My latest sick reality tv fascination is Rock Star: INXS. I started watching it when I was in the hospital, and somehow decided to keep checking in at home.
I suppose I could rant on about whether or not INXS is even a viable band anymore. They hit their creative peak way back when I was in highschool, and a freshman at that (say, about sixteen years ago). I remember really starting to dig them as a freshman when this girl I was into would make me listen to them all the time. Still, I did come to like the music. When Michael Hutchence died, I would have expected them to find another Aussie singer and keep on keeping on, or retire (and assumed the latter), not pop in nearly a decade later as reality show hosts shilling the American audience in what, ultimately, comes off as little more than a more rocking version of American Idol.
And still, unlike A.I., I can't seem to keep myself from tuning in. While not groundbreaking, a good few of the performers are really enjoyable to listen to. Do I have my favorites? Nope. There are three that I think would best suit the band should they win (Marty Casey, Mig Ayesa and JD Fortune).
I think it could be a really interesting turn if one of the female contestants won and got to join the band, but I wouldn't want to see it. Now, I love female performers, but I don't think they'd be the right fit. It would be like Nirvana (though there really is no comparison to Nirvana) replacing Kurt Cobain with Britney Spears. It just wouldn't be right.
Check that out. I can talk about really unimportant shit just like your average twelve year-old. Rock on.
Update 9-7-5: I'm all about Marty Casey winning now.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Itchy and Job Security
Today I had to go to the cardiologist and get attached to this thing they call a halter. Basically I have electrodes attached to me again (glue is itchy) that lead in to a portable monitor I have to carry around for the next 24 hours so they can monitor my heratbeat and see if they can see anything new regarding the arythmia I had in the hospital.
Like I said, it itches.
And ina huzzah moment. Found out that my old boss in the Ag Dept. never rehired anyone as his TA while I was away last year and that my job is there waiting for me. I just have to sign some new paperwork this week. I continue to love how the job I had in the department that has nothing to do with any of my majors has always and continues to treat me like a valued employee, while the English Department continues to treat their employees to the revolving door.
Like I said, it itches.
And ina huzzah moment. Found out that my old boss in the Ag Dept. never rehired anyone as his TA while I was away last year and that my job is there waiting for me. I just have to sign some new paperwork this week. I continue to love how the job I had in the department that has nothing to do with any of my majors has always and continues to treat me like a valued employee, while the English Department continues to treat their employees to the revolving door.
Monday, August 08, 2005
It's Official: Cancer is Really F-ing Annoying
Yes, I'm fortunate to be a survivor (and really, truly, I'm very thankful), but as today's cardiologist appointment has lead to four new appointments, I'm coming to realize that I'm bound to spend the rest of my life constantly tripping to doctor's offices.
Has the universe forgotten that I both despise and distrust doctors (and I think I really do have plenty of good reasons to be that way, given my history of incompetant or neglectful docs), or is this just some form of ironic punishment for the same?
Has the universe forgotten that I both despise and distrust doctors (and I think I really do have plenty of good reasons to be that way, given my history of incompetant or neglectful docs), or is this just some form of ironic punishment for the same?
Sigh
Today I had an appointment with the pulmunologist. The appointment was for 2:40, and I didn't get to even leave the waiting room 'til 3:55. Annoying. Dr. Verma spent maybe five minutes with me total--listened to my lungs (sounds pretty good), looked over my pathology from the tumor, told me it was a carcinoid (which I already knew) and declared I now needed to see an oncologist.
Sigh.
I know the odds are in my favor with this sort of cancer, but no one wants to see an oncologist.
Don't have that appointment set up yet. Tomorrow I see the cardiologist about my arythmia and I see the surgeon for my follow-up on the 22nd.
Sigh.
I know the odds are in my favor with this sort of cancer, but no one wants to see an oncologist.
Don't have that appointment set up yet. Tomorrow I see the cardiologist about my arythmia and I see the surgeon for my follow-up on the 22nd.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Post-Op Update
Been asked a few times in private e-mail and in comments here about how things are going post-op, making me realize I haven't really been talking about it here.
Things are going generally well.
This past week has actually seen an increase in pain/discomfort as my body has begun to take a lot more notice of the void left by my removed rib. As it needs devote less energy to healing my incision, which seems to be scarring nicely, it's going overtime letting me know that my ribcage and the attached musculature aren't happy at the loss of rib. Coming home, I didn't need pain medication (I soldiered through it) but this past week I have needed it a couple times.
The walking continues to be easy, if not uncomfortable. Would be nicer if it weren't the hottest effing portion of the summer.
The incision seems to be coming along. There's a lot that I can't quite see, and the tape's only started falling off of about half of it, which blocks my view of the incision further.
But, I can sit up, stand up from sitting or laying down unaided, move my left arm in a better range of motion than I could a week ago. All good. I can sleep on my right side but not my left (still hurts): I prefer sleeping on my side to sleeping on my back, so this is good, but I prefer sleeping on my left side over my right, so still a ways to go.
Discomfort is still ever present, and sometimes the back hurts if I move or sit wrong.
Breathing: Gone is the wheezing. The cough is still there, but only very occasional and it is still bringing crap up, so it's good (actually, I should start taking the allergy meds again and see if less crap comes up). I still can't sing along with the radio as fully well as I could before, so the loss of lung capacity is noticeable and will hopefully continue to improve. I'm test-driving the lung capacity with extended walking tonight by going out with the boys to celebrate Dusty's birthday. Will remember to go light on the drinking.
Things are going generally well.
This past week has actually seen an increase in pain/discomfort as my body has begun to take a lot more notice of the void left by my removed rib. As it needs devote less energy to healing my incision, which seems to be scarring nicely, it's going overtime letting me know that my ribcage and the attached musculature aren't happy at the loss of rib. Coming home, I didn't need pain medication (I soldiered through it) but this past week I have needed it a couple times.
The walking continues to be easy, if not uncomfortable. Would be nicer if it weren't the hottest effing portion of the summer.
The incision seems to be coming along. There's a lot that I can't quite see, and the tape's only started falling off of about half of it, which blocks my view of the incision further.
But, I can sit up, stand up from sitting or laying down unaided, move my left arm in a better range of motion than I could a week ago. All good. I can sleep on my right side but not my left (still hurts): I prefer sleeping on my side to sleeping on my back, so this is good, but I prefer sleeping on my left side over my right, so still a ways to go.
Discomfort is still ever present, and sometimes the back hurts if I move or sit wrong.
Breathing: Gone is the wheezing. The cough is still there, but only very occasional and it is still bringing crap up, so it's good (actually, I should start taking the allergy meds again and see if less crap comes up). I still can't sing along with the radio as fully well as I could before, so the loss of lung capacity is noticeable and will hopefully continue to improve. I'm test-driving the lung capacity with extended walking tonight by going out with the boys to celebrate Dusty's birthday. Will remember to go light on the drinking.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Mandate
Given:
1. We (Denise and I as foster parents) are mandated reporters (meaning that any instance of abuse, neglect, endangerment of children viewed by us must be reported).
2. Denise and I have been watching a reality series on VH1 about Hulk Hogan and his family called “Hogan knows Best” featuring him, his wife, his 14 year old son and 16 year old daughter.
3. In one episode Mr. Hogan not only allows, but encourages his 14 year old son to drive around on public streets in a car (obviously, at 14, the kid has no liscence). Isn’t this endangerment?
4. In another episode, the entire family takes to the streets on motorcycles. My understanding is you must be 18 to have a motorcycle drivers liscence—again, neither of his kids would then have any.
5. Mr. Hogan is often verbally abusive towards his daughter about her weight/eating habits.
So, my question is, should we be reporting Hulk Hogan?
1. We (Denise and I as foster parents) are mandated reporters (meaning that any instance of abuse, neglect, endangerment of children viewed by us must be reported).
2. Denise and I have been watching a reality series on VH1 about Hulk Hogan and his family called “Hogan knows Best” featuring him, his wife, his 14 year old son and 16 year old daughter.
3. In one episode Mr. Hogan not only allows, but encourages his 14 year old son to drive around on public streets in a car (obviously, at 14, the kid has no liscence). Isn’t this endangerment?
4. In another episode, the entire family takes to the streets on motorcycles. My understanding is you must be 18 to have a motorcycle drivers liscence—again, neither of his kids would then have any.
5. Mr. Hogan is often verbally abusive towards his daughter about her weight/eating habits.
So, my question is, should we be reporting Hulk Hogan?
More Fun With Pictures
Monday was Lash and Aeia's first day back to school. It was also Aeia's first day of Kindergarten. As mentioned earlier, she was really nervous about this, but come morning she was raring to go. It ended up that one of her friends from Head Start was also in her class, which was also a good thing for her (her Head Start class was in a different part of the district, so the fact ANY of her classmates were now in her Kindergarten is a big deal).
Lash and Aeia 1st day school ‘05
Aeia with her backpack. She looks a little like she could use a bit more sleep though.
Lash hands up—raising the roof?
Rael 8-1-5
Ron Lim art prize for Lash's contest entry at BaT Comics.
Lash’s winning masterpiece of the Fantastic Four. You can just see the shoe Aeia drew in to his picture on the Invisible Woman.
Lash and Aeia 1st day school ‘05
Aeia with her backpack. She looks a little like she could use a bit more sleep though.
Lash hands up—raising the roof?
Rael 8-1-5
Ron Lim art prize for Lash's contest entry at BaT Comics.
Lash’s winning masterpiece of the Fantastic Four. You can just see the shoe Aeia drew in to his picture on the Invisible Woman.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Once Upon a Time they Fought the Power
Once upon a time I was almost kicked out of university over a poem I wrote. Once upon a time I had a brief foray into the world of slam poetry (would still do it, but consumes time I prioritize to other things). Both of these wre in small part due to my association with a guy named Eirik Ott (stage name "big poppa e") while we shared the same poetry classes at Chico State over and over and over again. He's moved on to bigger and better things in Texas, like unemployment and a lot more slamming.
When I can, I watch this show on HBO called Russel Simmons Presents: Def Poetry. This Friday's episode had Eirik as one of the poets. He did a poem of his that had some racialundertones; a poem I remembered from way back, and liked. Though I remembered it being longer and assumed he had to adjust it due to televised time constraints.
Popped in to his blog today and found out that it had been longer and that they had cut it shorter in editing (also that he had done two poems, and that they chose what he felt was the weaker performace to televise because the weaker poem had racial relevence. I won't say much to that yet except to say that while I like the poem, I think a poem about a white guy not understanding the black experience, coming from the mouths of a white guy speaking for a black guy really isn't that moving to me).
Ok, I think it's a little bit bullshit to pick a weaker performance (judged purely on audience reaction, and I trust his judgement) over a better one just because the weaker one spoke more to racial issues. There are already enough racial issues poems on the show, go with what's stronger and entertain your tv audience a little.
But what really bugs me is the editing of the poem. I can understand if they said "Hey, Eirik, you've got two minutes per poem, so you need to cut the time on these by thirty seconds(or whatever), because then the cuts would be his. It would be the artist deciding how to represent his art. Instead, we have the suits deciding how to represent the artist. It's fucking Turner Television colorizing the classics.
Anyway, I just wanted to rant that it's pretty bad form for a show called Def Poetry to supposedly support the arts and yet edits the art as they see fit to fill their square holes with round pegs.
When I can, I watch this show on HBO called Russel Simmons Presents: Def Poetry. This Friday's episode had Eirik as one of the poets. He did a poem of his that had some racialundertones; a poem I remembered from way back, and liked. Though I remembered it being longer and assumed he had to adjust it due to televised time constraints.
Popped in to his blog today and found out that it had been longer and that they had cut it shorter in editing (also that he had done two poems, and that they chose what he felt was the weaker performace to televise because the weaker poem had racial relevence. I won't say much to that yet except to say that while I like the poem, I think a poem about a white guy not understanding the black experience, coming from the mouths of a white guy speaking for a black guy really isn't that moving to me).
Ok, I think it's a little bit bullshit to pick a weaker performance (judged purely on audience reaction, and I trust his judgement) over a better one just because the weaker one spoke more to racial issues. There are already enough racial issues poems on the show, go with what's stronger and entertain your tv audience a little.
But what really bugs me is the editing of the poem. I can understand if they said "Hey, Eirik, you've got two minutes per poem, so you need to cut the time on these by thirty seconds(or whatever), because then the cuts would be his. It would be the artist deciding how to represent his art. Instead, we have the suits deciding how to represent the artist. It's fucking Turner Television colorizing the classics.
Anyway, I just wanted to rant that it's pretty bad form for a show called Def Poetry to supposedly support the arts and yet edits the art as they see fit to fill their square holes with round pegs.
Fantastic
Last week Lash crayoned a picture of the Fantastic Four for this art contest at BaT Comics. Aeia snuck in and drew a shoe on Invisible Woman...an act that deeply upset Lash as she "ruined" his picture. While balancing punishing her with consoling him, I encouraged him to draw another picture if he wanted, and he didn't.
