Good day, everyone on my buddy list! Enjoy your free penis!
Person 1: wtf
Person 1: ...thanks, I guess
Person 1: >_>
WMX: I felt like everyone needed a little more penis in their day today.
Person 1: is it a chocolate penis?
WMX: It is REDEEMABLE for a chocolate penis. One-for-one at your local peniseria.
Person 1: aww man
Person 1: Bozeman doesn't have a peniseria
Person 1: when does it expire?
WMX: Uhm... it's good for the rest of the year, I think.
WMX: Nope, read that wrong. All penises expire in 2012.
Person 1: oh good
Person 1: so I can get it at Christmas
WMX: Yep.
WMX: With the crazy holiday deals they do, you might be able to redeem it for TWO chocolate penises.
Person 1: or maybe an eggnog flavored one!
WMX: Or a chocolate one with eggnog in it.
Person 1: ooo
Person 1: or
Person 1: just maybe
Person 1: there will be leftover pumpkin pie ones from thanksgiving
WMX: Oh. I've actually GOT an apple pie one if you want that now. But I'm gonna need that penis back if you take it.
Person 1: nah, I hate apple pie
WMX: Well, then keep your penis until you can reach a penis dispensary where you can redeem it for the penis of your choice.
Person 1: I'll do that
Person 1: thanks
Person 1: :P
Person 2: wow! thanks, D! I've always wanted a free penis.
WMX: I felt like everyone needed a little more penis in their day today.
Person 2: good thinking. I sure did.
WMX: Well, I'm glad you enjoy your penis.
WMX: Bobby's holding onto his until he can redeem it for a chocolate penis.
Person 2: he says you have an apple pie one
Person 2: can I have that one?
Person 2: I LOVE apple pie
WMX: If I give it to you, I'm gonna need the first one back.
WMX: I'm not MADE of penis, you know.
Person 2: aww
Person 2: I can't have two?
WMX: Well, where would you put the first one while you're working on the second?
Person 2: hmm, good point. I guess I'm being greedy
Person 2: well, I like apple pie, so I'll trade you, then
WMX: I mean, maybe if you come around later I can slip you some extra penis under the table.
WMX: But for right now, I'll trade you up.
Person 2: sweet. maybe I'll come back later, too, then
Person 2: ^_^
Person 3: <-_-> mass messages, really?
Monday, April 13, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
So my dad broke his leg... again.
What's funny about it is I know exactly what he was there to do, so I have a pretty good play-by-play of what happened tonight. Somehow, it came up in conversation over dinner what he was doing tonight. It was an odd case in an odd location, so everything about tonight has been strange. First of all, he had to open and close, but not actually perform a surgery himself. A neurologist had to perform spinal surgery on a patient from the anterior (read: "front"), because a POSTERIOR entry had somehow been rendered impossible. What that basically means is, someone (i.e., my dad) had to open the body up and essentially move all the guts out of the way so the performing doc could get at the spine. Also, dad was doing this at Glendale Memorial in a strange twist of events, which is a place he basically NEVER does cases. So already, this was a very strange one for him.
Anyway, he's about to open like he's supposed to, but somehow, while moving the patient, he managed to be on his knees by the slab. One of the docs in there managed to step on dad's leg while he was in a kneeling position, and crack.
But he was able to get his bit done, at least, so the neuro doc could get to work while they blitzed dad to imaging to X-ray his leg. Sure enough, it's broken. That's when he calls my sister to tell her the happy news, saying he needs his moon boot for support, as well as his walker and wheelchair. So my car's all out of gas and we didn't have time to stop, so we hijack my mom's car and put the equiment in. Now, we weren't sure exactly how sneaky we needed to be, so we both got our badges (my employee badge and her RN student badge), and I found a Glendale Memorial scrub shirt that didn't fit me. I gave it to Julia for some extra James Bond disguise factor (just in case security didn't acquiesce to our request to rescue someone who was saving someone's life. People can be stupid.)
We motored. Fortunately, we didn't HAVE to be spies, but we were worried that we might. But we made it to the reception desk and security made a quick call. They sent us on up. Anyway, we delivered the package and saw dad. He was okay, and didn't appear even to be in any pain. He just wanted his moon boot for support. As soon as he got it on, he hobbled back to OR on his walker like it was no big thang. So Julia's there with him now, and I came back to pick up Ray. Now we're just waiting for him to finish up.
Creepy parallel to my own life: the first and second times he broke his leg are like the first and second times I broke my arm. The first time was due to the breakee's own stupidity and while dad broke both legs, I broke both bones in my arm. The second time was someone ELSE'S fault for knocking the breakee down, and only ONE thing was broken (my dad's worse leg, my radius).
Spooky.
Anyway, he's about to open like he's supposed to, but somehow, while moving the patient, he managed to be on his knees by the slab. One of the docs in there managed to step on dad's leg while he was in a kneeling position, and crack.
But he was able to get his bit done, at least, so the neuro doc could get to work while they blitzed dad to imaging to X-ray his leg. Sure enough, it's broken. That's when he calls my sister to tell her the happy news, saying he needs his moon boot for support, as well as his walker and wheelchair. So my car's all out of gas and we didn't have time to stop, so we hijack my mom's car and put the equiment in. Now, we weren't sure exactly how sneaky we needed to be, so we both got our badges (my employee badge and her RN student badge), and I found a Glendale Memorial scrub shirt that didn't fit me. I gave it to Julia for some extra James Bond disguise factor (just in case security didn't acquiesce to our request to rescue someone who was saving someone's life. People can be stupid.)
