My Addled Brain

Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow

* Polly Perkins must
die, stupid selfish meatsack!
Squish her! Squish her good! *

You know, that French dude Jacques Chirac is a pretty stand-up guy. He sticks to his convictions, and thinks things through when presented with good arguments that may refute his claims. Not to mention that he’s always thoughtful when it comes to his place in the world, and never oversteps his bounds. And those French guys are pretty thoughtful people in their own right. The don’t forget who they owe, and for what, that’s for sure.

Seriously people. I recently saw Armageddon again, and all I could think to myself is “well, at least they waited until it hit Paris”. I am by no means a bloodthirsty individual, and have been content to let others say the things I feel, but claiming that you’re overjoyed to learn that something you wanted no part of has, in fact, happened…well, in the words of Joseph Welch (who was speaking to a completely different type of spineless weasel): “Have you no sense of decency sir, at long last? Have you left no sense of decency?”

I don’t care what side of the war you fall on. That’s patently awful.

So Syracuse DID win - well, I suppose someone could blame me for it. After all, I pull the strings of the NCAA.

* Bevare…take care…bevare…take care…pull the strings! Pull the strings! *

You’ll have to forgive Robby. He watched Ed Wood the other night, and has been in Bela Lugosi mode ever since. He even painted fangs on his helm where his mouth would be. If he had one, that is.

* Lugosi was a master! He inspired terror, and fear, and commanded women! I am learning these traits by becoming Bela - and as a result, I shall rule this pitiful planet! *

Erm…yeah. Maybe in his day. I sincerely doubt, however, he’s got the same effect on people today…what are you doing? What’s with the wierd hand gesture? Are you having a seizure or something?

* Come to me…you are under my power…you must do vhat I say…you will pick up the phone, and hire Jesse James to make me a vehicle powerful enough to inspire fear and eliminate all my enemies! It should have lasers, and a flamethrower, and a giant hammer that springs out of the top and crushes those who oppose me! Oh, and it should be built from a Dodge Neon - those get great gas mileage.*

How about I just pick up a Cobra Hiss IV Tank for you? It comes with a Neo-Viper figure…

* Ooooooooo! Does it make noises? *

You bet, little buddy.

More fun with redesign - this time to the calendar. Should work out fine, until I decide to scrap it in a month with a completely different look. Someday, we’ll all get it right.

From the people that brought you Viking Kittens: We like tha moon!

Because it needs to be said: I AM SUCH AN ASSHOLE!!!! I hope you’re satisifed.

* Hahahaha! You got that right, bunky! Brat soooooooo nailed you with that one! *

Well, well, well, look who’s crawled out of his electrical outlet. What’s your beef with me?

* Me? Nothing in particular - just because I have decided to spare your miserable life does not mean I don’t enjoy mocking your existence. And enough with the electrical outlet stuff. I’ve been off the juice for two weeks now - I’m clean. *

Uh huh.

* No, really! I’ve joined Electroholics Anonymous and everything - I’m on the wagon. *

Ok then. Explain that extension cord you’re holding.

* What, this? I’m…um…just plugging in the spare TV in the bedroom. *

Look Robby, cut the crap. Last time you plugged in, you went on a bender that landed you in Charter for over a month. You remember what you did to that PetCo? No? Well, the next time you get lit and decide to do some “gene-splicing”, don’t expect me to bail you out! I can’t afford that nonsense again. Now give me that!

* -sniff- I’m sorry…I can’t help myself! I’m…I’m gonna go call my sponsor. He’s an ATM that’s been in EA for four years now. *

You do that.

From Robby and myself - well ok, from myself, since Robby’s been sulking in the closet for the last month (seems he’s all bent out of shape about Fox cancelling Firefly) - we here at the Brain wish you a safe and wonderful Christmas.

* What do you know about it? That show had everything! A real Melrose Place for the geek set! *

Gee, and I thought Ed was the Melrose Place of the geek set. Silly me.

Now Playing: Allison Krauss + Union Station - Live

Riding the roller coaster that is this website these days, I bring you the following news.

Keeping up with the Joneseseses - stopped by the home of David and Dori last night to visit, and finally meet Emma Grace. She’s absolutely beautiful - a bright, attentive, funny young girl with a friendly disposition, wonder in her eyes, and a shoelace fetish. To look at her, you wouldn’t even begin to suspect that she has had health problems. Unfortunately, no one has been able to pin down exactly what has been causing her issues, so until a diagnosis decided upon, all we can do is enjoy her presence with us, and bask in her smile. David and Dori are doing well - hell, David’s lost 50 pounds and is back in Tae Kwon Do, which is more than I can say for myself.