Friday, the deadline, he entered the picture for the 0-13 age bracket. Teresa, the owner's wife was very complimentary of it, and this made Lash happier. I was a bit annoyed he had to be present at the prizegiving announcement, as it slightly messed with our Saturday plans, but not so annoyed that I didn't have him go.
And so he and I convinced Denise to take him. She bought him a Slurpee in case he didn't win (she was supposed to wait until after and buy him one if he didn't win. Crossed wires). Lash came home with a Slurpee. And a Mr. Fantastic Toy. And a Dr. Doom card signed by artist Dan Brereton (fabulous painter). And a signed sketch of the Thing and Human Torch by near-local comic artist Ron Lim (Captain America, Silver Surfer, X-Men2099, Ex-Mutants...).
So, I guess things turned out ok for Lash and his "ruined" portrait.
Friday, the deadline, he entered the picture for the 0-13 age bracket. Teresa, the owner's wife was very complimentary of it, and this made Lash happier. I was a bit annoyed he had to be present at the prizegiving announcement, as it slightly messed with our Saturday plans, but not so annoyed that I didn't have him go.
And so he and I convinced Denise to take him. She bought him a Slurpee in case he didn't win (she was supposed to wait until after and buy him one if he didn't win. Crossed wires). Lash came home with a Slurpee. And a Mr. Fantastic Toy. And a Dr. Doom card signed by artist Dan Brereton (fabulous painter). And a signed sketch of the Thing and Human Torch by near-local comic artist Ron Lim (Captain America, Silver Surfer, X-Men2099, Ex-Mutants...).
So, I guess things turned out ok for Lash and his "ruined" portrait.
Vacation? We Don't Need No Stinking Vacation!
Lash starts school again on Monday (3rd grade). Because one of the other local schools closed down, his class will have a lot of new students, and a lot of his former classmates (his class had been together without changes from K-2) are now in another class (this doesn't bother me so much as most of the kids who bullied Lash are now in the other class).
Additionally, Aeia starts Kindergarten on Monday. Today she crawled into my lap and cried about how she didn't want to go alone--that she wants one of us there with her that day, which is a bit weird as she handled Headstart for two years with no real problem. I think I've reassured her that everything will be ok.
Additionally, Aeia starts Kindergarten on Monday. Today she crawled into my lap and cried about how she didn't want to go alone--that she wants one of us there with her that day, which is a bit weird as she handled Headstart for two years with no real problem. I think I've reassured her that everything will be ok.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Fun With Pictures
While on one of my walks this week, I bought a onesie for Rael. It's black and has the punk band the Descendents plus an image from one of their albums on it. The Descendents are my favorite punk band, so I couldn't resist it, especially with Rael who, no matter what we try to do about it, has a perpetual fauxhawk.
Here are a couple snaps of him in the onesie taken today, plus one of Aeia and one of Lash not making the peace sign (he's playing at kung fu fighting).
kung fu lash
dig that kid's hair
punk rock baby
Aeia askew
Here are a couple snaps of him in the onesie taken today, plus one of Aeia and one of Lash not making the peace sign (he's playing at kung fu fighting).
kung fu lash
dig that kid's hair
punk rock baby
Aeia askew
Monday, July 25, 2005
the Final Adventures of Cough, Cough, Wheeze, Wheeze: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
More percussions, more walking, more percussions, more walking.
New roommate Tuesday. Elderly heart surgery patient. He has frequent visitors, all well mannered and helpful (especially regarding privacy issues around certain things you don't want me to blog about).
Food fluctuates between marginally better and marginally worse.
Chrissy visits with her little guys (nurse then begins to think they're my kids, knowing about Denise and the other kids...I become temporarily scandalous--until I set her straight during spongebath) and bring me their recharged GameBoy. A little blessing for wiling away the late night hours in the darkness when I can't sleep.
Other non-familial visits: Dusty and Ian make their appearance, bearing gift: a shot glass from Ship Ashore. Ship Ashore is a store along the California-Oregon border that we saw featured on an episode of Road Trip with Hewell Hauser. During one of the pan and scan shots of the store it showed Nazi memorabilia, which astounded us. Then, as usual, the show put on the store's location and phone number, which we decided to put on a mission of prank phone calling. Apparently others must have had similar ideas of harassing them, as the number no longer worked. Anyway, that was then... so the boys went up to see it in person and brought me back a shot glass. Groovy. Dusty coerced me into a shot of milk. I decided to be mysterious about the state of my rib and his desired rib roast. Bless his little emo-hairred heart, Dusty vows to bring me nachos after work on Wednesday.
I have a new nurse this night who never once checks up on me, helps me walk, anything. He forgets my pain medicine twice, and is over an hour late in bringing it after I remind him the second time.
On Tuesday the chest tube is clamped off so that they can see if I no longer need it.
Come Wednesday, I have a new roommate (previous is discharged), also a heart surgery patient. His family is ever present and annoying as they are constantly roping in the nurse to attend to them and only them.
Judy and Kari bring me some Pad Thai; Paul and Phil arrive while they're visiting. Phil reeks of b.o. and I'm convinced it's the reason why the ladies vamoose out of there so soon after. I end up sending the Thai home with Denise to be had when I get out. Dusty calls to let me know he has to stay late to work and won't be able to bring nachos, then ends up bringing the nachos after visiting hours anyway and much joy is had as I eat the best meal I've had all that week. Chris visits during this time as well, and I'm thankful for lax attention to visiting hours.
I also get phone calls from Kel and Drew and Rod. This makes me very happy. I also receive a pot of sunflowers from Aimee; this too makes me very happy.
On Wednesday the chest tube is removed and boy is that painful. I'm then told that if the next day's chest x-ray goes well, I can go home.
I finally finish my book. During one of my mini catnaps I catch roommate's adult son turning off my light. I decide to be passive aggressive in my revenge and play GameBoy for three hours with the volume up at max while Cartoon Network belts out episodes of Power Puff Girls and Pokemon.
On Thursday, I read the two comics I brought with me. Walking Dead is so phenomenally good, even if you're not a zombie nutcase like me.
Robert brings me pizza and a Dr. Pepper as I get the news that I'm being discharged. Whooping with joy I immediately start gathering my things, dress in real clothes and call Denise. Then the nurse comes in and informs me that I have to have another potassium i.v. first, and that it'll take a bit over two hours (which ends up ballooning to four hours due to both an i.v. malfunction--my second bag to burst in this hospital stay--and roommate's annoying son constantly drawing nurse away from fixing my replacement i.v.). Roommate ends up discharged before I am and I begin to wonder why heart patients only stay in DCU a day before going home while I have at least three.
At any rate, I do eventually get to go home on Thursday and much joy is had.
New roommate Tuesday. Elderly heart surgery patient. He has frequent visitors, all well mannered and helpful (especially regarding privacy issues around certain things you don't want me to blog about).
Food fluctuates between marginally better and marginally worse.
Chrissy visits with her little guys (nurse then begins to think they're my kids, knowing about Denise and the other kids...I become temporarily scandalous--until I set her straight during spongebath) and bring me their recharged GameBoy. A little blessing for wiling away the late night hours in the darkness when I can't sleep.
Other non-familial visits: Dusty and Ian make their appearance, bearing gift: a shot glass from Ship Ashore. Ship Ashore is a store along the California-Oregon border that we saw featured on an episode of Road Trip with Hewell Hauser. During one of the pan and scan shots of the store it showed Nazi memorabilia, which astounded us. Then, as usual, the show put on the store's location and phone number, which we decided to put on a mission of prank phone calling. Apparently others must have had similar ideas of harassing them, as the number no longer worked. Anyway, that was then... so the boys went up to see it in person and brought me back a shot glass. Groovy. Dusty coerced me into a shot of milk. I decided to be mysterious about the state of my rib and his desired rib roast. Bless his little emo-hairred heart, Dusty vows to bring me nachos after work on Wednesday.
I have a new nurse this night who never once checks up on me, helps me walk, anything. He forgets my pain medicine twice, and is over an hour late in bringing it after I remind him the second time.
On Tuesday the chest tube is clamped off so that they can see if I no longer need it.
Come Wednesday, I have a new roommate (previous is discharged), also a heart surgery patient. His family is ever present and annoying as they are constantly roping in the nurse to attend to them and only them.
Judy and Kari bring me some Pad Thai; Paul and Phil arrive while they're visiting. Phil reeks of b.o. and I'm convinced it's the reason why the ladies vamoose out of there so soon after. I end up sending the Thai home with Denise to be had when I get out. Dusty calls to let me know he has to stay late to work and won't be able to bring nachos, then ends up bringing the nachos after visiting hours anyway and much joy is had as I eat the best meal I've had all that week. Chris visits during this time as well, and I'm thankful for lax attention to visiting hours.
I also get phone calls from Kel and Drew and Rod. This makes me very happy. I also receive a pot of sunflowers from Aimee; this too makes me very happy.
On Wednesday the chest tube is removed and boy is that painful. I'm then told that if the next day's chest x-ray goes well, I can go home.
I finally finish my book. During one of my mini catnaps I catch roommate's adult son turning off my light. I decide to be passive aggressive in my revenge and play GameBoy for three hours with the volume up at max while Cartoon Network belts out episodes of Power Puff Girls and Pokemon.
On Thursday, I read the two comics I brought with me. Walking Dead is so phenomenally good, even if you're not a zombie nutcase like me.
Robert brings me pizza and a Dr. Pepper as I get the news that I'm being discharged. Whooping with joy I immediately start gathering my things, dress in real clothes and call Denise. Then the nurse comes in and informs me that I have to have another potassium i.v. first, and that it'll take a bit over two hours (which ends up ballooning to four hours due to both an i.v. malfunction--my second bag to burst in this hospital stay--and roommate's annoying son constantly drawing nurse away from fixing my replacement i.v.). Roommate ends up discharged before I am and I begin to wonder why heart patients only stay in DCU a day before going home while I have at least three.
At any rate, I do eventually get to go home on Thursday and much joy is had.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
the Final Adventuresd of Cough, Cough, Wheeze, Wheeze: Saturday, Sunday and Monday
Much of Saturday is spent with me trying to pull in five minutes of sleep here and there between all of the blood draws, percussions, walks, etc.
Am visited again by Denise. My grandmother also visits, as do two foster kids. Nice to visit with them, naturally (all of the attention is great and helpful) but increases my being bummed over not being able to see Lash or Aeia.
Discomfort towards the tube in my throat grows and grows. Honestly, the worst liked of all my tubes.
Hospital television sucks. Try reading one of my books. Begin to discover that between the drugs and lack of rest, sustained reading is very difficult and drowsy-making. Adult Swim on Cartoon Network shows an anime about a child, adult and oldster who meet online and agree to commit suicide together. Disturbing. Very disturbing scene where they all have nooses on a tree branch and hang themselves. The girl is jumping up and down on her rope giggling. The tree branch breaks under their weight. Seriously begin rethinking allowing teens to watch anime on cartoon network. At least it isn't tentacle porn.
Through walking, breathing exercises, etc. I continue to recuperate a tad bit faster than the norm. That night they finally remove the tube from my throat. Hospital nutritionist becomes my best friend by offering to get me mashed potatoes for food tonight (my deepest darkest secret is that I loved mashed potatoes from the box, and given the then present circumstances, they sounded like Heaven). When they finally do bring my a meal--there are no mashed potatoes. I feel betrayed! Instead I've a meal of liquids: chicken broth, jello, juice and orange sherbet. Aside from the tepid temperature of the broth, all was at least pleasant on the taste buds. I officially begin looking forward to people sneaking in outside food.
Percussion treatment around midnight is especially painful. My pulmonologist happens to be there and orders an additional steroid be injected in me. Two hours later, am awoken by Tony (pleasant but confidence lacking male-nurse) because I've developed an erratic heartbeat and he wants me to do breathing and coughing exercises to see if it goes away. It does not.
Sunday brings a short visit from my mother and step-father. Still nice to see them. Denise and foster kids also come again. Chrissy lies and says she's my sister, and so she and Chris visit for a while as well. Visits are easily my high points of each day. TV is still terrible. Reading still makes me sleepy.
Cardiologist comes in and quizzes me on family history. Says the arrythmia is probably nothing to worry about and will correct itself (I will save you all the suspense. As of my discharge, it has NOT gone away or corrected itself). He orders and echocardiogram and it shows my heart to be in good condition nonetheless.
Sunday food:
Breakfast: malto meal (hate it so much, but ate it), tepid scrambled egg, juice, milk and a banana nut muffinn(tasted but not finished--I hate them).
Lunch: Berry flavored Propel (snuck in by Denise), bland steamed veggies (all veggies I traditionally like but could have done with a little vinegar or seasoning), uber bland macaroni and cheese casserole, juice and iced tea.
Dinner: I forget, except that I know I still haven't had any meat
Monday I'm given stale french toast and bacon for breakfast. How's that for fried gold?
