I've passed a crossroads and the path back has been cut off. Headed straight into Old without so much as a warning sign. Old.
Wasn't supposed to get there. It's a destination from which no one returns, yet here I am.
The arrival in Old happened so quick, I am still trying to make sense of it all. In the span of two weeks, my entire way of living has changed. Between the time I was diagnosed and today, my body has already started misbehaving.
My vision has
degenerated changed to the point where I can't focus on objects up close unless I peer over the top of my glasses or take them off. Doing either makes me feel older than I feel.
Ok. Mobile posting is full of fail.
This past weekend, a friend called me an enabler. Shock! Horror! Me, an enabler? Bah. Wait. Introspect. Reflect. Assess. Epiphany.
I am an enabler. He spat the word at me with derision and my reflex was to feel offended. Pausing on that word for a moment, I realized his snap judgment of my character was absolutely right. I encourage bad behavior all the time, especially in the people closest to me. However, I also condone good behavior, even in people whose presence makes my skin itch.
Here's why: Every person should be allowed to live their lives in the manner they choose, regardless of the wishes of others. As long as the activity or behavior doesn't interfere with the same allowance for others to do the same. This is something I believe down to the core of my being to be true. (Doesn't mean it's right, sane or feasible, but there it is.)
To that end, if someone I know is drinking themselves to death, I won't lecture at them to seek aid, but if they do, I'll support them through the process as I can. I just think we're all doing what we can to survive until the end. Whatever you path you choose is your own.
I don't bring a coffee cup with me to work and I don't like to use the styrofoam cups. Next to the sink in the break room is a rack of coffee cups. Many of these look like halloween props with dust and cobwebs galore. One of them caught my eye. A purplish mug with a ceramic Eeyore hanging on to the handle. I washed it out and poured myself some coffee.
When I returned to the office, one of my coworkers asks me, "Is that your mug?"
"No," I replied, "it was hanging in the breakroom."
At this, his face crinkled up like one of the aforementioned styrofoam cups in a microwave. A noise indicating complete revulsion leapt from his lips and he says, "That's gross."
Not wishing to be seen as an unwashed heathen, I informed him that I had taken care to wash it with hot water and soap. Still, he was unwavering in his position that what I was doing was foul beyond reproach. So, I inquired as to his dining activities.
"Do you ever go out to eat?" says I.
"Of course. Every once in a while," says he.
I asked, "Do you bring your own water glass with you?"
There is only so much adults can tell children about what's to come. There's so much to tell. The pain of unrequited love, the disappointment of not being perfect, the abject dismay of the human condition, the all-encompassing bliss of letting someone else love you, the vast possibilities and opportunities that await. Then, there's the mundane routine of adulthood: sleep, eat, shit, work, shop, lather, rinse, repeat. Which parts are relevant when everything's included?
I don't know, but I wish my father had told me about nose hairs. After all, I inherited this from him because Mom never had a mustache that started in her nostrils. Now, they're a constant nuisance for me. My hair is starting to thin, but still grows reasonably fast and my hirsute nose is no exception to that.
Of course I have a trimmer. I'm not a barbarian. It's one of those cheap AA-battery operated deals and my rechargeable batteries finally gave all. Two weeks ago, I could just see a peeker at the top of my unshaven lip. That's too much time to let one of these things go.
This morning, when I looked in the mirror, I could see what amounted to a set of spider's legs, wiggling their toes at the base of my nose. Springing into action, spiders in tow, I finally got replacement power for the trimmer. As soon as I slammed the battery in place, I flipped the switch and started the trimmer. Spider's legs gone and sanity restored.
Here's what I wish my father had said to me: "Son. Hair will begin growing in places you didn't think it could. Be prepared and always have batteries on hand."
Gotta knock my netbook's cool factor down a notch. The keyboard, while larger many, is not full-size and line breaks created by the inadvertent tap of the Enter key can drastically change a conversation.
For example, what I had intended to type was the following:
I have an erectile dysfunction medication clock and an alarm on my phone.
Referring to the Viagra promotional wall clock I purchased at the local ASPCA Thrift Store. Gem like that has got to be worth a lot, eh? Nope. $1.49 out the door. Best purchase I've made in weeks.
So here is the consequence of having man-sized fingers while typing on the dainty keyboard of a netbook:
I have an erectile dysfunction
Short pause while I type and the remainder of the sentence is sent.
medication clock and an alarm on my phone.
- This is a personal website.
- Information here is provided to you without warranty of its accuracy.
- If you find any material offensive, exercise your choice to leave.
- The intended audience is people that know me or wish to know more about me, but mostly it's just for me.
As with anything in life, you have a choice. Read further...or don't. It's your time, your life and your web.
New approach? Hands off?
The gravity of Google's ultimate decision on this matter will not be felt until well after the choice is made and implemented. I further believe that it will impact the internet as a whole.
Here's some other links I came across regarding this subject:
From the U.S. Department of State
From ComputerWorld: Government
From PublicAddress.net <- Yeah, I don't know either, but Google said it was relevant. K?
On December 24th, 2009, my beautiful girlfriend and I legally bound our lives to each other. It was a private ceremony and family wasn't even told until after the event. This wasn't because we wished it to remain a secret, but more a matter of convenience. Just like a good bank heist, the fewer people involved the smoother the operation works out.
While researching options for name changes, Jen came across "The Name Equality Act of 2007." It's the document that spells out your options for changing your name after being legally wed.
I discovered two things that night:
- The California Department of Health has a Genetic Disease Branch
- You can change your middle name when you're married
Neither of these are earth-shattering, but still revelations to me. Turns out you can also use a combination of both last names in whole or segmented. The act doesn't state whether you can use only a single segment or multiple, so I anagrammed our names and thus we are now Mr. and Mrs. Wannerbob.
Mr & Mrs Wannerbob.
Ok. What is up with this? 64 million? 64 MILLION sites with "Best of 2009?"
Recently, friends have been sending me links to "Best of 2009" lists. Best of 2009? Really? I believe it's still the year 2009. How can anyone be deciding what's the best of anything for this year when it's not even done yet?
Winners aren't declared in sporting events until it's done. Movies don't start rolling credits 5 minutes before the end although some should. Your torrent is not marked as completely downloaded when you've only got 95% of the file(s).
I understand we're only a few weeks from the end of the year, but no matter what category your list covers, there is still a chance that something or someone could happen to change your feelings about any items on it. Patience, people.