Get close up with ol’ McKlellen.
Day: May 21, 2010
Get your nether region tingly with this World Cup 3-minute spot
Nothin’ like Gary Oldman saying, “Have a nice weekend.”
Superstitions come from nights like last night
Last night was rough. Just ask Tina. She’ll tell you.
I’ve had a weird allergy-cold that I seem to get every fall/spring. This has been going on since I was a boy.
One of my worst memories was getting sick as a kid. My mom would get angry at me if I stuck my face out the back door on a cold rainy day. She was convinced that I would get a cold if I was exposed to cold.
Sure enough, if I got sick, she’d say, “See!”
Later when I would be hacking up a lung during the night, she would stand at my door and say, “Stop coughing. Turn on your side. STOP coughing!”
Through tears and the strain of mentally trying to shut down my respiratory system, I’d whimper, “I’m trying.”
Oh, the memories.
My allergies started again last Friday, and at first it blessed me with bumps on my face in the corners of my mouth and under my left eye. That subsided on Saturday and Sunday, but it was followed by a sore throat, stuffy nose, and now a cough.
Last night, we went to bed around 10:15. My nose was completely stuffed. I snorted some generic nasal spray. I fell asleep.
I started to dream I was in a rival gang against my brother Jon. Oddly enough, I was in an atheist gang and Jon was in Christian gang. In my gang, we had to teach a subordinate a lesson, so my friend Keith (who isn’t an atheist, but was in my gang) and I took the subordinate to a remote part of our territory and shot him. Our territory resembled a dream version of my high school. We shot him between these large curtains that separated the gym from the cafeteria.
I personally shot the subordinate with a hand gun. Blood splatter on my face didn’t wake me out of my dream.
After I gunned the guy down, I was in an argument with another rival gang lord named Greg, a guy I play pool with in real life, who had two of those tattoo tear shapes under one of his eyes, when all the sudden there was a loud alarm noise piercing through my through my ears.
I couldn’t figure out whether I was awake or dreaming, and the rush of reality was deceived by the dream I was having. I thought Greg — the scary rival gang guy — had cut the power to our condo. I was convinced at any moment, someone was going to burst through our bedroom door and hack Tina and I to death.
The alarms were still going off after a few seconds. My office has three battery powered surge protectors. All three going off is a cacophonous disaster.
In a panic, I woke Tina by pounding on her hip with my fingers bunched together, the fisting fist from pornos. If you looked at it from a distance, it kinda looks like a chicken pecking at the ground.
I was fisting Tina’s hip when she woke up.
One of the best things about Tina is how rational she is when I’m irrational, especially at night when I tend live between this world and one of complete irrationality. She explained calmly that the power had gone out and nothing else was wrong.
The power had in fact flickered back on within seconds. The surge protectors were quiet again. But I wouldn’t be satisfied until I checked my room, the locks, and the bathroom … to empty my bladder.
She was right. All was fine.
It was 1 a.m.
We started to go back to sleep. It was raining outside. The pitter patter eased me back to sleep.
Around 2 a.m., the power went out again. This time, it wasn’t going back on. That means I have about 30 minutes to turn everything off, which takes about 15 minutes. This time, I didn’t make Tina go with me. I went and found a flashlight and started turning everything off.
When I settled back into bed, Tina and I could hear people seemingly out in the rain having a hoopla of a conversation. It was mildly disturbing. I was tempted to turn on my iPhone white noise, but I decided against it.
We fell back asleep. I flipped the switch on a fan beside my bedside table to wake me up when the power turned back on.
My fan came on at 3 a.m. I turned it off. I went back to sleep.
Around 4 a.m., I woke up coughing. It was irritating me, and I’m sure it was irritating Tina. I got up for a cough drop. It subsided.
I laid down again. We could hear — through our closed bedroom window — our next door neighbor arguing with what seemed like her ex-husband. They were discussing custody of their children. If they weren’t, this was the story I had determined in my head.
There’s an element of misunderstanding when you hear an argument through a pain of glass.
At 5 a.m., I woke up coughing so badly, I moved to the couch, where I woke up at 9:15.
I made tea, and brought Tina a cup. She was still sleeping with a pair of sleep goggles over her lids.
I told her, “I feel groggy.”
She said, “I feel hungover.”
We’re like zombies today. I passed her in the hallway a few minutes ago. She was carrying her teacup like a limb that had fallen off. I was dragging my left leg like I was in the Thriller video. She moaned as I passed.
As I passed gas.
Honk.
Happy Friday.
Running With Chicken (Based on the movie Precious based on the novel Push by Sapphire)[youtube
Garfunkel and Oates (Riki Lindhome and Kate Micucci) perform on song based on the scene in Precious where she steals the bucket of chicken and runs off with it.
Hey! Is that Gillian Jacobs from the Community running with chicken in a few shots? I think it might be. The director should have done a better job establishing whoever it is, because she’s too close in blonde hair color and length to the blonde singer lady. Oates, is it? Who cares. They both please my palate.
ENTIRE AFTERMATH OF THE ATTACKS ON LARS VILKS
From Wikipedia:
Muslim protesters assaulted Vilks while he was giving a lecture about free speech at Uppsala University. The attacks started when a film about Islam and homosexuality that had been banned from YouTube was shown. The film in question was Iranian artist Sooreh Hera‘s Allah ho gaybar. Vilks’ glasses were broken but he did not suffer any serious injuries, and was escorted to safety by security, while a few of the protesters were detained by police. Despite previous death threats, this was the first time violence against Vilks occurred.[16]
A few days later, on 15 May 2010, Vilks’ house in southern Sweden was attacked by arsonists.[17] They smashed the windows and threw in bottles of gasoline.[17] There was a small fire, but the house was not burned to the ground. Vilks was not at home at the time of the attack.[17] Two men have been arrested.[18]
Le Café Wittypoots 