Under anesthetic, subdivided and synthetic

The headline: Death gotta play in Xinjiang, Guangdong 85-80 win boxing fans riot Charles Citation.

A slightly more coherent version: an American basketball player playing in the Chinese Basketball Association gets a teeny-tiny head-butt-tap (no, seriously, check the video) from opponent Du Feng and decides that if you're going to bring the physical, do it proper. At which point he punches him into next week. (Du Feng is mildly concussed, which isn't bad considering how bad the video looks.)

The surprising thing, though? The guy who threw the punch? Not Kevin Garnett.

Today can't end soon enough.

As per usual, please don't mistake any of these for original content; if so moved, you should be able to track down the origins of at least half with a click or two. Most come courtesy social aggregator sites, link-dumps, various dark and salacious undersides of the various Internets. One pic from People of Walmart comes courtesy beagle1971; I knew Steve was on his way back, but I'm glad he's getting some shopping in first. Some history, rote macros, two pages from the classic The Caterer, a familiar face or two. Enjoy. Or don't. ( 54 pics below.... )

A particularly powerful 90-second advertisement dramatizing the effect of motor neurone disease has been kept off the air in Britain. Not because of the violent way the actress in the beginning is slammed against the wall or her body twisted or her clothes torn off, but because of one lingering shot in the ad's closing of the atrophied limbs of Sarah Ezekiel's real body.

Since you won't be allowed to see it on the airwaves (is that an antiquated expression now?), see it online.

Because it bears repeating: bring me the skull of Norv Turner.

Sadly, this is the worst possible outcome of the season -- good enough to keep Turner around, bad enough to be unacceptable. Grrgh. Still, good luck Steelers and all the birdie-teams.

Today's Woot is a 4GB Sansa MP3 player. I got one the last time around and it's been rugged and reliable (even though I've dropped it onto the pavement -- twice -- and left some nasty marks in it). My only problem with it is that it's a refurb, and it drew blood.

Yes, those two points are related.

The back of the unit came with the letters "REFURB" attached in either a solid thin plastic or metal, I'm not sure which. I didn't pay much attention to 'em. Turns out while I'm carrying the unit in my jeans pocket while going everywhere, the letters rubbed off. One of them -- I think it was an R -- attached itself to my multitool and waited for the moment to strike.

When I needed the multitool again -- as it turns out, for assembling another Woot -- I reached in and tried to grab the multitool, but somehow managed to embed the letter half-way into my thumb. No, no hyperbole -- literally, only half the letter was sticking out of my thumb. I honestly don't remember what I did with it. It's probably somewhere in the carpet, waiting to be discovered by my foot.

...But other than that, it works great. (And came in quite handy while cowering in the basement.)

The meds make life much, much more tolerable. Less coughing, much less aching. Just a period of profound nausea this morning, and that's still a hell of an upgrade. I think my long national nightmare might just be over and I'll have to find something else to whine about shortly. Tonight a bite-size picspam to celebrate. We may have seen some of these before. Blame the fever. (Also, Amy Winehouse is not really dead. Yet.) ( 24 pics below.... )

Fever over, I think. I never can tell. I have a shaky relationship with the digital thermometer. I'm not sure I've ever gotten an accurate reading from one. But I feel more coherent. Interestingly, when I'm sick, and I'm trying to sleep, instead of my thoughts randomizing (which I can recognize happening, now, and it's a comforting realization, because it means I'm almost asleep), apparently my brain makes formulas. Nonsensical algebraic formulas. Which it begins to autonomously factor and solve. And they were all about the presidential primary races. This is not sleep, this is work, and actually the entire process left me more exhausted than before. And convinced that it's Hillary vs. McCain in November and like you needed my demented feverish subconscious to tell you that at this stage in the game. We've got entire channels devoted specifically to more erudite and well-dressed demented feverish superconsciousnesses who all arrived at that train station a week ago.

Had some bread and noodles last night, first time in a few days. I can hear the little men in my stomach already deeply confused. ("Dude. Wait. This...what is this? Guys? Food? Is that us? I mean, are we sure this isn't for, like, the kidneys or something? Do we even do this? Really? Are you sure? I thought we were, like, the immune system or something. What? Bones? Seriously? Narrow bones? Oh. Marrow. Right. Whatever. But anyway, food? Really? Uhm, okay, if you say so. Do we...do we have, like, a manual for this? 'Cause I'm just kinda playing by ear, here. I got some bread now, and Carl, you know Carl, in the esophagus says there's going to be some noodles heading our way in about fifteen, so if we don't have a plan, we really need to come up with one real quick-like.") Still taking Tamiflu, even though its list of "adverse effects" make the flu seem somewhat relaxing. I do advise taking possible hallucinogenics and watching Pokémon, though. Sweet Jesus I have no idea whats going on OMG DID THAT PENGIN JUST TALK AND WADDLE OMG OMG MY HANDS THEYRE LARGER THAN MY MIND AIEEE.

All in all, I'd rather be at the dentist.

Am currently sick with Death. Can't cough or it feels like the top o'mah head coming off. Worked from home today, fixing more issues than I usually do while well. Not working tomorrow. At all. No e-mail, no nothing. I'm going to get some mileage out of my sick day. Do not want to shower work anymore with my germs. Well, actually, I could handle the guilt, but...but that's bad, I understand. Or have been told.

Finished Y: The Last Man today. Not what I expected. I think I'm pleasantly surprised. (I'm still a little disgruntled by the turns of the last storyline, but that's me for you. Disgruntled.)

Waiting for the Robitussin to kick in. It had a moon and stars on it. That's an unwritten promise of peace I want to cash in. Hrnm. HArd to tyiep nao. Iatjhink whatt my hands are a;like bdig floppy hams noow and maybeloishouldlie donw

So, is there a way I can summarize the Christmas party in a stolen-macro format and somehow summarize my ability to go uninjured for a significant length of time? ( Answer lurks below.... )

It's like the different part of my world are suddenly making sense....

Chronic pain has its own devastating side effects, even in the absence of medication. Sufferers of migraine headaches sometimes report a phenomenon that amounts to color-blindness. Jeff of the Omegaword blog explains that chronic pain has a peculiar way of removing color from the world. He poetically describes his experience of a reality in which all color has been erased by bursts of red:

“Red has never been my favorite color. Bolts of hot pain sear the world, leaving me colorblind but for the shards that stay behind — jagged red reminders of pain past, and pain yet to come. Through the window, beyond the mute interplay of light and shadow on a white kitchen wall, bare branches against a pale sky remind me that it’s all in my head. What color are light waves, anyway?”