So my mum and sister were in a car accident yesterday. Mum has whiplash, Rae has a broken foot, abrasions, stitches at the forehead, a swollen eye, and a stash of Lortab. They are, other than that, okayish. (It's hard to say fully okay when that involves broken bones.)

Other party was at fault, making a left-turn into their lane. Considering that was a side-impact crash, things could have been much worse. I need to harp on Mom about physical therapy and getting things taken care of....sometimes, as in the case of my little brother's bad medication*, she has a tendency to let people practically get away with murder. Also, she wants to go to chiropractic, and I'm not sure it's appropriate in this case. I hate being a croaking Cassandra, but I think adjustments should only be done on lower back vertebrae and then in conjunction with a doctor's treatment/orders.

Well, at least she's no longer into Reiki, and I don't have to talk her out of Reiki treatments.

*My youngest brother has a hand tremor, almost certainly due to being prescribed the wrong dosages of his medications for ADHD.

Diplomatic victory....empire in five parts. (One continent was probably 75% mine, while the other had four main bases from which I was expanding.)

I didn't go to bed last night. I played Civilization IV ALL NIGHT LONG.

Other people do things all night long too. AC/DC shakes people apparently. Lionel Richie sings along. The Eagles merely have fun. Warren Zevon turns the speakers up.

And I play Civ, in an earnest effort to take over the main continent and make sure there's a tandoori under every roof. In this game, I have yet to battle anybody other than the barbarian hordes, although I did just take over Seattle, Chicago, and two Viking cities with the power of my superior culture. I tried an extension of my previous sacrifice the artist to my wedge cities tactic, and spent all my Great People on my new border settlements on the coasts of the other continent. There weren't many spots open for me to make my wedges, but there was just enough and now I have my band from sea-to-shining-sea.

...

Yesterday I drove to Eatonville, which is out in the middle of nowhere, because Danielle's family had invited me over for feasting. We had numerous truffles and chocolates and creme puffs in addition to this thing called raclette. Apparently, you pour melted raclette cheese over whatever is on your plate. It is delicious but I had a hard time getting my cheese to stick to my assorted items. Maybe I was doing it wrong.

I had to leave after about three hours, since they have three dogs there and my chest was starting to get tight.

It depresses me to write that sentence, since before I'd only ever had the slightest issues with dogs. I remember all the times we spent with Chad and Jennifer and their dog, Bruno, in North Carolina, as well as Pete's dog, Blanca. Hell, Lee and I slept at Pete's house once without getting the chest constriction I'd get with cats.

But at least we're finally moving forward on the allergy treatments, after the new year.

I could wish my wife had left me after Christmas, but that's pointless. The truth is, I'm in the situation where I am now.

She told me that she would've paid to send me home to the US to my mother for Christmas if she knew I had no plans. My response to that is "F*** you! I don't want your pity, or you being an idiot with our money."

Of course, I didn't say that to her. But I certainly had no intention of thanking her for the unwelcome sentiment.

At least I have a few friends I've been able to hang out with.

I know she's out hanging out with her friends and family today, blissfully attempting to deny the fact we're both miserable, and it's both of our faults.

She didn't want me coming to tonight's Christmas party with her friends because she didn't want them looking at us and talking behind our backs. (The best part is she claims she "doesn't care what anyone thinks!" HAH!)

I'm really angry at her, and it probably shows. Maybe the best thing is for me to go out and do other stuff and try to forget about my life.


So I'll leave you with my wife's favourite Christmas song, by the Irish punk band the Pogues:


It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Tune
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you

Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true

They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day

You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last

I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

mood: my boss says I look like s*** music: "Fairy Tale of New York", the Pogues and Kirsty McCall

Today, I drove home from work, sat on the couch, book in hand, and fell asleep. Eventually John came home and made me transfer to the bed for spinal reasons.

Yesterday, I drove home from work, sat on the bed, book in hand, and fell asleep. Naturally I woke up about three hours later and proceeded to have insomnia until fourish.

I don't like this, but I identified the pattern for the last three days which led to such sloth and degradation.

Carbohydrates.

See, all three days I failed to have a breakfast. I also failed to have an appropriate lunch. Instead, I would occasionally purloin a candy bar from the work stash of candy bars and skibble back to my desk. Then I would come home and pass out. I got calories, but not good ones.

BAD LIS.

Tomorrow (er....after I sleep again) I will have breakfast. And I will make an effort to acquire proteins. And good carbs in veggies. I will return to healthy eating, so that my body will not go into winter hibernatory mode.