Around ten I'm told I'm going to be moved out of the ICU and into the DCU (regular rooms). They then remove my epidural and my arterial line. And then they forget to move me for a few hours as the pain really begins to set in.
Finally I make it to my new room (a double, shared with some old guy named Rolf). The routine of walking and percussions continues here. I quickly come to understand that the nurse to patient ratio is much different here and the quality of care decreases because of it as I see less and less of hospital employees throughout the rest of my tenure. They begin giving me vicodin for the pain--not very effective.
I finally get to see Lash and Aeia and it makes my week.
TV is still terrible. I begin making a habit of watching "Peoples Court" type tv shows from ten am to five pm non-stop every day I remain (predominantly as background noise as I continue trying to read).
Rolf is like the Mean Girls of the movie. He's very friendly to your face, and then bitches about you behind your back. I thought we had an understanding going, had made it clear if tv volume or anything was bothering him he could let me know and I'd adjust. He assured there's no problem--then bitched to nurse about the noise, about the room light, about the light from my curtained off half of the room, etc. Someone turned my light off while I drowsed. That night was the first filled with nightmares of people trying to eat me from the inside out (I woke, turned on light and wrote a poem about it). That night was also the first where I slept for a longer period and somehow got much less rest (the norm for the rest of my visit).
At five am Tuesday morning I finally have my first bowel movement. Huzzah!
Am visited again by Denise. My grandmother also visits, as do two foster kids. Nice to visit with them, naturally (all of the attention is great and helpful) but increases my being bummed over not being able to see Lash or Aeia.
Discomfort towards the tube in my throat grows and grows. Honestly, the worst liked of all my tubes.
Hospital television sucks. Try reading one of my books. Begin to discover that between the drugs and lack of rest, sustained reading is very difficult and drowsy-making. Adult Swim on Cartoon Network shows an anime about a child, adult and oldster who meet online and agree to commit suicide together. Disturbing. Very disturbing scene where they all have nooses on a tree branch and hang themselves. The girl is jumping up and down on her rope giggling. The tree branch breaks under their weight. Seriously begin rethinking allowing teens to watch anime on cartoon network. At least it isn't tentacle porn.
Through walking, breathing exercises, etc. I continue to recuperate a tad bit faster than the norm. That night they finally remove the tube from my throat. Hospital nutritionist becomes my best friend by offering to get me mashed potatoes for food tonight (my deepest darkest secret is that I loved mashed potatoes from the box, and given the then present circumstances, they sounded like Heaven). When they finally do bring my a meal--there are no mashed potatoes. I feel betrayed! Instead I've a meal of liquids: chicken broth, jello, juice and orange sherbet. Aside from the tepid temperature of the broth, all was at least pleasant on the taste buds. I officially begin looking forward to people sneaking in outside food.
Percussion treatment around midnight is especially painful. My pulmonologist happens to be there and orders an additional steroid be injected in me. Two hours later, am awoken by Tony (pleasant but confidence lacking male-nurse) because I've developed an erratic heartbeat and he wants me to do breathing and coughing exercises to see if it goes away. It does not.
Sunday brings a short visit from my mother and step-father. Still nice to see them. Denise and foster kids also come again. Chrissy lies and says she's my sister, and so she and Chris visit for a while as well. Visits are easily my high points of each day. TV is still terrible. Reading still makes me sleepy.
Cardiologist comes in and quizzes me on family history. Says the arrythmia is probably nothing to worry about and will correct itself (I will save you all the suspense. As of my discharge, it has NOT gone away or corrected itself). He orders and echocardiogram and it shows my heart to be in good condition nonetheless.
Sunday food:
Breakfast: malto meal (hate it so much, but ate it), tepid scrambled egg, juice, milk and a banana nut muffinn(tasted but not finished--I hate them).
Lunch: Berry flavored Propel (snuck in by Denise), bland steamed veggies (all veggies I traditionally like but could have done with a little vinegar or seasoning), uber bland macaroni and cheese casserole, juice and iced tea.
Dinner: I forget, except that I know I still haven't had any meat
Monday I'm given stale french toast and bacon for breakfast. How's that for fried gold?
Around ten I'm told I'm going to be moved out of the ICU and into the DCU (regular rooms). They then remove my epidural and my arterial line. And then they forget to move me for a few hours as the pain really begins to set in.
Finally I make it to my new room (a double, shared with some old guy named Rolf). The routine of walking and percussions continues here. I quickly come to understand that the nurse to patient ratio is much different here and the quality of care decreases because of it as I see less and less of hospital employees throughout the rest of my tenure. They begin giving me vicodin for the pain--not very effective.
I finally get to see Lash and Aeia and it makes my week.
TV is still terrible. I begin making a habit of watching "Peoples Court" type tv shows from ten am to five pm non-stop every day I remain (predominantly as background noise as I continue trying to read).
Rolf is like the Mean Girls of the movie. He's very friendly to your face, and then bitches about you behind your back. I thought we had an understanding going, had made it clear if tv volume or anything was bothering him he could let me know and I'd adjust. He assured there's no problem--then bitched to nurse about the noise, about the room light, about the light from my curtained off half of the room, etc. Someone turned my light off while I drowsed. That night was the first filled with nightmares of people trying to eat me from the inside out (I woke, turned on light and wrote a poem about it). That night was also the first where I slept for a longer period and somehow got much less rest (the norm for the rest of my visit).
At five am Tuesday morning I finally have my first bowel movement. Huzzah!
Thursday, July 21, 2005
the Final Adventures of Cough, Cough, Wheeze, Wheeze: Friday
Friday morning Denise and I are up at 5am. I'm supposed to be at the hospital at 6, and the surgery is supposed to start at 8am. My grandmother is here (thank you so much, grandma) to care for the kids and help Denise, so none of them need waking.
We arrive at the hospital on time and I get nekkid. Can't seem to remove my earrings, so they put tape over them (this is to protect against electrical arcing and oxygen explosions should they need to shock me in the operating room).
Thanks to Denise for reporting via e-mail to this blog while I was gone, though there are some things she got wrong, changed or left out.
I have veins that refuse to show themselves, making placement of IVs and drawing of blood difficult. It's determined that I'll need a nebulizer. Still waiting for blood to be drawn. It's getting late. Am told there's no way I get to keep my rib. My mother and sister are now here as well. I am given a shot of Verced to calm my nerves (note disparity between my account and Denise's).
Am now carted from Ambulatory Services to another room where the anestheseologist will help to prepare me. Denise is still ok to be here. Despite whatever my level of coherence and interaction, this is where I completely leave the building. I am no longer aware of anything. I have absolutely no memory of anything between entering this room and waking up post-op (which is why I know I got the Verced before they finally drew blood, as I would remember getting it drawn from my effing elbow if it were done before the Verced, which I would say did darn well at calming my nerves).
The surgery was supposed to begin at 8 and last 3 hours. I know it started closer to 10 and lasted closer to 4 hours.
I woke up in the recovery room. I could hear my surgeon and someone else talking about the surgery, but I couldn't quite make out the conversation. My breathing still sucked and I wondered if it had been done yet. I hear something that confirms it has been done and then start to guage my own breathing to see if I can tell whether I lost the whole lung or just the half. It feels as if my left lung is also inflating, so I decide they still took just the half. And very shortly thereafter, the recovery nurse tells me as much (I do not see my surgeon for the first time until Saturday, and if not for Denise and my mother, and his seeing them, would have had no info about the surgery that day, which would have greatly stressed me I think).
Eventually I am in ICU and am more and more aware. Mother and Denise visit. They inform me of how the procedure went as they know it: carcinoid, went well, lost top half of lung (which looked like garbage), have to wait for pathology.
As of then: I have a very large incision on my left side (which I can not see, but itches to all hell even now). From this incision is a chest tube which is doing the dual duty of draining excess fluid from my chest cavity and providing counter pressure on my newer smaller left lung to keep it from collapsing. My left arm has an I.V. set up. My right arm has an arterial line placed in it. I have an epidural (blessed, blessed epidural. Now, more than ever, I don't understand women who do natural childbirth). There are two pairs of tubes going into my nose: one is providing me oxygen, the other goes all the way down my nose and into my throat and stomach. It is for pumping my stomach contents (I was literally shitting out my nose) and is incredibly uncomfortable. By far, it was my least favorite tube, and because of it, I was allowed no food or water. Oh right, and of course I also had a foley catheter. Not the most comfy thing either.
Things that are expected of me on this first day, and if I can do them my progress is good: scoring about a 500 on my breathing test (a device that measures my capacity for inhaling volume as opposed to the exhaling volume test so many athsmatics go through) and being able to sit up (aided) for short periods. My first round of breathing tests I was hitting 1000 and 1500. My first sit became my first walk and my first walk was a complete lap of the ICU--far more than expected of anyone on the day of their surgery.
I had given myself a goal of being home by a certain day, and of being a certain level of feeling well, and I think my first days after the surgery are a prime example of just how much mind can work over matter (especially with so many of you directing positive energy my way as well-thank you).
Every time I walked, I gave myself the goal of doing one more lap than previous and suceeded every single time save one (and that was my walking assistant's fault/desire for me to stop, not my fault). Second walk I did two laps, third I did three, and so on. And I made sure to pick up the pace whenever I could as well.
Unfortunately, sister, mother and Denise were none of them in to longer visits, but that was ok. More unfortunate, Lash and Aeia couldn't visit me in the ICU (both making it harder to find the drive to push on and making it easier for me to find the same drive).
No other visitors that day. Very very thirsty and can't drink. Don't miss food, however. Forced to cough much--very uncomfortable process (still is).
My night shift nurse, while having a great bedside manner, didn't instill much confidence in me either (and he was a wee bit lazy). At the beginning of his shift he had to reprogram my I.V. infuser, and couldn't do it. After my walk with him (only one because he decided to pawn my second walk with him off on the next shift) he forgot to plug my infuser back in to the wall. He forgot to give me my call button (I caught this immediately and rectified it, which is good given I needed to call him later when the infuzer began beeping about being unplugged). He teased me when I said I wanted the light left on because sleeping in darkened hospitals creeps me out. Then, when I sleep, I wake up because my arm is suddenly wet--come to discover one of my bags has ruptured and is spraying me and the other bags, the infuzer, etc. with all of its contents. If it had also been dark I would have been freaking out.
Every few hours I would be woken/disrupted by lab techs coming to draw blood from the arterial line. Every four hours a demon from respiratory services would come with this machine called (not it's medical name) a percussor. It's about the size of a jar of facial salve and it's an air-compressed jack-hammer. I'm made to roll onto each side (an absolute agony) while this thing is run across each side for 8 or so minutes pummelling me (and supposedly pummelling crud loose in my lungs).
And that was Friday.
We arrive at the hospital on time and I get nekkid. Can't seem to remove my earrings, so they put tape over them (this is to protect against electrical arcing and oxygen explosions should they need to shock me in the operating room).
Thanks to Denise for reporting via e-mail to this blog while I was gone, though there are some things she got wrong, changed or left out.
I have veins that refuse to show themselves, making placement of IVs and drawing of blood difficult. It's determined that I'll need a nebulizer. Still waiting for blood to be drawn. It's getting late. Am told there's no way I get to keep my rib. My mother and sister are now here as well. I am given a shot of Verced to calm my nerves (note disparity between my account and Denise's).
Am now carted from Ambulatory Services to another room where the anestheseologist will help to prepare me. Denise is still ok to be here. Despite whatever my level of coherence and interaction, this is where I completely leave the building. I am no longer aware of anything. I have absolutely no memory of anything between entering this room and waking up post-op (which is why I know I got the Verced before they finally drew blood, as I would remember getting it drawn from my effing elbow if it were done before the Verced, which I would say did darn well at calming my nerves).
The surgery was supposed to begin at 8 and last 3 hours. I know it started closer to 10 and lasted closer to 4 hours.
I woke up in the recovery room. I could hear my surgeon and someone else talking about the surgery, but I couldn't quite make out the conversation. My breathing still sucked and I wondered if it had been done yet. I hear something that confirms it has been done and then start to guage my own breathing to see if I can tell whether I lost the whole lung or just the half. It feels as if my left lung is also inflating, so I decide they still took just the half. And very shortly thereafter, the recovery nurse tells me as much (I do not see my surgeon for the first time until Saturday, and if not for Denise and my mother, and his seeing them, would have had no info about the surgery that day, which would have greatly stressed me I think).
Eventually I am in ICU and am more and more aware. Mother and Denise visit. They inform me of how the procedure went as they know it: carcinoid, went well, lost top half of lung (which looked like garbage), have to wait for pathology.
As of then: I have a very large incision on my left side (which I can not see, but itches to all hell even now). From this incision is a chest tube which is doing the dual duty of draining excess fluid from my chest cavity and providing counter pressure on my newer smaller left lung to keep it from collapsing. My left arm has an I.V. set up. My right arm has an arterial line placed in it. I have an epidural (blessed, blessed epidural. Now, more than ever, I don't understand women who do natural childbirth). There are two pairs of tubes going into my nose: one is providing me oxygen, the other goes all the way down my nose and into my throat and stomach. It is for pumping my stomach contents (I was literally shitting out my nose) and is incredibly uncomfortable. By far, it was my least favorite tube, and because of it, I was allowed no food or water. Oh right, and of course I also had a foley catheter. Not the most comfy thing either.