I was listening to Romie yesterday, and heard this really wonderful story about Jake Porter, a mentally handicapped senior in high school, his coach, the opposing team’s coach, and a spectacular touchdown. I could tell you the whole story, but I think the link does a much better job. It’s those kind of stories that can restore a person’s faith in humanity.

Had my last test yesterday - an echocardiogram. This one also involved me not moving - but at least this time I could watch a fuzzy representation of my heart beating in real time. It’s pretty cool, actually, and thirty minutes later I was walking out the door. My results are back - clean bill of health. So, for the last time:

I am fine.

Robby seems a bit perturbed by this. Well, considering he’s a giant robot, hell bent on dominating the planet, yet he can’t open a door by himself, you’d be right in thinking he’s perturbed in general, but this seems to have him in even more of a foul mood.

* Bah! You hu-mans are all the same. You get a robot’s hopes up, then proceed to dash them against the rocks. *

Hopes? What, you were hoping I was going to die?

* Of course not! I was just going to wait for you to pass out again so I could take some compromising photos of you and use them to blackmail a new and bigger Secret Evil Robot Lair out of you. *

New? Bigger? You think my closet qualifies as some sort of secret lair? Ha! Who are you, Dr. Evil? You gonna hit me for One Meeelion Dollars?

* I wish. You’d have to actually have some money to do that, however. I was actually just going to use it to get you to drive me to a nearby storage place - I could set up there, and the rent is cheap! *

Evil and thrifty. Look out Torgo!

There must be something wrong with me. I’m posting far too often.

Been to the doctor’s again, this time to take the infamous Tilt Table Test. You’d think, with a name like “Tilt Table”, that the experience would be akin to an amusement park ride. But no, they just strap you to a table, and tilt it up about 88 degrees, so you’re almost completely upright. You have to stand still - no shuffling feet, no shifting weight, no drastic body movement, for about an hour. Short story shorter - it sucked.

I suppose there would have been a payoff if a problem had been discovered…but alas. I am as fit as an overweight fiddle. Victory is mine! I have smited the foul passing-out beast! Bring on the hookers and booze!

But the worst part about it? Getting the IV setup put in. I am the first to admit that I’m a HUGE baby when it comes to needles - so when the nurses couldn’t get the vein after three tries…I was a bit…perturbed. They finally got it on the fourth go-around (up my forearm), but now I look like a junkie with all these track marks. Isn’t medical science wonderful? They can do non-invasive surgery with tiny robotic instruments, but they can’t pop a needle into a rather visible vein? I’m fairly certain I could train a monkey to do it.

Robby has taken all of this with more than a little amusement at my expense. I suppose you think it’s funny?

* Funny? Moi? Why would I think you passing out for no apparent reason is funny? *

You’re telling me that you weren’t trying to make fun of me when you told your "friends" that you were having my apartment floor and walls padded, just in case there was an accident?

* Absolutely not! I meant that - my only concern is for your safely and well being. *

Wow…gee, Robby…I didn’t know you cared.

* Well, to be honest…I don’t. Hey everyone, want to hear my imitation of Brett? Wow, this sure was a good breakfast at Waffle House! I love this place, especially the cute waitresses they have there! They’re just dreamy! They make me wanna…wanna…THUD *

Ha ha. Very funny. Ho ho. It is to laugh.

* Thank you very much, folks, I’ll be here all week. Don’t forget to tip your waitress! *

A funny thing happened to me in the Waffle House over the weekend.

That’s not to say there’s only one Waffle House in these fine United States - in fact, I believe in the city of Atlanta there’s a Waffle House for every man, woman, and child in that sprawling metropolis, and still enough left over for some people in Macon. But I’m digressing, aren’t I?

Anyway, I was sitting there, just finishing up a good-for-you Waffle House breakfast with a couple friends…when I started to feel lightheaded. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn’t sure what exactly. Then my head and body got heavy, and I started to lean forward.

When I came to, I discovered I was lying on the freshly mopped (as only a Waffle House can be) tile, with about six people surrounding me. I was helped back up to my booth, and handed an ice pack for the now growing bump on my left temple. Apparently, I was only out for a few seconds, which by my watch is a few seconds too many.

By now, I’m sure most of you have begun breaking windows, rolling over cars, and running down the street in terror over this news. Can’t say I blame you. But it’s fine, really. I saw a doctor yesterday, and my heart rate, blood pressure, and EKG are all normal. As a result, they’re calling what happened yesterday syncope. I get to visit a cardiologist, a neurologist, and have some blood work done to rule out other possible causes, but this seems to be the most likely diagnosis.

For those of you who have never had an EKG taken before, I highly recommend it - especially if you want to know how it feels to be your home entertainment center. Wires were everywhere, and during the whole process I kept wondering if the machine had a button on it that could deliver an electric shock. Ah, the joys of a wandering mind.

