I've Been A Baaaaad Boy

Boy-o, did I ever make a mistake, locking myself out of the condo Thursday night. I know better than that, dammit, Jim. That led to my getting rather intoxicated, as I simply had to show my appreciation to the landlord for driving over from across town with his spare key. I was working on my sixth Redhook ESB (thanks again to Sallyh!) when this occurred (go figure -- mitigating factors, an' wot!), but the landlord had no plans for the evening, so I lent him the 4th season of The Sopranos (as he'd only seen seasons 1-3), and off we went to Brewhouse West. He only let me buy him one beer, but still... stoopit, stoopit, stoopit.

I woke up Friday morning feelin' like I'd been et by a goat, and shit over a cliff. See how blurry Curly looks? Yeah, it was that bad.

The worst part of it is that it so fucked up my sleep cycle... I couldn't sleep until some of that buzz metabolized, this I knew. So I was awake until 4 a.m., drinking water and watching a DVD on the Shouty-Crackers Coalition notebook. SO, I didn't roll outta the rack until almosy 11 a.m., and I really wanted to die, right then and there. Even now, it's Saturday morning 8 a.m. -- I didn't sleep last night. I just stayed up, as tired as I am, I couldn't sleep last night, either. My internal clock is AFU, so now I'm gonna try to tough it out, maybe head to the library around 9 a.m. I'm sure I'll need a nap soon enough, but I gotta try to get back on the day shift before Monday. Lookin' for work is much more effective when you're up with the roosters, and I've traditionally been an early riser these last three years, so... back on track, you besotten ol' hillbilly! :)

After re-hydration, coffee and a nosh, I was bound and determined to add insult to my self-inflicted injury, as pennance of a sort, I suppose. I hit the ground runnin', starting off with some house cleaning and relocating some winter-friendly clothing that I had stored away. Then, I did four loads of laundry (yeah, I know... I'd put it off, 'cause the sheer amount of quarters it takes, well... it ain't easy bein' broke, sometimes, and even when I have the money, I usually have to go to the bank to buy a roll of quarters, 'cause neither nor Aldi like to part with 'em beyond perhaps $2 increments, i.e., one load of laundry, assuming I don't put some of those coins in a bad pony).

The laundry-doin' gave me time to chew through another 60-odd pages of John W. Dean's Conservatives Without Conscience. If you haven't read it, seek it out -- I got it via the library. It's quite disturbing, and well-researched; there are well-reasoned empirical conclusions in this book that absolutely match observations I've made in my own interactions with certain people, and now I feel as if I understand them better for having read most of this book. It's taking me a while, in addition to flipping back to Dean's notes at the end of the book, I'm also scribbling down my own notes for what ought to be a huge review/post coming soon (so I'll save the meatier discussion for that... aw, shit -- didn't I just promise the other day I wasn't going to start writing on this here bloggie...?), although I'm sure Glenn Greenwald's version will have already been the last word anyone will ever need on the topic. There are things in here that scare the ever-lovin' shit out of me -- some of Dean's summations of the psychological research and analyses have made some of my vaguely disconnected and troubled thoughts and observations about how this country got where we are today, and why we got here, have just completed for me the cognitive equivalent of a monsterous jigsaw puzzle. And I gotta tell you: Me no likee the Big Picture. Greenwald and Dean are warning us all, from every walk and political stripe -- if we fail to listen, and understand (and SOON!), we're truly fucked, ruined, done. They've both confirmed the diagnosis, and in their respective books, they present us with all the radiology images and test results. If we don't seek treatment, the patient is gonna fuckin' die of an opportunistic infection.

On a happier note, now... :)

As you may have read, the Toshi hard drive issue is resolved, and what that means to you is -- that's right -- more Curly videos! Yes, the clip archive just more than doubled (UPDATE: Not really. Just by 45-50% Library's connection is being a dick, and I haven't been able to upload all what I expected on one battery charge. Soon!). Now obviously, these are clips that you may have seen before... some of them go back even to the old Modblog days (*yak*).

More importantly, I recovered Soprano's three kitty vidclips, my tribute to my dear, departed B.B., and good photos of Curly's godparents, Erica and J.J. (taken at a tailgating party prior to the January, 2003 NFL playoff game betwixt the Pittsburgh Squealers and the Flaming Thumbtacks -- oh hell yeah, the Titans won... I've never seen them lose a game in that stadium! How do you think I kept getting invited by those season ticket holders? NFL fans are infamously superstitious...).

Oh -- when I put up this morning's obligatory Curly post, I also grabbed a few threads you-know-where, and saw that my favorite CaliCurlyQGal was back from surgery, and headin' for some (possibly pharmacologically-assisted) sleep. See? I knew she didn't have a bum ticker -- that dick of a cardiodoc can bite my shiny metal ass for makin' me worry over nothin'. The only thang worse than a ReNAMBLAcan who thinks they know everythang is a specialist who KNOWS they know everythang. :) Of course, those dickity-docs are ReNAMBLAcans, too, being "high SDOs," as Pratto and Sidanius would say.
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