Things that are expected of me on this first day, and if I can do them my progress is good: scoring about a 500 on my breathing test (a device that measures my capacity for inhaling volume as opposed to the exhaling volume test so many athsmatics go through) and being able to sit up (aided) for short periods. My first round of breathing tests I was hitting 1000 and 1500. My first sit became my first walk and my first walk was a complete lap of the ICU--far more than expected of anyone on the day of their surgery.
I had given myself a goal of being home by a certain day, and of being a certain level of feeling well, and I think my first days after the surgery are a prime example of just how much mind can work over matter (especially with so many of you directing positive energy my way as well-thank you).
Every time I walked, I gave myself the goal of doing one more lap than previous and suceeded every single time save one (and that was my walking assistant's fault/desire for me to stop, not my fault). Second walk I did two laps, third I did three, and so on. And I made sure to pick up the pace whenever I could as well.
Unfortunately, sister, mother and Denise were none of them in to longer visits, but that was ok. More unfortunate, Lash and Aeia couldn't visit me in the ICU (both making it harder to find the drive to push on and making it easier for me to find the same drive).
No other visitors that day. Very very thirsty and can't drink. Don't miss food, however. Forced to cough much--very uncomfortable process (still is).
My night shift nurse, while having a great bedside manner, didn't instill much confidence in me either (and he was a wee bit lazy). At the beginning of his shift he had to reprogram my I.V. infuser, and couldn't do it. After my walk with him (only one because he decided to pawn my second walk with him off on the next shift) he forgot to plug my infuser back in to the wall. He forgot to give me my call button (I caught this immediately and rectified it, which is good given I needed to call him later when the infuzer began beeping about being unplugged). He teased me when I said I wanted the light left on because sleeping in darkened hospitals creeps me out. Then, when I sleep, I wake up because my arm is suddenly wet--come to discover one of my bags has ruptured and is spraying me and the other bags, the infuzer, etc. with all of its contents. If it had also been dark I would have been freaking out.
Every few hours I would be woken/disrupted by lab techs coming to draw blood from the arterial line. Every four hours a demon from respiratory services would come with this machine called (not it's medical name) a percussor. It's about the size of a jar of facial salve and it's an air-compressed jack-hammer. I'm made to roll onto each side (an absolute agony) while this thing is run across each side for 8 or so minutes pummelling me (and supposedly pummelling crud loose in my lungs).
And that was Friday.
the Verdict
So, the tumor is something called a carcinoid tumor. It's still cancer, but apparently if there's a cancer to want, this is the one. My 5-year projection is very high, at least as far as cancer survival goes.
Carcinoids sare extremely slow-goring and cause symptoms in places other than just the system they're located in (hence the additional gastro-intestinal problems I dealt with for some time). Typically, since they're slow-growing, it's not too difficult to remove the entirety of it (especially in my case, since they took all of the infected lung with it--nothing of the original tissue remained for it to lodge in to) and you can usually expect it not to grow back. I also should expect no chemo or radiation from it.
Carcinoids sare extremely slow-goring and cause symptoms in places other than just the system they're located in (hence the additional gastro-intestinal problems I dealt with for some time). Typically, since they're slow-growing, it's not too difficult to remove the entirety of it (especially in my case, since they took all of the infected lung with it--nothing of the original tissue remained for it to lodge in to) and you can usually expect it not to grow back. I also should expect no chemo or radiation from it.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Movie Time
Tuesday I received and watched a copy of the Aussie zombie-alien flick Undead. Thanks to the friend who sent it.
I loved it. It was utter b-movie campy and gory crap and that made it fantastically good. When it is released here in the states, give it a try. If you've seen and enjoyed Dead Alive (also from the Australian continent, and Peter Jackson), I think you'll particularly enjoy and appreciate the movie.
I loved it. It was utter b-movie campy and gory crap and that made it fantastically good. When it is released here in the states, give it a try. If you've seen and enjoyed Dead Alive (also from the Australian continent, and Peter Jackson), I think you'll particularly enjoy and appreciate the movie.
Blue Monday
I've redone my hair, finally taking a big turn away from green, as my do is now blue. Something new for hospitalized Evan.
Today I had two doctor's visits for pre-admission tests. At the first one I got all of my surgical registration out of the way so I wouldn't have to do it the morning of, and then they took some blood, took a medical history, did an ekg and another chest x-ray. After that I had to go to the hospital for a test of my clotting ability. There they cut my arm and timed how long it took for me to clot in order to determine whether I had a good platelet count (was told it took 5-8 minutes if you're normal; I took 3 minutes plus small change, which is good).
I've been asked by Drew to post where I'll be and what the phone number is at the hospital. I'll be at Enloe Medical Center in Chico, CA. The phone number is (530) 332-7300. I don't know my room number yet (naturally). Late Friday or early Saturday, Denise will e-mail everyone I've compiled on a list for her to e-mail and call everyone on a list of people I compiled for her to call. She'll fill them all in on how things went, etc. After that, Drew has agreed to post the news on his blog, Messages in Bottles, as well, so if you don't get a call or e-mail you can check in there for info (and stay to read an enjoyable blog while I'm away and thereafter).
Less than five days to go. Wish me luck.
Today I had two doctor's visits for pre-admission tests. At the first one I got all of my surgical registration out of the way so I wouldn't have to do it the morning of, and then they took some blood, took a medical history, did an ekg and another chest x-ray. After that I had to go to the hospital for a test of my clotting ability. There they cut my arm and timed how long it took for me to clot in order to determine whether I had a good platelet count (was told it took 5-8 minutes if you're normal; I took 3 minutes plus small change, which is good).
I've been asked by Drew to post where I'll be and what the phone number is at the hospital. I'll be at Enloe Medical Center in Chico, CA. The phone number is (530) 332-7300. I don't know my room number yet (naturally). Late Friday or early Saturday, Denise will e-mail everyone I've compiled on a list for her to e-mail and call everyone on a list of people I compiled for her to call. She'll fill them all in on how things went, etc. After that, Drew has agreed to post the news on his blog, Messages in Bottles, as well, so if you don't get a call or e-mail you can check in there for info (and stay to read an enjoyable blog while I'm away and thereafter).
Less than five days to go. Wish me luck.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Faith
I'm a spiritual, but areligious, person. I don't buy into deities, Christian or otherwise. Most of you already know all of this anyway.
The past few weeks, I've wished I did have faith. It would be nice to blindly believe in something right now, you know? To have faith that some kind and benevolent G/god is watching us, that all will be taken care of. That if something bad should happen, there's something to look forward to. But I don't.
At a time where my friends are supportive but a little bit distant (or in some cases very very very physically distant)...and where I'm also a little bit distant at times; where my wife is more than less emotionally absent, it would be nice to have some greater thing to draw strength from. But that's not me.
I get strength from a lot of you. Your comments here, your e-mails, your phone calls, your care packages (and from people I've never met in person. Amazing and wonderful people)...they help buoy me. And my kids, I get so much from them.
But faith, I don't have that to draw on. Those of you who are doing the praying, though, I do appreciate it, and thank you for it.
The past few weeks, I've wished I did have faith. It would be nice to blindly believe in something right now, you know? To have faith that some kind and benevolent G/god is watching us, that all will be taken care of. That if something bad should happen, there's something to look forward to. But I don't.
At a time where my friends are supportive but a little bit distant (or in some cases very very very physically distant)...and where I'm also a little bit distant at times; where my wife is more than less emotionally absent, it would be nice to have some greater thing to draw strength from. But that's not me.
I get strength from a lot of you. Your comments here, your e-mails, your phone calls, your care packages (and from people I've never met in person. Amazing and wonderful people)...they help buoy me. And my kids, I get so much from them.
But faith, I don't have that to draw on. Those of you who are doing the praying, though, I do appreciate it, and thank you for it.
My Day
It's a bit odd, but for a day positively filled with doctor's visits (had a breathing test today) I was having a fairly good day.
Then I got home and I must have had some big gigantic button, and Denise kept pushing and pushing it...
I almost left (for the night anyway).
Then I got home and I must have had some big gigantic button, and Denise kept pushing and pushing it...
I almost left (for the night anyway).
I Heart Blockbuster (again)
For years, I avoided renting there because of rental fees, and nasty late fee policies. Instead, I frequented the store to make use of it's almost constant 2 previously viewed dvds for twenty bucks sale. Anyone who has been in my house, or skimmed my Amazon wishlist, knows that I have a wee bit of a dvd addiction (time to buy another bookshelf for them too. Sigh...where's the room for it all?).
So anyway, for some reason I let them rope me in to their Blockbuster Rewards program for ten bucks a year I get a free movie rental per month. And then their "NO More Late Fees" spiel began. With that, they began printing on your receipt how much more it would cost you to own the dvd if you chose not to return it. New releases saying "pay $18 more" didn't entice me.
And then I discovered that on Monday-Wednesday, whenever I rent a new release, I can rent an old release for free. So I rented the Life Aquatic (so-so), some new kiddie movie, Cursed (bad, very bad), Blade 2, El Mariachi -- best in trilogy (which is actually a double disk with Desperado on the flip side) and Ginger Snaps (best werewolf flick in years. Frickin' Canadians).
The last three, thanks to the rewards card, were free--and their "pay x more to keep" prices were $6, $6, and $1 respectively... and so my collection is three disks deeper.
I really think I'm going to enjoy working this system they've set up. Finally time to stock up on all the older movies I like and don't yet have.
So anyway, for some reason I let them rope me in to their Blockbuster Rewards program for ten bucks a year I get a free movie rental per month. And then their "NO More Late Fees" spiel began. With that, they began printing on your receipt how much more it would cost you to own the dvd if you chose not to return it. New releases saying "pay $18 more" didn't entice me.
And then I discovered that on Monday-Wednesday, whenever I rent a new release, I can rent an old release for free. So I rented the Life Aquatic (so-so), some new kiddie movie, Cursed (bad, very bad), Blade 2, El Mariachi -- best in trilogy (which is actually a double disk with Desperado on the flip side) and Ginger Snaps (best werewolf flick in years. Frickin' Canadians).
The last three, thanks to the rewards card, were free--and their "pay x more to keep" prices were $6, $6, and $1 respectively... and so my collection is three disks deeper.
I really think I'm going to enjoy working this system they've set up. Finally time to stock up on all the older movies I like and don't yet have.
The week thus far
On the nerd front, I've been a bit peeved because the new set of HeroClix came out last week, and UPS lost $40k worth of product--so no store out here has any of it for me and the kids to buy. At least for a couple weeks. Wanted very much to get a case out of the way before going in for surgery.
Phil has decided he isn't a nerd anymore and doesn't play nerdgames with us, which may be the ultimate downfall of our game for all. Ugh.
July 4th, I took Lash, Aeia and a foster to see War of the Worlds. Having raised my kids on horror movies and a steady reminder that movies are fake, and they did really well. I think Aeia may freak out at the next thunder storm, but they dug the movie. The next day Ian and I went to see Land of the Dead, and I brought Lash. Anyone with eyes who reads this blog knows I love me my zombies, and the movie, on second viewing now, definitely surpassed my expectations--and actually improved second go through. Lash, by the way, absolutely loved it--moreso than that dumb Tom Cruise movie.
Phil has decided he isn't a nerd anymore and doesn't play nerdgames with us, which may be the ultimate downfall of our game for all. Ugh.
July 4th, I took Lash, Aeia and a foster to see War of the Worlds. Having raised my kids on horror movies and a steady reminder that movies are fake, and they did really well. I think Aeia may freak out at the next thunder storm, but they dug the movie. The next day Ian and I went to see Land of the Dead, and I brought Lash. Anyone with eyes who reads this blog knows I love me my zombies, and the movie, on second viewing now, definitely surpassed my expectations--and actually improved second go through. Lash, by the way, absolutely loved it--moreso than that dumb Tom Cruise movie.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Germs Kill
Saw War of the Worlds on Friday with the Chrisses. As much as I'd like to tear it completely apart, it was pretty good. Not spectacular, but a solid B-minus. Every time I started to really get in to it and think it was exceptionally good, something really stupid would happen that would make me hate it (exactly three times this occurs), which cost the film a better rating from me.
It's nice to see Cruise play a relative dill-hole. He did it fairly well. Miss Creepy-eyes-Fanning...I kept waiting for her own death beams to shoot from her eyes and kill people. Really, she freaks me out.
Also, I'd wager that if someone with a bit less prestige than Spielberg had turned in this exact same film, it would have netted an R rating instead of the PG-13.
It's nice to see Cruise play a relative dill-hole. He did it fairly well. Miss Creepy-eyes-Fanning...I kept waiting for her own death beams to shoot from her eyes and kill people. Really, she freaks me out.
