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The rain was not as terrible as forecasters had predicted, though there were a few good thunderclaps, and there was a tornado watch until four AM. I spent the evening the the bathroom, reading that damnable Richard Pells book I mention in an earlier post. I waded through forty pages or so before my abstract and fanciful soul screamed for mercy. The dry prose burns my metaphor-happy heart, I tell you. After two hundred and eighteen pages of evidence, theorizing, and faffing exposition, I can sum up his arguments thus:
The Europeans wanted American speed, convenience, and material wealth, yet they were reluctant to sacrifice anything in return. They still expected the same qualty and Old World intimacy in their goods and services, and they were surprised and angry when America's progressive attitudes and mass consumerism began to take root in the minds of their children. In short, they wanted to have their cake and eat it, too, in perpetuity.
There. All summed up. Can I stop reading this horror now?
To add to my woe, I've caught a cold over Spring Break. Oh, the joys and hidden benefits of public transit. Small children with runny noses and hacking, death-rattle coughs should be kept at home, not set loose on a bus and allowed to blow their mucus and sickness on everything within a thirty-foot radius. The more sadistic part of me thinks they should be pitched from the windows of the bus at speed. Nothing fills me with more dread and irritation than being strapped in beside a grinning, mucus goblin in Keds and a Thomas the Tank Engine t-shirt.
Hopefully, the Dayquil I have been swallowing like clockwork for the last eight hours should keep the worst at bay. I've dispatched the roomie to the grocery store for orange juice, more drugs, toilet paper for the nose, and chicken soup. The Dayquil is a must; if I don't have it, I get so congested that I can't sleep, and all misery and no sleep makes Guera a bitchy girl.
On a related note, never chew a Dayquil capsule. An awful, lamentable idea, as I discovered this morning. The taste was so hideous that I nearly vomited. Chalk and aspirin and powdered semen of the Devil. Denis Leary wasn't kidding when he called it Green Death Flavor. The only thing worse in my experience is Thera-Flu. The stuff tastes like lime goat bile au jus. My mother forced some on me once, and I promptly threw it up. Agh.
Not sure what I'll do today. The Dayquil in my system has blunted the worst of the cold, but I'm not up for any excursions. I think I'll stay in and read, maybe fic a bit. I know I'll be showering. I usually don't shower the first day or so of a cold, but my monthly cycle just ended, and I've got serious body funk going. I hate being grimy, too.
I think I'll talk tomorrow about Something the Lord Made and a hilariously bad movie I saw on the SciFi Channel entitled, Skeleton Man. It had to be seen to be believed.
The Europeans wanted American speed, convenience, and material wealth, yet they were reluctant to sacrifice anything in return. They still expected the same qualty and Old World intimacy in their goods and services, and they were surprised and angry when America's progressive attitudes and mass consumerism began to take root in the minds of their children. In short, they wanted to have their cake and eat it, too, in perpetuity.
There. All summed up. Can I stop reading this horror now?
To add to my woe, I've caught a cold over Spring Break. Oh, the joys and hidden benefits of public transit. Small children with runny noses and hacking, death-rattle coughs should be kept at home, not set loose on a bus and allowed to blow their mucus and sickness on everything within a thirty-foot radius. The more sadistic part of me thinks they should be pitched from the windows of the bus at speed. Nothing fills me with more dread and irritation than being strapped in beside a grinning, mucus goblin in Keds and a Thomas the Tank Engine t-shirt.
Hopefully, the Dayquil I have been swallowing like clockwork for the last eight hours should keep the worst at bay. I've dispatched the roomie to the grocery store for orange juice, more drugs, toilet paper for the nose, and chicken soup. The Dayquil is a must; if I don't have it, I get so congested that I can't sleep, and all misery and no sleep makes Guera a bitchy girl.
On a related note, never chew a Dayquil capsule. An awful, lamentable idea, as I discovered this morning. The taste was so hideous that I nearly vomited. Chalk and aspirin and powdered semen of the Devil. Denis Leary wasn't kidding when he called it Green Death Flavor. The only thing worse in my experience is Thera-Flu. The stuff tastes like lime goat bile au jus. My mother forced some on me once, and I promptly threw it up. Agh.
Not sure what I'll do today. The Dayquil in my system has blunted the worst of the cold, but I'm not up for any excursions. I think I'll stay in and read, maybe fic a bit. I know I'll be showering. I usually don't shower the first day or so of a cold, but my monthly cycle just ended, and I've got serious body funk going. I hate being grimy, too.
I think I'll talk tomorrow about Something the Lord Made and a hilariously bad movie I saw on the SciFi Channel entitled, Skeleton Man. It had to be seen to be believed.