We motored. Fortunately, we didn't HAVE to be spies, but we were worried that we might. But we made it to the reception desk and security made a quick call. They sent us on up. Anyway, we delivered the package and saw dad. He was okay, and didn't appear even to be in any pain. He just wanted his moon boot for support. As soon as he got it on, he hobbled back to OR on his walker like it was no big thang. So Julia's there with him now, and I came back to pick up Ray. Now we're just waiting for him to finish up.
Creepy parallel to my own life: the first and second times he broke his leg are like the first and second times I broke my arm. The first time was due to the breakee's own stupidity and while dad broke both legs, I broke both bones in my arm. The second time was someone ELSE'S fault for knocking the breakee down, and only ONE thing was broken (my dad's worse leg, my radius).
Spooky.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Daily Dose of Dave 2.0 #1
Back when I used Livejournal for anything significant, I had a feature called the "Daily Dose of Dave". It was a means by which I made myself write daily, even if it was just a few words about absolutely nothing. Sometimes my posts were even about the act of posting itself, or why I was almost about to not post.
Though I keep a writing journal, and like a proper writer I do write every day, I figure it's time again to be a whore and show people what I come up with, random thoughts though they may be.
You'll notice that there's a post here from months ago, when this son of a bitch was new. I had originally intended to post my process narrative for TGSR here, but as I updated it, I decided I liked more and more the idea that it'd be a "special feature" for any potential published version of TGSR. If that's what people want, then okay.
What is a process narrative, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did. A "process narrative" is a tool I was taught to use as a writer growing up in the mean streets of Los Angeleez. (Okay, I learned about it during my short stint in Northridge, but that is completely nonsequitary.) The short explanation for it is, "it's the story of the story." It's something like a progress report and something like a mission journal, talking about everything that went into creating a thing, and what was going on that affected its creation. The first one I ever wrote was for a short story that I created for a narrative writing class, incidentally the class whose teacher told me about the concept of the process narrative. Said narrative ended up being roughly as long as the story itself.
I made an interesting discovery there -- that it seems like I'm writing process narratives more than I write finished works. Like, there's that thing that I've more or less been working on since high school, the core continuity of which I have revamped more often than DC Comics has used the word "Crisis". I'm often writing character profiles and stray thoughts about the thing, including the drastic changes I've made since the project's inception. But only now and then do I write any of it out. Sure, here and there I have a fairly complete idea for a scene and I go about scripting it, but overall it feels like once I start writing in earnest, I will not be allowed to stop. So I don't begin until I feel I have the time and freedom to write it in earnest -- which I don't, or don't feel I do.
It feels instead like architecture; like I need to draw all the blueprints and test all the physics and clear with all the contractors and get every last tiny detail out of the way before I can lay a single brick. And that's only partially due to "launch anxiety". The rest of it has to do with how drastically the project as a whole has changed over the years. Yes, it changes to be light-years better than it was previously, but the fact is that it changes. I might start something and get a thousand pages into it, then decide I have a whole new idea about the entire thing and scrap it all. It is an irksome thought.
Though I keep a writing journal, and like a proper writer I do write every day, I figure it's time again to be a whore and show people what I come up with, random thoughts though they may be.
You'll notice that there's a post here from months ago, when this son of a bitch was new. I had originally intended to post my process narrative for TGSR here, but as I updated it, I decided I liked more and more the idea that it'd be a "special feature" for any potential published version of TGSR. If that's what people want, then okay.
What is a process narrative, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did. A "process narrative" is a tool I was taught to use as a writer growing up in the mean streets of Los Angeleez. (Okay, I learned about it during my short stint in Northridge, but that is completely nonsequitary.) The short explanation for it is, "it's the story of the story." It's something like a progress report and something like a mission journal, talking about everything that went into creating a thing, and what was going on that affected its creation. The first one I ever wrote was for a short story that I created for a narrative writing class, incidentally the class whose teacher told me about the concept of the process narrative. Said narrative ended up being roughly as long as the story itself.
I made an interesting discovery there -- that it seems like I'm writing process narratives more than I write finished works. Like, there's that thing that I've more or less been working on since high school, the core continuity of which I have revamped more often than DC Comics has used the word "Crisis". I'm often writing character profiles and stray thoughts about the thing, including the drastic changes I've made since the project's inception. But only now and then do I write any of it out. Sure, here and there I have a fairly complete idea for a scene and I go about scripting it, but overall it feels like once I start writing in earnest, I will not be allowed to stop. So I don't begin until I feel I have the time and freedom to write it in earnest -- which I don't, or don't feel I do.
It feels instead like architecture; like I need to draw all the blueprints and test all the physics and clear with all the contractors and get every last tiny detail out of the way before I can lay a single brick. And that's only partially due to "launch anxiety". The rest of it has to do with how drastically the project as a whole has changed over the years. Yes, it changes to be light-years better than it was previously, but the fact is that it changes. I might start something and get a thousand pages into it, then decide I have a whole new idea about the entire thing and scrap it all. It is an irksome thought.
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