Also, I'd wager that if someone with a bit less prestige than Spielberg had turned in this exact same film, it would have netted an R rating instead of the PG-13.
Surgery
Ok, saw the surgeon again on Friday and I now have the date: Friday July 15th at 6am. Remembered to ask him how often he's done this and his response was that he hasn't kept track, but that he'd already done three such surgeries that week alone, as he does tham all the time. Also learned that if he does end up having to take the entire lung, my chances of dying shoot up from 2-4% to 14% so I'm really counting on not losing the entire lung.
I'll be leaving instructions with Denise so that she can notify lots of people about the surgery's outcome when the time comes. I'll also be asking my man Drew to announce the outcome on his blog for those of you who read this and are curious and aren't e-mailed, especially as I'll be away from posting for at the very least a week after the surgery.
I'll be leaving instructions with Denise so that she can notify lots of people about the surgery's outcome when the time comes. I'll also be asking my man Drew to announce the outcome on his blog for those of you who read this and are curious and aren't e-mailed, especially as I'll be away from posting for at the very least a week after the surgery.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
TV Rant
Watched this documentary on Showtime or HBO called Same Sex America which followed the stories of a select few people during the legalizing of gay marriage in Massachusetts. Really, it wasn't very compelling. Don't get me wrong, I'm pro gay marriage, just the film itself was more than a tad bland.
Except this one guy. Now, I normally roll my eyes at certain hypocricies--like those folks, usually the highly religious ones, but not always, who go on and on about how much love they have for homosexuals (and especially for the ones they know personally) but outright hate everything about them that has anything to do with their sexuality (love the sinner, hate the sin...utter b.s.). I mean, you just can't have both, in my opinion. It's not possible for me to believe you can love a person without accepting them.
But what really took the cake for me, which is the only reason I'm blogging about it, is there was one hypocrite in particular who was going on and on about how he would always oppose gay marriage for the abomination it is, even though he has close gay friends who cares about deeply and is saddened that he won't likely be invited to their wedding. What the f*, man? If it were me, why on earth would I want your ass at my wedding if I knew you were opposed to the very concept of my marriage with every fiber of your being? This dude really took the cake.
Except this one guy. Now, I normally roll my eyes at certain hypocricies--like those folks, usually the highly religious ones, but not always, who go on and on about how much love they have for homosexuals (and especially for the ones they know personally) but outright hate everything about them that has anything to do with their sexuality (love the sinner, hate the sin...utter b.s.). I mean, you just can't have both, in my opinion. It's not possible for me to believe you can love a person without accepting them.
But what really took the cake for me, which is the only reason I'm blogging about it, is there was one hypocrite in particular who was going on and on about how he would always oppose gay marriage for the abomination it is, even though he has close gay friends who cares about deeply and is saddened that he won't likely be invited to their wedding. What the f*, man? If it were me, why on earth would I want your ass at my wedding if I knew you were opposed to the very concept of my marriage with every fiber of your being? This dude really took the cake.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Consulted
Met with my thorassic surgeon Dr. Rich yesterday. He wants me to get one more test done on my breathing before the surgery, so the date is still not set yet. The test he wants done is on the 7th of July and I've asked that the surgery be as close to that date as possible so that most of my hospital visit still overlaps with Denise's maternity leave. I'm encouraged to call in daily re possible cancellations so that I can get the test done earlier.
What I know now:
Because the damage to my lung is a little more centrally located and not perfectly in just one quadrant, I'm going to have to lose the entire upper half of the lung now, and there's a ten percent chance he'll have to take the entire thing.
They're going to cut me from front to back on the left side, mid torso to mid back or so, remove one of my ribs and do the surgery through my side. Risks include pulmonary embolisms, sepsis, distress to my other lung, heart irregularities, fatal reactions to anesthesia, etc.
Nationwide, the mortality rate for this procedure is 2-4%. He says his record is even better than this (though while I did ask if he had done this before, I forgot to ask how many times. A zero percent mortality on one out of one procedures wouldn't be as reassuring. I'll need to remember to ask this next time I see him).
If all goes well after the surgery, I spend a week in the hospital, some of that time with tubes still in my side draining stuff. Apparently, if all goes well, I should be able to walk again by the second day. After returning home, I won't be allowed to drive or lift things for a month. Likewise, I won't be allowed any exercise except for a progressively increasing regimen of walking. If after a month things look good, I'll be able to drive and resume normal activity again within whatever limits my body can handle.
As previously noted, the mass has blocked the airway going to the right upper quadrant of my left lung such that it's caused that portion of my lung to die and become more and more prone to infection. The mass is nearly spherical and has been acting like a ball valve, allowing me a little air in but no air or mucous out. He says that it definitely is not a byproduct of my pneumonia being misdiagnosed for as long as it was. All indications suggest that the mass has been in there growing and doing this to me for years, likely all the way back to childhood, definitely for as long as I've had respiratory issues (seven years) and the pneumonia, as bad as it got, was only the final straw that brought attention to it.
What I know now:
Because the damage to my lung is a little more centrally located and not perfectly in just one quadrant, I'm going to have to lose the entire upper half of the lung now, and there's a ten percent chance he'll have to take the entire thing.
They're going to cut me from front to back on the left side, mid torso to mid back or so, remove one of my ribs and do the surgery through my side. Risks include pulmonary embolisms, sepsis, distress to my other lung, heart irregularities, fatal reactions to anesthesia, etc.
Nationwide, the mortality rate for this procedure is 2-4%. He says his record is even better than this (though while I did ask if he had done this before, I forgot to ask how many times. A zero percent mortality on one out of one procedures wouldn't be as reassuring. I'll need to remember to ask this next time I see him).
If all goes well after the surgery, I spend a week in the hospital, some of that time with tubes still in my side draining stuff. Apparently, if all goes well, I should be able to walk again by the second day. After returning home, I won't be allowed to drive or lift things for a month. Likewise, I won't be allowed any exercise except for a progressively increasing regimen of walking. If after a month things look good, I'll be able to drive and resume normal activity again within whatever limits my body can handle.
As previously noted, the mass has blocked the airway going to the right upper quadrant of my left lung such that it's caused that portion of my lung to die and become more and more prone to infection. The mass is nearly spherical and has been acting like a ball valve, allowing me a little air in but no air or mucous out. He says that it definitely is not a byproduct of my pneumonia being misdiagnosed for as long as it was. All indications suggest that the mass has been in there growing and doing this to me for years, likely all the way back to childhood, definitely for as long as I've had respiratory issues (seven years) and the pneumonia, as bad as it got, was only the final straw that brought attention to it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Monday
Today was really bad cough-wise. As I write this, I'm finally feeling as if it's subsiding from what's been non-stop since I awoke this morning.
Heard from the surgeon today. My consultation appointment is this coming Monday. We'll discuss the surgery, and schedule it, I hope, then.
More than anything, I'm just ready to breathe normally again. For some extremely weird reason, I'm able to curtail the coughing and wheezing when I go out with Ian and the boys, but it returns strong as ever when I'm not around them. I wonder if there's any correlation between alcohol consumption and the lack of the mass irritating my breathing. Let's just get the surgery done with already.
I need to get things in order this week. Just in case. And e-mail and/or call a select few of you with my final demands. You know, the whole concept of final wishes is really kinda scuzzy and underhanded. It allows for a dying person to manipulate his end as a way of forcing other peoples' hands out of guilt. And I've got a corker of one brewing for someone in particular. Of course, they won't be necessary, right? Right. Must be optimistic and click my heels.
With all this sarcasm, I must be showing some signs of hanging in there.
Heard from the surgeon today. My consultation appointment is this coming Monday. We'll discuss the surgery, and schedule it, I hope, then.
More than anything, I'm just ready to breathe normally again. For some extremely weird reason, I'm able to curtail the coughing and wheezing when I go out with Ian and the boys, but it returns strong as ever when I'm not around them. I wonder if there's any correlation between alcohol consumption and the lack of the mass irritating my breathing. Let's just get the surgery done with already.
I need to get things in order this week. Just in case. And e-mail and/or call a select few of you with my final demands. You know, the whole concept of final wishes is really kinda scuzzy and underhanded. It allows for a dying person to manipulate his end as a way of forcing other peoples' hands out of guilt. And I've got a corker of one brewing for someone in particular. Of course, they won't be necessary, right? Right. Must be optimistic and click my heels.
With all this sarcasm, I must be showing some signs of hanging in there.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Rescued
The new season of Rescue Me started today. Could Tommy's life be more depressing right now? So many sudden (or were they?) changes at the end of last season, plus a few more for the beginning of this one. I'm happy to see Father Mickey got caught for doing the ladies and I'm glad to see brother Johnny again (as well as another Oz alum in the role of Tommy's replacement on the precinct). I love that his new firehouse is so boring and prim. I'm sad the probie is likely to lose the "fat girl." She was cool and it was nice to see someone in a relationship not based on supermodel looks. I'm guessing Tommy's own house is out of the picture now so that he can move in with Sheila at some point in the season. Time will tell. This episode was kinda depressing, but I'm eager for more, so it was good too.
the Waiting Place
And now for the latest in the never ending story that is the death of my lung.
Yesterday was the day for my second biopsy, where they were to use the CT to guide a needle into my chest and lung and extract the necessary material from the mass in order to ascertain what it is.
Got to the hospital at 8a.m. for prep. Ended up having to argue with them about which lung it was (they thought my right upper lung instead of the right upper quadrant of my left lung). This slowed everything down as they had lost my old films and didn't believe me (and the pulmonologist's shorthand was difficult for them). Finally, everything was squared away and they were ready to prep me for the biopsy on the correct lung.
So, I'm finally taken to radiology at 11:30 for the CT and it's news to them that they don't have my films, and they too want to do the wrong lung... so we wait for them to order copies of my films and once they have them, sure enough, I was still right about it being the left lung (as if I even need films to know which one of my lungs is not performing. I can fucking feel it every breath).
As I then wait while the surgeon goes over my films, I can hear him in the other room talking about my surgical needs, and then he came out to talk them over with me. To be quite frank, he felt there was only a 50/50 chance of getting a viable biopsy from the mass through this procedure because of the dangerous proximity to major blood vessels, and that the risk was too high when it was already obvious that I would need the surgery to remove the dead portion of my lung, which would take the mass with it anyway (and then they'd have the whole thing to test). The dead quadrant of my lung isn't going to heal and needs to go. He preached to me about how I should be happy (but at the same time, I should make sure everything is in order to my satisfaction). I should walk out of there clicking my heels together with glee (really his words) because at my age it should go very easy and should be a walk in the park. He also pointed out that the man in there before me was a 70 year old with lung cancer whose 5 year chance of survival was nil, so I should be happy because mine is almost guaranteed to be swell. Don't get me wrong, if I don't die, I'll be very happy. Very happy. But what the hell does it say about our society that he thinks I'd be happier to know some other poor guy's prognosis is hopeless. I'm no ghoul.
He then told me to discharge and get myself back to the pulmonologist so that he could get me scheduled with the thorassic surgeon asap for the removal of my dead lung bits. Back there, I was reminded of how good the rest of my lung looked, and how important it was that I got the dead 1/4 removed now before it got worse, or before the mass grew any larger and blocked my airway completely. Apparently, since I'm not a marathon runner (again, their words) I, like most people, don't use the full capacity of my lungs anyway, so I shouldn't be wholly debilitated by the loss. We'll see what we see, though.
He couldn't reach the surgeon while I was there, so I'm supposed to hear from them in the next two days with my appointment time for meeting the surgeon and setting up the procedure. He expects/hopes that the surgery will be sometime early next week, and expects that as long as it goes well, I'll only be in the hospital for 3-4 days. Right now though, I'm in holding again, waiting for the next appointment time to be given me as I sit and watch my own ability to breathe wax and wane. So far, the worst are the coughing fits. They're abominable. Otherwise, breathing's a bit more strained sometimes, and wheeziness is common, but I'm hanging in.
Yesterday was the day for my second biopsy, where they were to use the CT to guide a needle into my chest and lung and extract the necessary material from the mass in order to ascertain what it is.
Got to the hospital at 8a.m. for prep. Ended up having to argue with them about which lung it was (they thought my right upper lung instead of the right upper quadrant of my left lung). This slowed everything down as they had lost my old films and didn't believe me (and the pulmonologist's shorthand was difficult for them). Finally, everything was squared away and they were ready to prep me for the biopsy on the correct lung.
So, I'm finally taken to radiology at 11:30 for the CT and it's news to them that they don't have my films, and they too want to do the wrong lung... so we wait for them to order copies of my films and once they have them, sure enough, I was still right about it being the left lung (as if I even need films to know which one of my lungs is not performing. I can fucking feel it every breath).