I read the first five or so chapters of Stiff (by Mary Roach) in my insomnia bout last night. I related a couple of details to John but he got squirmy, so I probably won't relate anything further. In case you are unsure what I am referring to, Stiff is a book explaining what happens to human cadavers after death. It follows a number of fates from crash test subject to surgery aid to practise cadaver for morticians. It gets a bit gruesome with the detail, but is factual and calm.

I find this book oddly comforting so far. While it reiterates the fact that I will die, and my physical body will decay, that doesn't make me feel bad when I consider all the good things I could use that body for in its final stages. I won't be there, but my actions will still be making a difference in somebody's life.

It also helps weed out the false hopes and narratives that well-meaning people try to offer regarding our abandoned husks, in part by offering an unflinching look at our natural state once the consciousness has vacated the body. Sorry, guys, I really don't think we'll be resurrected in quite the way that you hope, but you will be put to use sooner or later.

So far this book has encouraged me to make sure my body is donated to science--they can REALLY use the cadavers, ladies and gents. Would you really prefer the surgeons of tomorrow practising on live folks first? And if for whatever reason, science won't take me, the natural burials seem the way to go.

So I got my free copy of the Princess and Frog game for the Wii today. Whee!

(I was one of two UI artists for this game. I did unlockables screens, a number of button states, various screens for the wardrobe area including the jewelry menus, the tutorial screen template, food icons in the kitchen and some of the restaurant options screens when you swap out curtains and lights and stuff in the restaurant.)

The video game picks up (sort of) where the movie left off, in that it follows Tiana as she works to overhaul the old sugar mill and turn it into a restaurant. You play mini-games to earn beads (which are the currency with which you buy restaurant upgrades) and you can also find instruments and recipes in the various mini-game hubs. It's mostly a party game, but there's a number of unlockables and small kids may enjoy repeating their favourites. I recommend seeing the movie before playing this, because there's a number of spoilers.

Sadly I only get one free copy, which is going into MY collection. But maybe I'll grab two copies from the store for the nieces and nephews.

...nuffink.

I can always think of stuff I want, but I'd have to have somewhere to put it. And I like my clean haus. That's the best thing I've had in forever in terms of what it does for my peace of mind and self-esteem. I come home and my haus is CLEAN.

The quickest way to get it unclean: give me stuff. Give me stuff that I don't have a reasonable place to store it. It will sit out and uncleanify my haus and make me unhappy.

So John and I aren't giving each other anything--although we do have gift cards to burn that came from his work, and we will spend those with care to make sure that we do not get potential clutter.

We're also doing nothing. I mean, I'll be going down to Danielle's parents for raclette on Xmas Eve, and if John doesn't have a project he needs the spare time for, he might join me. But that's it. We have no tree. No presents. No mess. No stress. We'll eat a delicious holiday meal and maybe get some massages right before New Year's.

On Sunday, my wife and I went for a walk. She was as cold and distant as the landscape we were trudging across.

Afterwards, we went to the pub. I asked her gently about her aloofness, and she said she didn't want to get hurt by me. (Probably referring to the last argument we had earlier that week).

When we got home, we got into an argument. She shouted at me and we both cried...

...and then she felt better.

We ended the night on a positive note, actually able to talk about things again, and smile.

To break down a barrier that both protected against harm and prevented progress, all it took was telling the truth.

Now I feel like we can actually have a positive experience on Christmas.

mood: optimistic music: Journey "The Search is Over"

The week between Christmas and New Year's is traditionally the lowest-traffic week of the year for my site, and I'm gonna be out of town anyway, so I thought I might try something a little different this year. Here's a teaser for my idea:



I've already got the basic idea for the story and will hopefully start working on it before we drive down to Maryland (one advantage of driving down is I can actually bring my big Cintiq with me) for the holiday. Of course, going over my outline and idea list, this might end up being MORE work than the usual QC strips >.<

So uh I no promises yet I guess, but hopefully I won't puss out and will actually get this done.

Well, and anyone else....

Via karnythia:

Missing Child in Chicago Brianna Lacey, 15, is missing. She is also known to go by the name of Brianna Wright. She was last seen Friday, December 18, 2009 leaving for school from her home in the vicinity of 80th Street and Eberhart and heading to Longwood Academy located at 95th Street and Throop, according to the Chicago Police Department. Brianna is described as a African-American, 5 ft. 4 inches tall, weighing 110 lbs., with brown hair, brown eyes, and a fair complexion. She also has pierced ears. She was last seen wearing a navy blue polo shirt, navy blue sweater, gray pants, and a brown coat. She had on black gym shoes, as well. According to police, she frequents the area near her home, as well as the area near 105th Street and Yates in Chicago, Illinois. Anyone with information on her whereabouts is asked to contact Chicago Police Area Two Detective Division Special Victims Unit at (312) 747-8274. [info]karnythia says: This is my son's cousin. She may have run away, but we don't know that for sure. The police are treating her as a runaway so there is no Amber Alert. If you have seen this girl and have any information please contact the Chicago police at (312)747-8274. Or if you are just willing to spread the link, please feel free to do so. She's a kid and we're worried about her. Thank you.

http://thelostnmissing.blogspot.com/2009/12/missing-chicago-teen-brianna-lacey-15.html - picture here.


