whoa, Noah

it’s quarter of 4 and my nose and eyes are streaming in a fashion that recalls words like Epic, Biblical, and Whoa, Noah.  I would really like to give a more graphic description, as it is quite amusing, but it’s also grosser than hell.

NCIS all gone.  We are caught up to ‘real life’.  We’ll either go back to Homicide or  Buffy, and Jeff’s not too enthused about Buffy.  I’m kinda inclined to go straight to season 4, but there are some good ones along the way in s2 and s3.

Katie was supposed to come home last night, but phoned and advised that she’d changed her plans.

Eddie barfed on my bed.  I was hoping to let him come and sleep in my room, but that doesn’t seem wise. Getting a new mattress cover and sheets recently seems prescient.  I really miss Zeek! and Kira and the way they fawned on me is prob’ly now explained by my feverish warmth.

I made us pork roast and sauerkraut with tater tots, fried mushrooms and corn.  Jeff approved.

Not much to say

spent most of yesterday being and feeling ill, didn’t go to the con.  I ended up at Paul’s, thinking I was on my way to go filking, but that didn’t happen.  I was brought tea and had cats sit on and near me, which was therapeutic. Now I just feel grisly and overslept.

Keith tried to call me but I don’t pick up if I don’t recognize the number.  Sure wish that boy would get a cell phone, I think coordination would be a lot easier.

I did manage to pick up Juliana McCorison’s album, and glad am I of that  because the last I saw on her LJ it wasn’t even going to make it to Vancouver in time. I missed her concert but given how grody I was in physical condition, I’m just as happy about that.

Note to self.  If looking at kitchen items that used to be ‘yours’ makes you cry, you ain’t over things yet.  One of these days I’ll be a grown up, but I suspect I’ll be long dead.

Tom’s heading home / filken

I heard a little more about the accident from Lady Miss Banjola (I caved on more VCon, my eyes feel gummy and I’m aching all over…. not a good sign although I intend to go back tomorrow).  Tom’s face is next to “One Lucky Bastard” in the 2008 Lifebook.  It definitely partook of the quality of a freak accident, because he’s alive and not going to scar that bad. Honestly, he missed death by nanoseconds.

We sang “Falling Free” and “Quaddie Ballet” and the parody of Wings which is all about the Cat in the Hat and “Acts of Creation” and “Rodney Oh Rodney” and “Rodney’s Favourite Things” and “John’s Song” and “Mal’s Song”, and “Vampire Blues” and “Ivan You Idiot” and Dr Filk’s rebuttal which is “Donkey Work” (to the tune of Dirty Work) and Juliana’s Dragonriders of Pern teaching song to the tune of an old English folk song.  And I bought Juliana’s new album, which looks lovely and I can hardly wait to play it, but in the morning, ’cause I’m falling down tired right now.

recovery mode

Watching Sarah Palin struggle to assemble an English sentence while Joe Biden marshalled his talking points and droned through them was just about the most painful thing I ever subjected my eyes to.  Nor have my ears quit sulking.  Honestly I’m going to take a fresh look at Adam Sandler, I may have misjudged his talent.  The low point was “Her reward is in heaven” which just about had me barfing up my guts.  Biden wasn’t nearly as embarrassing but the idea of him being president after an assassination is just wretched.  The comments about marriage had Patricia muttering “Coward” to Biden.  I writhed in uncontrollable embarrassment and dismay (I do that, causing Patricia to ask me repeatedly if I was okay) but got through it in time to realize that two measly beers and the BEST DAMNED SMOKED GRUYÈRE evah were enough to put me in a sort of tryptophan coma and I slept for a couple of hours until I realized, on groggily awakening, that I wasn’t at home (strange cats closely inspecting my feet helped).  Then P called me a cab and I went home and – amazing! – changed into my jammies and then fell into bed like a downed Douglas fir.

Let me describe the Gruyère.  It was cave aged and smoked.  Little crystals of intense cheesiness blended into a smooth authoritative but restrained crumbly heavenly aroma and mouth feel.   The whisky cheddar was good; the incredible Port Salut almost liquefied.  And those crackers!  God, those are the best cheese crackers, I have to get some and then figure out where I store them so I don’t eat every single one as soon as the box comes home.  The cavalcade of cheese â„¢ abides in the West End – all is right with the world.  There is no political problem that cheese can’t solve, I tell you.

Tonight, The Con.

Zombies….

I think this is a brilliant cartoon.

Tonight I’m over at Patricia’s for the cavalcade of cheeseâ„¢ and of course to watch the Biden Palin thing.  Honestly, if we get into a drinking game I’ll be lucky to make VCon.  Fortunately she is my boss, and I guess we’re both adults, so what could possibly go wrong…

Tom is resting uncomfortably but at least there’s no breathing tube happening.

I went to bed at 8:30 pm last night, partly because I knew I was going to be up late two nights running, and also because I couldn’t stay conscious.  Then I woke up at 10, 2 and 4:30.  Maybe if I stayed up later I would sleep more soundly, but virtually everybody I know is complaining about restless sleep these days.

Katie cut my hair last night.  I pronounce myself improved in appearance, although I suppose I should let others decide…

Dreadful news

Tom was burned badly in an industrial accident yesterday.  He’s in VGH and I will learn more about his condition soon.  Unca Dave knows ALL ABOUT electrical burns, and his description led me to believe they are painful and nasty.  (Watching himself get the dressings changed from high above the bath, blown right out on morphine, asking himself, “Who is that poor bastard and why is he screaming!?”)  I will call Peggy soon and get an update, but Tom’s alive and sedated in the hospital and for this we should all be very, very thankful.

Unca Dave here

He seemed to be his normal jolly self.  It was good to see Paul and Keith for supper as well.

How Peggy got an apple crisp (made with Gravensteins, yummazy!) over here, I have no idea, but Paul asked me to get the container back to her.  I will. Anyway, that was dessert… also home made tapioca.

Supper was two kinds salad (potato and green with freshly made bacon bits and sliced egg and tomato and mushroom), roast beef with roast garlic, potatoes and squash.  Everybody seemed to go back for seconds, so I guess there was enough (no gravy, though, sigh) and I didn’t work too hard at the cooking, so that was okay.  It’s funny, the kitchen looked great at 10 am yesterday morning. It looks like a disaster now.

I didn’t touch my mandolin, but my laundry is all done and put away, so along with all the the other chores and errands of this weekend, I feel quite accomplished.