As I then wait while the surgeon goes over my films, I can hear him in the other room talking about my surgical needs, and then he came out to talk them over with me. To be quite frank, he felt there was only a 50/50 chance of getting a viable biopsy from the mass through this procedure because of the dangerous proximity to major blood vessels, and that the risk was too high when it was already obvious that I would need the surgery to remove the dead portion of my lung, which would take the mass with it anyway (and then they'd have the whole thing to test). The dead quadrant of my lung isn't going to heal and needs to go. He preached to me about how I should be happy (but at the same time, I should make sure everything is in order to my satisfaction). I should walk out of there clicking my heels together with glee (really his words) because at my age it should go very easy and should be a walk in the park. He also pointed out that the man in there before me was a 70 year old with lung cancer whose 5 year chance of survival was nil, so I should be happy because mine is almost guaranteed to be swell. Don't get me wrong, if I don't die, I'll be very happy. Very happy. But what the hell does it say about our society that he thinks I'd be happier to know some other poor guy's prognosis is hopeless. I'm no ghoul.
He then told me to discharge and get myself back to the pulmonologist so that he could get me scheduled with the thorassic surgeon asap for the removal of my dead lung bits. Back there, I was reminded of how good the rest of my lung looked, and how important it was that I got the dead 1/4 removed now before it got worse, or before the mass grew any larger and blocked my airway completely. Apparently, since I'm not a marathon runner (again, their words) I, like most people, don't use the full capacity of my lungs anyway, so I shouldn't be wholly debilitated by the loss. We'll see what we see, though.
He couldn't reach the surgeon while I was there, so I'm supposed to hear from them in the next two days with my appointment time for meeting the surgeon and setting up the procedure. He expects/hopes that the surgery will be sometime early next week, and expects that as long as it goes well, I'll only be in the hospital for 3-4 days. Right now though, I'm in holding again, waiting for the next appointment time to be given me as I sit and watch my own ability to breathe wax and wane. So far, the worst are the coughing fits. They're abominable. Otherwise, breathing's a bit more strained sometimes, and wheeziness is common, but I'm hanging in.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Mass
As noted in my previous entry, I went to the pulmunologist again on Thursday because I'd noticed an allergic reaction (big ass rash) after the bronchoscopy and wanted it checked out. He told me to stop taking the antibiotic (Avolex) because it wasn't needed afterall (and the rash has since disappeared...). He then had me hang around another two hours while he had the hospital get him the results to my biopsy early. Thankfully, I thought ahead and brought the book Drew sent me for my birthday and was able to finish the first novella while I waited.
So, the doctor eventually came in and gave me the news: the procedure went exceptionally well and impressive (whatever that meant). He then said the magically good news: the results of the biopsy affirm that the mass is most definitely not cancer. The next nanosecond was utter and complete relief and elation. I don't think I can really express how profound the statement was for me. Not cancer. Thank everyhting that's good in the universe. (Edit: Obviously, I'm a wee bit perturbed that they were wrong and it was cancer)
And then, of course, the other shoe drops.
While he was able to biopsy enough to confirm it wasn't cancerous, the mass is sizeable and very very enmeshed with the vascular system in my lung, which made him afraid to biopsy too much, for risk of me getting a cut that would be a bit too fatal--so he wasn't able to pull enough matter to run other tests and see if more could be learned. So, the mass is still there, it's big, and my arteries want to stop the doctors from helping me.
But wait, there's more.
The entire upper right quadrant of my left lung is necrotic; that whole portion of my lung, choked by this mass of evil, is dead. A quarter of my lung is dead and ripe for new infections, and could be getting worse.
So, I'm not seeing the pulmunoligist on Tuesday (since I have the results early).
On Monday morning, I'm returning to the hospital, where they're going to do a CT guided biopsy of the mass; this biopsy is to be more invasive. Apparently, the CT is supposed to be able to keep them from making me bleed to death.
Barring a miracle where the mass can be removed and my lung fortified and resurrected, they're going to have to follow up with another hospital visit soon after in order to remove the dead portion of my lung. As we don't know for certain this procedure will be needed (of course it will), I don't have a date for it yet.
This second biopsy and the surgery scare me. Right now, I don't have a whole heck of a lot of confidence in my chances of surviving surgery.
I wasn't going to share any of this news until everything was resolved. I'm extremely down right now and wanted to stew privately for a time. My darling wife, however, took it upon herself to share all this info far and wide without any concern for my privacy or wishes, so there's no point in wallowing in it alone now anyway. Regardless, if I make it out of the second biopsy, I might not report it for some days. Drew, Adj, blood relatives and anyone else with our home phone number, please feel free to call Monday evening/night if you want to know how it went.
So, the doctor eventually came in and gave me the news: the procedure went exceptionally well and impressive (whatever that meant). He then said the magically good news: the results of the biopsy affirm that the mass is most definitely not cancer. The next nanosecond was utter and complete relief and elation. I don't think I can really express how profound the statement was for me. Not cancer. Thank everyhting that's good in the universe. (Edit: Obviously, I'm a wee bit perturbed that they were wrong and it was cancer)
And then, of course, the other shoe drops.
While he was able to biopsy enough to confirm it wasn't cancerous, the mass is sizeable and very very enmeshed with the vascular system in my lung, which made him afraid to biopsy too much, for risk of me getting a cut that would be a bit too fatal--so he wasn't able to pull enough matter to run other tests and see if more could be learned. So, the mass is still there, it's big, and my arteries want to stop the doctors from helping me.
But wait, there's more.
The entire upper right quadrant of my left lung is necrotic; that whole portion of my lung, choked by this mass of evil, is dead. A quarter of my lung is dead and ripe for new infections, and could be getting worse.
So, I'm not seeing the pulmunoligist on Tuesday (since I have the results early).
On Monday morning, I'm returning to the hospital, where they're going to do a CT guided biopsy of the mass; this biopsy is to be more invasive. Apparently, the CT is supposed to be able to keep them from making me bleed to death.
Barring a miracle where the mass can be removed and my lung fortified and resurrected, they're going to have to follow up with another hospital visit soon after in order to remove the dead portion of my lung. As we don't know for certain this procedure will be needed (of course it will), I don't have a date for it yet.
This second biopsy and the surgery scare me. Right now, I don't have a whole heck of a lot of confidence in my chances of surviving surgery.
I wasn't going to share any of this news until everything was resolved. I'm extremely down right now and wanted to stew privately for a time. My darling wife, however, took it upon herself to share all this info far and wide without any concern for my privacy or wishes, so there's no point in wallowing in it alone now anyway. Regardless, if I make it out of the second biopsy, I might not report it for some days. Drew, Adj, blood relatives and anyone else with our home phone number, please feel free to call Monday evening/night if you want to know how it went.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Continued Adventures of Cough Cough Wheeze Wheeze
Tuesday I saw the pulmunologist. He looked at my chest films and agreed that I did in fact need a bronchoscopy, but did not do it that day--rather scheduled the procedure for yesterday.
Wednesday, I was made to arrive at the hospital two hours before the procedure so that they could run blood work, start an IV and then numb my nose, throat and lungs and put me to sleep through the procedure (the fiber optic tube was threaded through my nose and in to my lung. It had attachments that could swab samples and cut off samples for biopsy). Portions of the procedure I was very aware of what was happening, and it was really very uncomfortable. My throat felt like I'd spent a week in the desert, but I couldn't drink for two hours because of the throat numbness causing a risk of drowning myself. I was also groggy and not allowed to drive for 24 hours.
What I know now:
The mass is most definitely NOT mucous. Right now they are saying that it could be a massive inflammation, a polyp or cyst, or the one we really really don't want: cancer. A biopsy was taken, and I won't know anything more about that until my next appointment with the pulmunologist (Tuesday at 3pm). Whatever the mass is, the reason my cough won't go away is because the mass is so close to my airway that it's constantly irritating it.
The pulmunologist did not stick around to discuss anything with me after the procedure. The anesthesiologist and head nurse, while unwilling to offer specifics and risk providing a false diagnosis or hope, both assured me that it was now officially ok for me to begin to worry. The anesthesiologist did however say that in her experience, cancers tend to be coarse and rough, and what is in my lung is smoothe.
So, right now I am officially in worry mode. I plan to hide under a rock for the rest of the week and get thoroughly and utterly pissed on my birthday this Saturday.
Wednesday, I was made to arrive at the hospital two hours before the procedure so that they could run blood work, start an IV and then numb my nose, throat and lungs and put me to sleep through the procedure (the fiber optic tube was threaded through my nose and in to my lung. It had attachments that could swab samples and cut off samples for biopsy). Portions of the procedure I was very aware of what was happening, and it was really very uncomfortable. My throat felt like I'd spent a week in the desert, but I couldn't drink for two hours because of the throat numbness causing a risk of drowning myself. I was also groggy and not allowed to drive for 24 hours.
What I know now:
The mass is most definitely NOT mucous. Right now they are saying that it could be a massive inflammation, a polyp or cyst, or the one we really really don't want: cancer. A biopsy was taken, and I won't know anything more about that until my next appointment with the pulmunologist (Tuesday at 3pm). Whatever the mass is, the reason my cough won't go away is because the mass is so close to my airway that it's constantly irritating it.
The pulmunologist did not stick around to discuss anything with me after the procedure. The anesthesiologist and head nurse, while unwilling to offer specifics and risk providing a false diagnosis or hope, both assured me that it was now officially ok for me to begin to worry. The anesthesiologist did however say that in her experience, cancers tend to be coarse and rough, and what is in my lung is smoothe.
So, right now I am officially in worry mode. I plan to hide under a rock for the rest of the week and get thoroughly and utterly pissed on my birthday this Saturday.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Off Air
Well, this'll be my last post before the big lung exam. Hopefully all will go well. Assuming I can, I'll be back and with info as soon as I am able--which had hopefully be really soon, as I've already purchased my tickets to Batman Begins.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Prep for Tomorrow
Tomorrow is my pulmunologist appointment. Tomorrow they go in to my lung and try to find the exact nature of the problem. I don't expect there to be actual surgery involved (at least not tomorrow), but in the big off chance that something would keep me from coming back home soon anyway, I've still got some prep to do. I've decided to be as optimistic as possible, so I won't be putting a lot of affairs in order, just a few. I also won't blog about my weekend at the moment, but rather after Tuesday's appointment, as I'd rather do other things today than be online for much longer. Last night's Deadlands nerdfest at Ian's was truly epic and gruelling and the sort of game you sit around and tell tales of to every nerd you meet years later. I'll tell you guys all about it later.
Wish me luck tomorrow, send me good vibes, or whatever else you do.
Wish me luck tomorrow, send me good vibes, or whatever else you do.
Deadwood
Seeing as how my lack of love for Deadwood has raised some questions from both distant friends and friends who GM me in Western games at home, I figure it would be nice to post about my thoughts on the show before I go under tomorrow. I'm going to try and not spoil anything. If I do, I'm greatly apologetic to those who would be bothered by the spoiling.
As a precursor, it isn't that I dislike the show. I think it's all right and does have its moments of fun entertainment, else I wouldn't have kept watching(I give duds two shots max). I particularly enjoy the characters of Swearengen, Utter and Jane a lot.
I've been viewing from the beginning of Season 2 onward, so it's also possible that quality simply declined from one season to the next (though I didn't get that feeling from Ian when we discussed this) and I've watched, I think, nine episodes so far, with three left to go until the end of the season.
The profanity. Now, I'm a fan of the curse word and I'm all for it being used in the show. But I do think it can be overused, and is. When I used to write fiction, I learned quickly that a character saying one or two curse words is more than enough to get across how vulgar their language can be, while much more can make them too comical. In one of the earlier episodes I watched, Trixie said "fuck" (or a form thereof) exactly seven times in one sentence. I think the profanity is being overdone for the sake of showing the "realism" of life in the west vs. the lack of profanity in traditional Hiollywood westerns. Sometimes I feel as if I'm in a Kevin Smith movie without the funny (which is further accentuated by point number two to follow).
It tends to meander a bit too much, to linger too long in places and not have enough action to either drive you forward or pepper it with a bit more excitement. One episode this season was peppered with a hefty amount of death, but we don't actually get to see the majority of it actually happen. What we do have is massive amounts of interpersonal intrigue being layered with no end seemingly in sight, but with no one doing anything about the majority of them. I'm generally not a fan of action films in the traditional sense of action films, but Westerns, for me, need more action than the show gives us.
Which character is meant to be my moral fixation? I find that most shows that work, regardless of genre, regardless of ensemble's size, tend to have a character that somehow best connects the viewer emotionally to the show. Scrubs has JD; Dead Like Me has George; Oz had Augustus Hill; for a million years e.r. had John Carter. Who in Deadwood are we driven to root for and connect with? I'm guessing that I'm not missing the character, but that there just isn't one (even if he were a better person, Bullock doesn't get enough face time to fill the role); for me, it makes it more difficult to attach to the show. Add to this that I can't think of a single good guy who isn't morally broken in some sense, so I find it harder to care about any of them (I care most about Jane, and so much of it is pity pathos mixed with enjoyment of her blunt, kinda clueless drunken nature).