ETA: Good news! Brianna has been found. Followup over at Karnythia's journal for further info. It's good to hear that she's been located!

An assortment of things running through my head right now:

1. My wife has been having panic attacks in mild form for as long as I've known her. But with a misprescribing of prozac recently after being subjected to extreme stress, her panic attacks have become much worse. She is recovering, but slowly.
   The problem is, while I have let her down, I'm only one of several factors which contributed to her being so miserable. I just don't always know what is caused by me and what is caused by something else. Sometimes, I don't know if she knows.


2. A side effect of this is that she is in a profoundly selfish state right now. Everything is on her terms. I feel like if I ask for anything in the wrong way, she's going to freak out and run a 1000 miles.
   Needless to say, this is a very hard place to live in and still feel affectionate.


3. Even with making new friends, I still can't shake the feelings of lonliness and depression. I want her back on some levels, and on other levels, my survival instinct is telling me to just give up.
   I know we've been meeting up and having good days together (although she won't come near our old flat because she says it has bad associations), but it's hard not to feel like I can do no right.

mood: frustrated music: U2, "One"

http://www.boingboing.net/2009/12/19/pope-passes-special.html

Oh, boy, the first time parodists and critiquers come up against this, it's going to be fun to watch.

Tubgirl staggered and finally collapsed. "You...you have defeated me," she gasped.

"No," Fart-chan replied. "It was you who defeated yourself."

I'm trying to make a list of child detectives for some projects which have been percolating in my head for sometime. I'm limiting this to the printed word (maybe comics, but then that opens up a whole 'nother can of worms) and to child detectives who are at the core of their series/story. So Turtle Wexler counts for The Westing Game (because she's part of the emotional core of the book and the character closest in age to the intended audience) while Ramses Emerson does not (because the series is primarily about his mother, Amelia, and Ramses' view doesn't come into play until nearly adulthood.)

Some kids I'm on the fence about, as some are part-time shit-stirrers as well as indulging in the occasional spot of detection, a la the Mad Scientist Club. Likewise, Harriet the Spy, while not technically a detective, keeps a notebook, and solves human interest problems.

Nancy Drew
The Hardy Boys
Trixie Belden
The Three Investigators (Jupiter Jones, Bob Andrews, and Pete Crenshaw)
Brains Benton and Operative Three
Encylopedia Brown
Cam Jansen
Jack McGurk (and his Organisation)
T.A.C.K. (Tori, Abby, Charles and Will, I think were the characters, although I can't find any info on this series anywhere online, let alone who wrote it.)
Alvin Fernald, Shoie, and The Pest
Turtle Wexler
Harriet the Spy
The Mad Scientists' Club
Homer Price (he figures out how to find a diamond bracelet for Miss Terwilliger and where her ancestor's recipe is, that should count, right?)
The Bobbsey Twins
The Boxcar Children (?)
The Great Brain (or is he just a ne'er-do-well?)
Emil and Dienstag and their bazillion friends
Danny Dunn
ETA: Abby Jones of Have You Seen Hyacinth Macaw?


Firmly in the Ne'er-Do-Well category:
Boots and Bruno from Macdonald Hall


ETA: I'm also trying to recall the name of a children's mystery series starring a brother and a sister, named Will and Liz. Googling this turns up a LOT of Pirates of the Caribbean fan fic, but no children's mysteries. Anyone else recall this series?

I admit, I've been guilty of this, but it struck me today, while reading the one or two star reviews of Dawkin's Greatest Show on Earth, that some reviewers don't know how to do the math. Or they arrived at a number they liked and broke it down arbitrarily without thinking about the values involved.

I'm talking about the "I give it one star for content and two for style, so let's call that three altogether."

Presumably you'd be giving one star out of five for content and two out of five for style, so that should be 1.5 stars, maybe 2 in a system that doesn't allow for fractions. Otherwise, you could end up with reviews like "one star for bad sound, one star for crappy restrooms, one star for uncomfortable seats, one star for service, and one star for too-expensive drinks--let's call that five stars!" Yeah....probably not the impression you were trying to convey.

