For the past few days I’ve had a strange ache on my foot. It’s a small pain that gets worse with pressure. It feels like the soreness you get after stepping on a tack, except I don’t see any marks on my foot.
It’s a very mild pain, but this morning it seemed worse, like I was limping from it. Now it seems mild again.
Weird.
If it doesn’t go away in a week or so, maybe I’ll have it checked out. Maybe I just whacked my foot on something at some point and caused a sore spot.
There’s a pretty neat Burger King sponsored site that lets you create a simpsons version of yourself. It starts with uploading a photo, but that seems extraneous, seems like they should just let you play with the different parts and skip the photo part.
It does a pretty good job, it started off looking a lot like me, all I had to do was add glasses and switch the hairstyle.
You can try it out here: Simpsonize Me, though the site has been getting a lot of traffic and is kinda slow right now.
when summer night stirs spring blood
and restless sweat affixes hair to brow
the beating of a lustful heart
drives young minds to lustful measure
and affects a wolfish, hungry look
in even the most doe-eyed lad
After cleaning my tub with Brillo, I was impressed.
After cleaning my kitchen sink with it I was blown away!
Oil paint has been stuck on since I painted my Galaga cabinet, years ago. I’ve tried other cleaning products but the oil paint was on for good. Brillo? Took it right off. Rust? Came right off. All sorts of crud, came right off.
The only thing it didn’t get off the sink was some discoloration that is soaked into the sink material itself, but I forgive it for that.
Brillo is fucking magic!
Sometimes I forget how great Brillo is. Last time, Brillo saved the glass-top stove, which Adam had accidentally melted a plastic bag on.
Sarah made a comment when bringing up a load of laundry the other day, something about not leaving stuff sitting in the washing machine. I remember replying “right, ‘cuz it will smell like mildew.”
I now realize she wasn’t making an offhanded comment, but was referring to the specific load of laundry she was carrying.
The clothes I am now wearing.
My cube has taken on a musty, basementy smell, centered around my musty self.
Bleh.
Went to my girlfriend’s roommate’s father’s birthday today.
Brings to mind “Spaceballs”:
Dark Helmet: I am your father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former
roommate.
Lone Starr: What’s that make us?
Dark Helmet: Absolutely nothing! Which is what you are about to become.
It was a good time. It was at Kara’s parent’s house, which is a beautiful farm.
The weather was wonderful.
We went into the meshed-off blueberry house and had some blueberries. Most weren’t ripe yet, but there were some ripe ones mixed in.
There was a potluck cookout with tons of good stuff, and kids splashing in the pond Bob built many years back.
I just found out my favorite restaurant in Worcester, The Bamboo Hut, is now closed.
I suppose it should be no surprise, it was always nearly empty in there when I would go to eat. I guess they can only hold out so long like that.
But the food was great, and the people were nice. I’ll miss the place.
Now I have to find new secret yummy places to eat in Worcester.
So I haven’t updated my website in… um…
Well, the index.php was last modified 10/31/2004.
So I updated it.
=)
I’ve been thinking about getting a better scanner, both for increased speed and quality, and also so I can scan slides and negatives.
So far I’m leaning towards the Epson Perfection V700. It’s $500, but payday is this Friday…
Here’s a flash walkthrough of the features.
And here’s a review.
It looks pretty snazzy. Adam keeps chiming in that I should get a sheet-fed one, but I don’t think photos feed in with a sheet-fed scanner. So unless I wanted to scan and OCR books, I don’t really need a sheet-fed.
I just finished reading Hunter S. Thompson’s “The Rum Diary”, and I can’t help but feel old and doomed.
In the book, he is almost 32, and talking about how old and weathered he feels… and I am already 32, on my way to 33. I can’t help sometimes feeling like it’s over, the whole kit ‘n kabootle has passed me by, and it’s only now, in the final moments, that I realize it was even moving past me. Too slow to realize, so damn clever that the simplest of facts bypassed me entirely.
The book, for some reason I cannot quite place my finger on, reminds me of The Great Gatsby. Maybe it’s the crazed relationships, with the backdrop of crazed parties. Perhaps it’s the solid sense of place and time, even though the two are about very different places and times, they are both solidly placed. They are both narrated by a character who stays on the edge of things, involved yet convincing himself that he is objective and outside it all.
In both cases, I could easily relate to the main character/narrator – despite differences, they seem to have some fundamental core that I can latch on to, that I can see in myself. So in a way, by relating to Paul Kemp, I’m allowing him to speak for me, and in this case, the sentiment he’s expressing is that of feeling very old, worn ragged by the scrapes of everyday existance.
Heh, I could use a drink.