Caution: Ewww. Seriously. Ye be fairly warned.

He's Dead, Jim
My mother & father babysat Where's Teddy? & The Cupcake down at Xanadu last weekend, & seem to have returned with a nasty form of the dreadful sick. Each in turn, they've had it coming out of both ends, explosive diarrhea (Is there any other kind?) paired with projectile vomiting. My father is now on the upswing, though he's still far from one hundred per cent (& railing against the pitiless reality that he's sixty-two-years-old & his body doesn't bounce back as spryly as in more halcyon days). My mother is in the grip of the dreadful sick, having stayed in bed or on the porcelain throne all of today. Paranoia seems a perfectly rational frame of mind in such a sickhouse. I'm keenly aware that all is not well, at least not at nominal levels. I've been burping for hours, though I've imbibed nothing out of the ordinary. As a result of this, I ate dinner very gingerly, taking the gamble that I'd feel worse if famished. Most worryingly, my father reports that he burped frequently & at length in the hours before he started vomiting. My head isn't quite right, almost but not quite as if there's a gauze betwixt my sensory organs & what they sense. My forehead feels warm to the touch,but I'm also aware that my hands are cold due to poor circulation; so, a warm forehead is hardly conclusive. I desire fervently not to fall ill. Beyond the usual arguments against illness, I've a date scheduled for tomorrow night & ambitions of finishing up the house painting this weekend. I intend to retire early & sleep in late, reckoning that maximum rest can only be to my benefit. Of course, I'm no sawbones (though I do play one on television), & that reasoning might be entirely flawed. Either way, we use Napoleon's battle plan, as reported by Casey McCall: "We show up and we see what happens."

All clear! All clear!

Project PANDORA
I've a date with The Bagel scheduled for tomorrow even, if I'm fit & non-contagious. I'm far less apprehensive that I was before last week's date train wreck with Miss Mozart, my first real world date with someone from an online dating website. Miss Mozart sent me several text messages on Tuesday, & this evening she sent a text messaging asking if she might ring me soon (she knows that I prefer telephonic appointments to the usual chaotic system of trusting to the double coincidence of wants for both parties to be free & will to chat at the same moment in time). Fiddlesticks! Silence in this case did not speak volumes, or perhaps it did & this is her last-ditch, go-for-broke attempt to rekindle whatever she thought we had before we met face to face. It's a hassle I don't need, especially as I self-obsess about the dreadful sick, but it's a hassle I brought on mine own head; I put myself out there, & "out there" you have to deal with the other persons out there, unpleasant as they might be. *grumble grumble* On the other hand, Project PANDORA needs data, including data on how to kick a girl to the curb as gently as possible. Again, opinions would be welcome; PANDORA needs data, all data, not just what I discern myself as I grope blindly toward The Last Angry Bride.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Edna's Goldfish, "I'm Your Density" from Before You Knew Better… (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I cannot see the word "destiny" without imagining it replaced by the word "density," & then snickering. Thank you, George McFly, for the immortal words, "I'm your density."

Also, with these two R.B.D.S.O.T.D. it's almost as if SKApril has come early! "Ska, ska, ska."

Mittwoch, 12 September
Rude City Riot, "Victoria" from the Rude City Riot E.P. (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Well, when he came to
There was a pistol, twenty-two,
Cock and pointed right between his eyes,
She said, 'Your money or your demise.'"