(I admit to pulling this sloppy phrasing myself with some of my Yelp reviews. I'll try to keep that in mind. Bad Lis!)

The last few days, we'd been letting things slip. Dishes piled up in the sink, there were small piles of clothes in the bathroom and by the foot of the bed. But no more! We took about an hour today and got the place back to the shiny cleanness that we had at T-day. T-day being the benchmark because it was the first time the apartment was not just clean but unpacked too.

John got all the dishes cleaned up, and folded clothes, while I acquired a dusting apparatus and dusted the bedroom, office, and living room and then vaccuumed. We are mighty!

Then we sat down and played a little WoW. We did Heroic Trial of the Champions and I got a number of upgrades. So then we went and skibbled through Forge of Souls and the Pit of Saron. I upgraded about three items by the end of our run.

And then, as if all that wasn't enough, I ended up attacking two of the four storage boxes in the closet and got them unpacked with the contents appropriately stowed. Now we have two boxes left to go. (One of which is primarily candles, candle holders, and picture frames.)

With my life approaching real order, maybe I can focus that energy more creatively, without feeling like I should be doing something else.

http://sylviasproblem.wordpress.com/2009/12/02/what-happened-to-hope-witsell/

I read this story, and of course, I'm appalled that her parents and school let the situation escalate as they did. Horrified that she was treated as the problem, and not the victim of assault as her privacy was violated repeatedly. Filled with rage that any girl (any person really) on the cusp of figuring out her own sexuality is treated so vilely.

And then there's the flashbacks to how a similar situation played out in my own life. The long and the short of it goes like this:

In third grade, my teacher launched a science experiment involving us watching our germs grow in petri dishes. And while mine were not ultimately any worse than most of the other students, they grew quickly enough in the first few days that some students thought it would be funny to tease me about my germs. I couldn't walk anywhere without anybody screaming or ducking or flinching or calling me names. I couldn't TOUCH anybody or anything without setting off a chain reaction. I was the socially approved leper. It was okay to lock me out of classrooms, to hide my books, steal my food or lunch money, copy my homework or claim it as yours, trip me, push me into the boys restroom, play practical jokes, and malign me publically in any way possible. Any elaborate and inventive torture a pack of children can devise, I was subjected to. The only saving grace in the situation was that the GERMS kept physical hazing from actually occuring. I'm sure the teachers and most of the adults who knew about the situation thought it was just a phase, a brief fad, and that the kids would forget it. But they were wrong, and I got to pay the price by being the school leper for three years until my parents pulled me from that school and sent me to a gifted child program in a different school. (Meanwhile, my sibs got to still deal with some of the fallout, as the meme perpetuated itself. I don't know how bad they had it, but I do know that my parents eventually sent my brothers to a THIRD school in the next district over.)

I felt utterly abandoned by the adults in that school, partly because the half-hearted attempts they made to change the situation were never followed through, and generally adult interference usually made my situation worse. (The lesson I learned: You can't expect adults to fix the situation. Much later, when I was sexually harrassed in ninth grade and finally went to an adult to get the situation changed, I begged that they devise a way of separating me from my harrasser without alerting the class to the situation. My harrasser was popular and it would not have gone well with me if his friends had decided to take retribution.)

Adults owe it to the people in their care to make sure they aren't making the situation worse. It pisses me off to see Hope Witsell's parents and school punishing her for circumstances far beyond her control, circumstances that were already hurting her.

(Like Hope, I did have a core group of friends who stood by me during this time. Friends from my ward, and a few others. Incidentally, a number of people from my past have apologised to me for stuff that went on in grade school. Which is nice, but these days I think it wasn't a failure on their part so much as the adults who ran the system. I mean, kids often act like little pack animals, and adults are supposed to be teaching us how to be civilised and mature. The kids were often acting according to internalised pressure while the adults actually had power to change things...and didn't. I know they thought it would go away if they ignored it, or maybe they were trying to do stuff behind the scenes, but if so, they never once thought to throw me a lifeline.)

The kids in Hope Witsell's case are a bit different. They were older--in junior high--and should have had the rudiments of civilized behaviour. But the adults are still culpable for reinforcing the dynamic and perpetuating the idea that punishment was somehow deserved. Their reaction towards Hope was entirely out of proportion to any perceived offense (if you could even think an act that was meant to be a private display of sexuality could be offensive). Poor kid didn't do anything wrong, and retribution dropped on her like a tonne of bricks.

We're about to go see Princess and the Frog for work. (I worked on the video game for the Wii, so work is treating the teams to a movie outing.)

I'm percolating on my short "Enoch is Fled" aka The New Nuclear. (I miss the title The New Nuclear, but Enoch is Fled works better for this iteration.)