The doctor was interesting as well. Here’s a sample of his questions after I told him what happened:

Doc: Are you on any medications?
Me: No.
Doc: Are you on drugs?
Me: No.
Doc: So, you’re not on drugs?
Me: No.
Doc: You’re not taking any drugs?
Me: No. Are you?

Perhaps I was a bit harsh. But it felt like he was gonna ask me that question until I said yes - because all of us 28 year olds are hooked on smack, you know. Honestly, I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition.

* Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise! Surprise and fear, fear and…our two weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency…our three weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, and — *

Enough with the Python quotes, Robby! And where did you get that outfit?

* You like it? Two for one sale at Our Lady of the Perpetually Guilty. Apparently, they have a lot of extra cardinal outfits these days…maybe it’s because [EDITED FOR OFFENSIVENESS] *

Robby! That’s disgusting! I can’t believe you’d use the problems in the Catholic church to tell crude jokes.

* And since when have you known me NOT to laugh at the ridiculous things you stupid little meatsacks do? I AM trying to conquer you, you know.

And doing a mighty fine job of it, might I add. I am soooooooo scared of you.

Other news: Andy has left our fold to work full time for the gentleman who hooked him up with AC. (As an aside, this marks the last time I’ll ever link to the home page of a boy band, scouts honor.) I wish our Photoshop guru only the best in the future - as long as he keeps introducing me to all those cute girls he knows.

Finally: Michelle has purchased an address book to keep addresses and phone numbers. In a related story, it’s raining blood, and the ornaments of the heathens have fallen.

Currently playing: Alison Krauss & Union Station - New Favorite

So. We have a new CEO.

He’s a nice enough guy - very straightforward and business oriented. Has us making budgets and timelines and schedules and whatnot. We’re looking at the current design of the system, figuring out what we need, and if we need any training to make that need a reality.

That’s the good news.

Bad news? So glad you asked. I have to be in the office everyday. Which means, until a Tampa office materializes out of the ether like the proverbial oasis in the desert, I get to drive an hour every day to get to work. While I certainly welcome a change to my routine, and will relish the ability to once again come home and have it feel like home, and not some dark cavern I squat in all day, staring at the monitor like a cultist awaiting his new pair of Nikes. Ah well, what’s another 300 miles a week, anyway?

I can take solace in this bad news, however. Why? Because I have the Happy Tree Friends, who share their joy and companionship with me. And now, they will share their joy with you But not the companionship.

Vacation is coming! Vacation is coming! That’s right, yours truly is taking a week off. I’ll be travelling to the thriving metropolis that is Loganwood, GA, to visit the Madre and the Red Baron for a hoot and holler good time. Which means I get to leave Robby in charge of the apartment. He’s already got strict instructions to not lure the ducks from the pond in here for whatever experiments he has cooked up - the last time I left for an extended period, my apartment smelled of burnt feathers and foie gras when I got back. THAT took a while to clear up.

* Look, if I can’t use the ducks, how can I work on my waterfowl enlarger? *

Waterfowl enlarger? I don’t even want to know - but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.

* It’s my army of giant ducks! All I have to do, once I enlarge them, is to hypnotize them into thinking all humans are loaves of bread. My army of duck juggernauts will be nigh-unstoppable! *

You really think so? I have two words for you - wabbit season.

* Oh hell. I can’t compete against a cartoon rabbit and a moronic hunter. You win. *

Damn straight.

Updated: New E-Mail

Currently playing: Fountains of Wayne - Utopia Parkway

First and foremost: a HUGE congratulations to the MCG’s - they are now expecting their first child! I got word this morning from the MCG himself, who still seemed a bit bamboozled by the news (even though they’ve planned for this). What does this mean? I’m so glad you asked, virtual visitor person! It means:

1. The Madre gets her long-awaited grandchild.
2. The Padre gets to feel one generation older than he already felt.
3. I’m gonna be an Uncle. Uncle Brett.

It’s that last one that’s been stuck in my head this morning. Before this, I had a wide range of titles: Buddy. Pal. Sir. Chump. Yankee. (That last one comes via The Sweet One, who should know that the word "Peachy" is now a part of my daily vocabulary, and I hope he’s happy about that.) Mr. Glisson. But I’ve never been Uncle - that’s a title that comes with a measure of responsibility.

*Gulp*

Apparently, my primary responsibility will be to keep the little bugger out of Robby’s nefarious clutches. He’s been tottering around the house all morning - if he wasn’t a robot, I’d swear he was salivating - muttering something about * "mold[-ing] this child to my will" * and looking at photos of SS Troops. For a harmless giant robot with opposable thumbs, he sure can creep me out sometimes.