Those who know me well know that as far as genre work goes, there are only two movie genres that really thrill me: the western and zombie horror. Yeah, I like super heroes, but prefer them in their primary medium (even if I do already have my Batman Begins tickets). I'm a big anti-fan of science fiction. I'm not as bothered by the prequels because Star Wars was never as magical to me as it is to so many of my generation. I've despised Star Trek in all of its permutations. Anyway, as I ramble, the nuts and bolts really is that I like a certain mix of things in my westerns and Deadwood doesn't quite deliver. I'll keep watching it as long as I have the HBO, and as long as it doesn't conflict with any other prefered programming, but it's a show I'm glad I resisted the temptation to buy sight unseen (as I came extremely close to doing ten days ago).
As a precursor, it isn't that I dislike the show. I think it's all right and does have its moments of fun entertainment, else I wouldn't have kept watching(I give duds two shots max). I particularly enjoy the characters of Swearengen, Utter and Jane a lot.
I've been viewing from the beginning of Season 2 onward, so it's also possible that quality simply declined from one season to the next (though I didn't get that feeling from Ian when we discussed this) and I've watched, I think, nine episodes so far, with three left to go until the end of the season.
The profanity. Now, I'm a fan of the curse word and I'm all for it being used in the show. But I do think it can be overused, and is. When I used to write fiction, I learned quickly that a character saying one or two curse words is more than enough to get across how vulgar their language can be, while much more can make them too comical. In one of the earlier episodes I watched, Trixie said "fuck" (or a form thereof) exactly seven times in one sentence. I think the profanity is being overdone for the sake of showing the "realism" of life in the west vs. the lack of profanity in traditional Hiollywood westerns. Sometimes I feel as if I'm in a Kevin Smith movie without the funny (which is further accentuated by point number two to follow).
It tends to meander a bit too much, to linger too long in places and not have enough action to either drive you forward or pepper it with a bit more excitement. One episode this season was peppered with a hefty amount of death, but we don't actually get to see the majority of it actually happen. What we do have is massive amounts of interpersonal intrigue being layered with no end seemingly in sight, but with no one doing anything about the majority of them. I'm generally not a fan of action films in the traditional sense of action films, but Westerns, for me, need more action than the show gives us.
Which character is meant to be my moral fixation? I find that most shows that work, regardless of genre, regardless of ensemble's size, tend to have a character that somehow best connects the viewer emotionally to the show. Scrubs has JD; Dead Like Me has George; Oz had Augustus Hill; for a million years e.r. had John Carter. Who in Deadwood are we driven to root for and connect with? I'm guessing that I'm not missing the character, but that there just isn't one (even if he were a better person, Bullock doesn't get enough face time to fill the role); for me, it makes it more difficult to attach to the show. Add to this that I can't think of a single good guy who isn't morally broken in some sense, so I find it harder to care about any of them (I care most about Jane, and so much of it is pity pathos mixed with enjoyment of her blunt, kinda clueless drunken nature).
Those who know me well know that as far as genre work goes, there are only two movie genres that really thrill me: the western and zombie horror. Yeah, I like super heroes, but prefer them in their primary medium (even if I do already have my Batman Begins tickets). I'm a big anti-fan of science fiction. I'm not as bothered by the prequels because Star Wars was never as magical to me as it is to so many of my generation. I've despised Star Trek in all of its permutations. Anyway, as I ramble, the nuts and bolts really is that I like a certain mix of things in my westerns and Deadwood doesn't quite deliver. I'll keep watching it as long as I have the HBO, and as long as it doesn't conflict with any other prefered programming, but it's a show I'm glad I resisted the temptation to buy sight unseen (as I came extremely close to doing ten days ago).
Friday, June 10, 2005
Pay Cable: the Saviour of Summer TV
Someone sent me a copy of the Simpsons season 5 on dvd, which arrived today. I'm assuming it was my grandmother (the sender was unknown/unnamed). Thanks!
Ever since I added HBO to our subscriptions, I've been DVRing Deadwood, because I love westerns almost as much as I love zombies, and because enough people have suggested it. While it has been entertaining, I don't think it's some phenomenally great show (at least not from the six episodes I've seen so far). Entourage was amusing, though.
Showtime always pulls through for me (though I'm saving the latest Queer as Folk episodes unwatched until I can get through the season 4 dvds I bought myself for my birthday--since I missed that season on tv) and I'm hoping we'll have season 3 of Dead Like Me relatively soon.
Caught the pilot of the Inside on Fox. A lot grodier than I expected. It was ok (in other words, we'll watch again), but had a few holes that bugged me in minor ways. Buffydom's Tim Minear is attached to it so I hope that means good things.
And less than two weeks 'til Rescue Me starts up its second season. I've been awaiting this one the most.
Ever since I added HBO to our subscriptions, I've been DVRing Deadwood, because I love westerns almost as much as I love zombies, and because enough people have suggested it. While it has been entertaining, I don't think it's some phenomenally great show (at least not from the six episodes I've seen so far). Entourage was amusing, though.
Showtime always pulls through for me (though I'm saving the latest Queer as Folk episodes unwatched until I can get through the season 4 dvds I bought myself for my birthday--since I missed that season on tv) and I'm hoping we'll have season 3 of Dead Like Me relatively soon.
Caught the pilot of the Inside on Fox. A lot grodier than I expected. It was ok (in other words, we'll watch again), but had a few holes that bugged me in minor ways. Buffydom's Tim Minear is attached to it so I hope that means good things.
And less than two weeks 'til Rescue Me starts up its second season. I've been awaiting this one the most.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Cough cough wheeze wheeze
Hey all!
I've been getting e-mails and phone calls of support, for which I thank everyone, as well as requests for some sort of update as to my condition.
The pneumonia itself is cleared up. Huzzah! I am breathing a bit better, but not fantastically better.
I'm still suffering from a nasty cough, ocasional vomit and other ickyness and lots of fatigue (resulting in no fewer than two naps per day and actually being able to be in bed asleep by ten pm most nights--anything later is by force of will).
There is a very distinct difference in the quality of my breathing when I rest on my left side vs when I rest on my right.
I see the pulmonologist on the 14th (that's this coming Tuesday for those sans calendar) for my bronchioscopy. Apparently they'll be sending a fiber optic down into my lung to get a much clearer picture of the strange and evil mass that is inhabiting my left lung.
Of course, I continue to be incredibly stressed out and freaked. I've no knowledge of medical history on my father's side. On my mother's side there's only one diagnosed instance of cancer, so genetics put some odds in my favour. However, that one instance of cancer was lung cancer, so I'm still freaked out and stressed.
The hope, of course, is that the mass is a build-up of mucous that's accumulated since the pneumonia first set in back in December. Hopefully it's nice and soft and can be cleared up medicinally. I've a supervisor at the foster agency who had a friend who also had a mass of mucous in her lung, but it was hardened and had to be removed through major surgery. The thought of the same scares me. Not as much as cancer, mind you, but still, people die in surgery all the time and I'd be lying if I said I haven't been thinking about the possibility a lot lately.
I've really been struggling with the extent over how much I should put my affairs in order...just in case. The optimist in me wants to keep me from doing it at all. The neurotic in me is already convinced I'm gone.
Carolyn asked me my greatest fear some time ago, and I'm living it now. And it really sucks.
I plan to blog again, and be a bit less depressing, tomorrow or Friday.
I've been getting e-mails and phone calls of support, for which I thank everyone, as well as requests for some sort of update as to my condition.
The pneumonia itself is cleared up. Huzzah! I am breathing a bit better, but not fantastically better.
I'm still suffering from a nasty cough, ocasional vomit and other ickyness and lots of fatigue (resulting in no fewer than two naps per day and actually being able to be in bed asleep by ten pm most nights--anything later is by force of will).
There is a very distinct difference in the quality of my breathing when I rest on my left side vs when I rest on my right.
I see the pulmonologist on the 14th (that's this coming Tuesday for those sans calendar) for my bronchioscopy. Apparently they'll be sending a fiber optic down into my lung to get a much clearer picture of the strange and evil mass that is inhabiting my left lung.
Of course, I continue to be incredibly stressed out and freaked. I've no knowledge of medical history on my father's side. On my mother's side there's only one diagnosed instance of cancer, so genetics put some odds in my favour. However, that one instance of cancer was lung cancer, so I'm still freaked out and stressed.
The hope, of course, is that the mass is a build-up of mucous that's accumulated since the pneumonia first set in back in December. Hopefully it's nice and soft and can be cleared up medicinally. I've a supervisor at the foster agency who had a friend who also had a mass of mucous in her lung, but it was hardened and had to be removed through major surgery. The thought of the same scares me. Not as much as cancer, mind you, but still, people die in surgery all the time and I'd be lying if I said I haven't been thinking about the possibility a lot lately.
I've really been struggling with the extent over how much I should put my affairs in order...just in case. The optimist in me wants to keep me from doing it at all. The neurotic in me is already convinced I'm gone.
Carolyn asked me my greatest fear some time ago, and I'm living it now. And it really sucks.
I plan to blog again, and be a bit less depressing, tomorrow or Friday.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
CT Results
Saw dr. today about the CT from Tuesday. The CT shows that my left lung is plugged up with mucous. It also confirms that there is a mass in my left lung, but doesn't reveal the nature of the mass. An appointment is being made now with a pulmonologist to have him/her go into my lung with fiber optics and see if they can determine what the mass is and how to best deal with both the mass and the mucous. I don't have a date for this yet; it could be a couple nerve-wracking and frustrating weeks.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Smile Time
It's picture time. Click on the thumbnails for larger pictures of the same. This post'll have some baby & hospital pics as well as the pics from a few weeks back when all the kids colored their hair.
That's one of Rael fussing.
A close-up of Rael.
Lash and Aeia sitting on the floor of the room at hospital because they took out the room's couch.
Now for the hair color pics:
Aeia with pink hair.
Lash with green hair, giving peace a chance.
That's one of Rael fussing.
A close-up of Rael.
Lash and Aeia sitting on the floor of the room at hospital because they took out the room's couch.
Now for the hair color pics:
Aeia with pink hair.
Lash with green hair, giving peace a chance.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
My Lightsaber
Green is your Lightsaber's color.
Green is the color of nature. It symbolizes growth,
harmony, and freshness. Green has strong
emotional correspondence with safety. Green is
also commonly associated with wealth and
happiness, so someone with a green lightsaber
like yourself is a fortunate soul.
What Colored Lightsaber Would You Have?
brought to you by Quizilla
Book Meme
Thanks for roping me into this Adj...I can't avoid things like this.
001. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
002. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
003. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman
004. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
005. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling
006. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
007. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne
008. 1984, George Orwell
009. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis
010. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
011. Catch-22, Joseph Heller
012. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
013. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
014. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
015. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger
016. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
017. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
018. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
019. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres
020. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
021. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
022. Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling
023. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
024. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
025. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
026. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
027. Middlemarch, George Eliot
028. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
029. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck
030. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
031. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
032. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
033. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
034. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
035. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
036. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
037. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
038. Persuasion, Jane Austen
039. Dune, Frank Herbert
040. Emma, Jane Austen
041. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
042. Watership Down, Richard Adams
043. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
044. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
045. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
046. Animal Farm, George Orwell
047. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
048. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
049. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
050. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
051. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
052. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck053. The Stand, Stephen King
054. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
055. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
056. The BFG, Roald Dahl
057. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
058. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
059. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
060. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
061. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
062. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
063. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
064. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
065. Mort, Terry Pratchett
066. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
067. The Magus, John Fowles
068. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
069. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
070. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding
071. Perfume, Patrick Suskind
072. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
073. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
074. Matilda, Roald Dahl
075. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding
076. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
077. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
078. Ulysses, James Joyce
079. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
080. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
081. The Twits, Roald Dahl
082. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
083. Holes, Louis Sachar
084. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
085. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
086. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
087. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
088. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
089. Magician, Raymond E Feist
090. On The Road, Jack Kerouac
091. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
092. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel
093. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
094. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
095. Katherine, Anya Seton
096. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
097. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
098. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
099. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
100. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie
101. Three Men In A Boat, Jerome K. Jerome inspired by 'To Say Nothing of The Dog"...
102. Small Gods, Terry Pratchett
103. The Beach, Alex Garland
104. Dracula, Bram Stoker
105. Point Blanc, Anthony Horowitz
106. The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens
107. Stormbreaker, Anthony Horowitz
108. The Wasp Factory, Iain Banks
109. The Day Of The Jackal, Frederick Forsyth
110. The Illustrated Mum, Jacqueline Wilson
111. Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy
112. The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 1/2, Sue Townsend
113. The Cruel Sea, Nicholas Monsarrat
114. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo
115. The Mayor Of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy
116. The Dare Game, Jacqueline Wilson
117. Bad Girls, Jacqueline Wilson
118. The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
119. Shogun, James Clavell
120. The Day Of The Triffids, John Wyndham
121. Lola Rose, Jacqueline Wilson
122. Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray
123. The Forsyte Saga, John Galsworthy
124. House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski
125. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
126. Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett
127. Angus, Thongs And Full-Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison
128. The Hound Of The Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle
129. Possession, A. S. Byatt
130. The Master And Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov
131. The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood
132. Danny The Champion Of The World, Roald Dahl
133. East Of Eden, John Steinbeck
134. George's Marvellous Medicine, Roald Dahl
135. Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett
136. The Color Purple, Alice Walker
137. Hogfather, Terry Pratchett
138. The Thirty-Nine Steps, John Buchan
139. Girls In Tears, Jacqueline Wilson
140. Sleepovers, Jacqueline Wilson
141. All Quiet On The Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
142. Behind The Scenes At The Museum, Kate Atkinson
143. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
144. It, Stephen King
145. James And The Giant Peach, Roald Dahl
146. The Green Mile, Stephen King147. Papillon, Henri Charriere
148. Men At Arms, Terry Pratchett
149. Master And Commander, Patrick O'Brian
150. Skeleton Key, Anthony Horowitz
151. Soul Music, Terry Pratchett
152. Thief Of Time, Terry Pratchett
153. The Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett
154. Atonement, Ian McEwan
155. Secrets, Jacqueline Wilson
156. The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier
157. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey158. Heart Of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
159. Kim, Rudyard Kipling
160. Cross Stitch, Diana Gabaldon
161. Moby Dick, Herman Melville
162. River God, Wilbur Smith
163. Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbon
164. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
165. The World According To Garp, John Irving
166. Lorna Doone, R. D. Blackmore
167. Girls Out Late, Jacqueline Wilson
168. The Far Pavilions, M. M. Kaye
169. The Witches, Roald Dahl
170. Charlotte's Web, E. B. White
171. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
172. They Used To Play On Grass, Terry Venables and Gordon Williams
173. The Old Man And The Sea, Ernest Hemingway
174. The Name Of The Rose, Umberto Eco
175. Sophie's World, Jostein Gaarder
176. Dustbin Baby, Jacqueline Wilson
177. Fantastic Mr. Fox, Roald Dahl
178. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
179. Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Richard Bach
180. The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery
181. The Suitcase Kid, Jacqueline Wilson
182. Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens
183. The Power Of One, Bryce Courtenay
184. Silas Marner, George Eliot
185. American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis
186. The Diary Of A Nobody, George and Weedon Gross-mith
187. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
188. Goosebumps, R. L. Stine (some of 'em, not all)
189. Heidi, Johanna Spyri
190. Sons And Lovers, D. H. Lawrence
191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
192. Man And Boy, Tony Parsons
193. The Truth, Terry Pratchett
194. The War Of The Worlds, H. G. Wells
195. The Horse Whisperer, Nicholas Evans
96. A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry
197. Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett
198. The Once And Future King, T. H. White
199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle
200. Flowers In The Attic, Virginia Andrews
201. The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
202. The Eye of the World, Robert Jordan
203. The Great Hunt, Robert Jordan
204. The Dragon Reborn, Robert Jordan
205. Fires of Heaven, Robert Jordan
206. Lord of Chaos, Robert Jordan
207. Winter's Heart, Robert Jordan
208. A Crown of Swords, Robert Jordan
209. Crossroads of Twilight, Robert Jordan
210. A Path of Daggers, Robert Jordan
211. As Nature Made Him, John Colapinto
212. Microserfs, Douglas Coupland
213. The Married Man, Edmund White
214. Winter's Tale, Mark Helprin
215. The History of Sexuality, Michel Foucault
216. Cry to Heaven, Anne Rice
217. Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe, John Boswell
218. Equus, Peter Shaffer
219. The Man Who Ate Everything, Jeffrey Steingarten
220. Letters To A Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
221. Ella Minnow Pea, Mark Dunn
222. The Vampire Lestat, Anne Rice
223. Anthem, Ayn Rand
224. The Bridge To Terabithia, Katherine Paterson
225. Tartuffe, Moliere
226. The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka
227. The Crucible, Arthur Miller
228. The Trial, Franz Kafka
229. Oedipus Rex, Sophocles
230. Oedipus at Colonus, Sophocles
231. Death Be Not Proud, John Gunther
232. A Doll's House, Henrik Ibsen
233. Hedda Gabler, Henrik Ibsen
234. Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton
235. A Raisin In The Sun, Lorraine Hansberry
236. ALIVE!, Piers Paul Read
237. Grapefruit, Yoko Ono
238. Trickster Makes This World, Lewis Hyde
240. The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley241. Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever, Stephen Donaldson242. Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
242. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon
243. Summerland, Michael Chabon
244. A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
245. Candide, Voltaire
246. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More, Roald Dahl
247. Ringworld, Larry Niven
248. The King Must Die, Mary Renault
249. Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert Heinlein
250. A Wrinkle in Time, Madeline L'Engle
251. The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde
252. The House Of The Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne
253. The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
254. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan
255. The Great Gilly Hopkins, Katherine Paterson
256. Chocolate Fever, Robert Kimmel Smith
257. Xanth: The Quest for Magic, Piers Anthony
258. The Lost Princess of Oz, L. Frank Baum
259. Wonder Boys, Michael Chabon
260. Lost In A Good Book, Jasper Fforde
261. Well Of Lost Plots, Jasper Fforde
261. Life Of Pi, Yann Martel
263. The Bean Trees, Barbara Kingsolver
264. A Yellow Raft In Blue Water, Michael Dorris
265. Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder
267. Where The Red Fern Grows, Wilson Rawls
268. Griffin & Sabine, Nick Bantock
269. Witch of Black Bird Pond, Joyce Friedland
270. Mrs. Frisby And The Rats Of NIMH, Robert C. O'Brien
271. Tuck Everlasting, Natalie Babbitt
272. The Cay, Theodore Taylor
273. From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsburg
274. The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Jester
275. The Westing Game, Ellen Raskin
276. The Kitchen God's Wife, Amy Tan
277. The Bone Setter's Daughter, Amy Tan278. Relic, Duglas Preston & Lincolon Child
279. Wicked, Gregory Maguire
280. American Gods, Neil Gaiman
281. Misty of Chincoteague, Marguerite Henry
282. The Girl Next Door, Jack Ketchum
283. Haunted, Judith St. George
284. Singularity, William Sleator
285. A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson
286. Different Seasons, Stephen King287. Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
288. About a Boy, Nick Hornby
289. The Bookman's Wake, John Dunning
290. The Church of Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns
291. Illusions, Richard Bach
292. Magic's Pawn, Mercedes Lackey
293. Magic's Promise, Mercedes Lackey
294. Magic's Price, Mercedes Lackey
295. The Dancing Wu Li Masters, Gary Zukav
296. Spirits of Flux and Anchor, Jack L. Chalker
297. Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice
298. The Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices, Brenda Love
299. Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace
300. The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison
301. The Cider House Rules, John Irving
302. Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
303. Girlfriend in a Coma, Douglas Coupland
304. The Lion's Game, Nelson Demille
305. The Sun, The Moon, and the Stars, Stephen Brust
306. Cyteen, C. J. Cherryh
307. Foucault's Pendulum, Umberto Eco
308. Cryptonomicon, Neal Stephenson
309. Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk
310. Camber of Culdi, Kathryn Kurtz
311. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
312. War and Rememberance, Herman Wouk
313. The Art of War, Sun Tzu
314. The Giver, Lois Lowry
315. The Telling, Ursula Le Guin
316. Xenogenesis (or Lilith's Brood), Octavia Butler (Dawn, Adulthood Rites, Imago)
317. A Civil Campaign, Lois McMaster Bujold
318. The Curse of Chalion, Lois McMaster Bujold
319. The Aeneid, Publius Vergilius Maro (Virgil)
320. Hanta Yo, Ruth Beebe Hill
321. The Princess Bride, William Goldman
322. Beowulf, Anonymous
323. The Sparrow, Maria Doria Russell
324. Deerskin, Robin McKinley
325. Dragonsong, Anne McCaffrey
326. Passage, Connie Willis
327. Otherland, Tad Williams
328. Tigana, Guy Gavriel Kay
329. Number the Stars, Lois Lowry
330. Beloved, Toni Morrison
331. Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, Christopher Moore
332. The mysterious disappearance of Leon, I mean Noel, Ellen Raskin
333. Summer Sisters, Judy Blume
334. The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo
335. The Island on Bird Street, Uri Orlev
336. Midnight in the Dollhouse, Marjorie Filley Stover
337. The Miracle Worker, William Gibson
338. The Genesis Code, John Case
339. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stevensen
340. Paradise Lost, John Milton
341. Phantom, Susan Kay
342. The Mummy or Ramses the Damned, Anne Rice343. Anno Dracula, Kim Newman
344: The Dresden Files: Grave Peril, Jim Butcher
345: Tokyo Suckerpunch, Issac Adamson
346: The Winter of Magic's Return, Pamela Service
347: The Oddkins, Dean R. Koontz
348. My Name is Asher Lev, Chaim Potok
349. The Last Goodbye, Raymond Chandler
350. At Swim, Two Boys, Jaime O'Neill
351. Othello, by William Shakespeare
352. The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas
353. The Collected Poems of William Butler Yeats
354. Sati, Christopher Pike
355. The Divine Comedy, Dante
356. The Apology, Plato
357. The Small Rain, Madeline L'Engle
358. The Man Who Tasted Shapes, Richard E Cytowick
359. 5 Novels, Daniel Pinkwater
360. The Sevenwaters Trilogy, Juliet Marillier
361. Girl with a Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier
362. To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
363. Our Town, Thorton Wilder
364. Green Grass Running Water, Thomas King
335. The Interpreter, Suzanne Glass
336. The Moor's Last Sigh, Salman Rushdie
337. The Mother Tongue, Bill Bryson
338. A Passage to India, E.M. Forster
339. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky
340. The Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux
341. Pages for You, Sylvia Brownrigg
342. The Changeover, Margaret Mahy
343. Howl's Moving Castle, Diana Wynne Jones
344. Angels and Demons, Dan Brown
345. Johnny Got His Gun, Dalton Trumbo
346. Shosha, Isaac Bashevis Singer
347. Travels With Charley, John Steinbeck
348. The Diving-bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby
349. The Lunatic at Large by J. Storer Clouston
350. Time for bed by David Baddiel
351. Barrayar by Lois McMaster Bujold
352. Quite Ugly One Morning by Christopher Brookmyre
353. The Bloody Sun by Marion Zimmer Bradley
354. Sewer, Gas, and Eletric by Matt Ruff
355. Jhereg by Steven Brust
356. So You Want To Be A Wizard by Diane Duane
357. Perdido Street Station, China Mieville
358. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Bronte
359. Road-side Dog, Czeslaw Milosz
360. The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje
361. Neuromancer, William Gibson
362. The Epistemology of the Closet, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick
363. A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr
364. The Mask of Apollo, Mary Renault
365. The Gunslinger, Stephen King
366. Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
367. Childhood's End, Arthur C. Clarke
368. A Season of Mists, Neil Gaiman
369. Ivanhoe, Walter Scott
370. The God Boy, Ian Cross
371. The Beekeeper's Apprentice, Laurie R. King
372. Finn Family Moomintroll, Tove Jansson
373. Stormbringer, Michael Moorcock
374. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Philip K. Dick
375. Assassin's Apprentice, Robin Hobb
376. number9dream, David Mitchell
377. A Game of Thrones, George R. R. Martin
378. Five Quarters of the Orange, Joanne Harris
379. Darkness at Noon, Arthur Koestler
380. Einstein's Dreams, Alan Lightman
381. Dance On My Grave, Aidan Chambers
382. Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula Leguin
383. Hyperion, Dan Simmons
384. Martian Chronicles, Ray Bradbury
385. Checkmate, Dorothy Dunnett
386. To Say Nothing of the Dog, Connie Willis
387. A Clash of Kings, George RR Martin
388. The Egyptian, Mika Waltari
389. Moab Is My Washpot, Stephen Fry
390. Contact, Carl Sagan
391. Mythago Wood, Robert Holdstock
392. Feersum Endjinn, Iain M. Banks
393. The Golden, Lucius Shepard
394. Decamerone, Boccaccio
395. Birdy, William Wharton
396. The Red Tent, Anita Diaman
397. Foundation, Isaac Asimov
398. Il Principe, Machiavelli in English translation
399. Post Office, Charles Bukowski
400. Macht und Rebel, Abu Rasul
401. Grass, Sheri S. Tepper
402. The Long Walk, Richard Bachman
403. Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman
404. The Joy Of Work, Scott Adams
405. Romeo, Elise Title
406. The Ninth Gate, Arturo Perez-Reverte
407. Memnoch the Devil, Anne Rice
408. Dead Famous, Ben Elton
409. Scarlett, Alexandra Ripley
410. Dead Souls, Nikolai Gogol
411. Look to Windward, Iain M. Banks
412. The Colossus of Maroussi, Henry Miller
413. Branded, Alissa Quart
414. The Idiot, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
415. Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac
416. White teeth, Zadie Smith
417. The bell jar, