thinking: Oh my god, I’m dying! How can that be? It seemed surreal, because I looked and felt in great health. Barely 30, I’d been a gym habitué for years. I ate well, got enough sleep, and spent most of my waking hours in some type of motion. Furthermore, the timing and setting were all wrong: I’d just moved to San Francisco to be with Dan. It was scenic, sunny, beautiful. We were always biking and hiking. He was teaching me racquetball. It only began to sink in when I picked up my tennis racket for the first time in ages and discovered that I could barely hit the ball across the court.
You can’t really function with your head on the executioner’s block – at least I couldn’t – and the sense of immediacy gradually grew duller. I don’t live in denial; it’s more a state of deliberate myopia. At any given point in my progression, I’ve been grudgingly okay with the status quo, but I’ve trained myself not to contemplate the future. It’s a dark and scary place for me; even brief glimpses spark anxiety and depression. Better to focus on the present and count my blessings, something I rarely did before ALS.
Myopia might not be an option if my progression weren’t so slow. As it is, I often have the sense that my deterioration has plateaued. But whenever I’m lulled into cozy complacency, ALS has a way of bitch-slapping me back to reality and reminding me who’s running this ride.
The week before last, I caught a cold. Normally I’m not too aware of the decline in my breathing and swallowing, but the moment I got a little phlegmy it became uncomfortably apparent how compromised both were. With an easily blocked airway, clearing my throat became an exercise in terror, and what would have been a moderate annoyance for a healthy person proved truly harrowing for me – and a humbling reminder of my ever-increasing frailty.
I’m all better now. Well, not all better, but over my cold.
You can’t really function with your head on the executioner’s block – at least I couldn’t – and the sense of immediacy gradually grew duller. I don’t live in denial; it’s more a state of deliberate myopia. At any given point in my progression, I’ve been grudgingly okay with the status quo, but I’ve trained myself not to contemplate the future. It’s a dark and scary place for me; even brief glimpses spark anxiety and depression. Better to focus on the present and count my blessings, something I rarely did before ALS.
Myopia might not be an option if my progression weren’t so slow. As it is, I often have the sense that my deterioration has plateaued. But whenever I’m lulled into cozy complacency, ALS has a way of bitch-slapping me back to reality and reminding me who’s running this ride.
The week before last, I caught a cold. Normally I’m not too aware of the decline in my breathing and swallowing, but the moment I got a little phlegmy it became uncomfortably apparent how compromised both were. With an easily blocked airway, clearing my throat became an exercise in terror, and what would have been a moderate annoyance for a healthy person proved truly harrowing for me – and a humbling reminder of my ever-increasing frailty.
I’m all better now. Well, not all better, but over my cold.
Monday, December 06, 2010
My Favorite Toy
A year ago today, we added a little Sparkle to our lives. Since her actual birthday was a mystery, we decreed it to be December 6th. So today she's nine.
Normally we celebrate canine birthdays with cheeseburgers, but when we did so a couple of weeks ago in memory of Zap, Sparkle threw up. In the middle of the night. In my bed. So we'll see.
Photo by Danny Leibovitz.
Normally we celebrate canine birthdays with cheeseburgers, but when we did so a couple of weeks ago in memory of Zap, Sparkle threw up. In the middle of the night. In my bed. So we'll see.
Photo by Danny Leibovitz.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Friday, December 03, 2010
Little Riding Hoods
Suffice it to say, the bus was ruled by the law of the jungle: only the strongest and fastest survived. My generation never stormed the beaches of Normandy or got drafted to fight communism, but on that Twinkie-shaped nightmare we waged our own private Vietnam.
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