In any case, I am extremely happy for both of them, and wish them the best of luck.

In completely unrelated news, we have another wedding announcement. Congratulations to Michelle Thresher, who got engaged in March to Dave Mumbletomyselfbecauseidontrememberhislastname. She seems excited by this news, but then again, since I only hear from her a few times a year, it could have been dinner. She’s also bound for Washington D.C. in a couple months, to work in the exciting hustle and bustle that is our nation’s federal judicial system. Personally, I would take a job shoveling snow over that (assuming I could make the same amount of money, hey, I might be petty, but I’m not stupid. I think.) - law and it’s application has never interested me. But then again, that’s what makes Michelle more specialer than me.

Jefe has sent me a few pictures of my youth. I’ve posted them in Out of Focus, and the obligatory accompanying e-mail is in the usual place. Warning: these pictures are chock full of suggestive hand gestures. (OK, Vanna White style hand gestures, but hand gestures nonetheless.)

Another double feature of movie reviews: Men In Black 2.

Biz Markie is
a rapping postal worker.
Movie’s way too short.

Minority Report.

In the future, all
new cars will come full of gas
when manufactured.

Author’s Note: I’ve been sitting on this article since Tuesday, to make sure certain people were contacted concerning what I just discussed. That’s why the date is from three days ago. Hey, I’m not giving away anything here when it comes to these things.

Currently playing: Quarashi - Jinx

The deal is done. Papers have been signed, handshakes exchanged, harrumphs harrumphed, and now, the joyous celebration can begin. The house is sold. And to celebrate, the Madre and the Red Baron have already found a house up North Georgia way, and are busily signing a new round of papers as I type away. Congratulations, you two.

Another round of congratulations to John and Sara, who got engaged while on their trip to Ireland recently. That’s right ladies, Mr. John Brogan is now off the market - and please, don’t deluge me with e-mail about how suicidal about it you are about it. I am not the Lord of Broken Hearts (obviously), so there’s not really a whole lot I can do for you, unless it involves a cheap, meaningless weekend in a hotel. But I digress. Never in my life have I met two people more suited for each other (so suitable it’s downright sickening), and I wish them all the best.

I got fed up with the three stupid chat programs I have installed. AIM, ICQ, MSN, different friends on different chat programs. Feh. So, I’ve decided to scrap them all, and go with Trillian. Named for a character in one of my favorite books of all time, Trillian is not just a chat program - oh, no - it’s a META chat program, that can interface into all the popular chat programs, and put all your friends in one easy-to-use window. Pure genius. And it’s free! So, go get yourself a copy, drop a couple of bucks their way, and enjoy. And maybe, just maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll tell you my IM name. Someday.

My neighbor’s moved out today. They just got here a few months ago, a nice young couple. Seems they were just here until work could be completed on their house. Gets me thinking, especially with my parents now moved, and two of my cousins moving, about home ownership. A spot of earth to call my own, one that no man can take from me. Unless they need to pave a highway through it. Of course, all this seems great in theory. Then you take two facts into consideration:

1. My credit resembles the union of two railroad trains. Head on.
2. I would have to tend to a yard.

The first one can be overcome. The second one is not so easy. You see, I have a problem with plants and plantlife. Some people have a green thumb; I, however, was graced with a black thumb. Plants wilt at my touch, trees decay as I pass. Hell, I can kill mildew in my shower just by treating it like a ficus. So it would only be a matter of time before I completely destroyed my yard, turning it into a barren wasteland.

And let’s not forget Robby. He’s been dying to create a secret underground lair, ala Dexter. I’m afraid he’d start drilling into the neighbor’s pool if he wasn’t careful.

* Don’t you worry your pretty little head about the neighbors. I have a feeling that the business end of my new attitude adjuster will fix THEIR little doomed red wagon. *

Not another raygun. For crying out loud. Have you learned nothing? Did all those whip-its you did following the Dead permanently scramble you memory?

* Bah! Those were temporary setbacks! This new weapon will strike terror into the hearts and minds of the strongest hu-mans. Behold! *

That…that looks like…is that…a halibut?

* Wrong hand. *

Whoops. Oh, THAT. I thought that was the blender.

* No, you idiot. This is my Will-Zapper. It turns the target into a mindless automaton, subject to my every command! *

You’re kidding. That can’t possibly be right! How does it work?

* The hu-man, when hit with the mind-numbing capabilites of the Will-Zapper, is immediately exposed to a force equivalent to watching every show created by Aaron Spelling simultaneously. I call it - the 90210 Effect! This effect completely destroys the cognitave capacity of the hu-man mind, reducing it to mush, and malleable to my will. Soon, I Robby the Robot, shall triumph over these foolish hu-mans! *

Good Lord *choke*. You might be on to something.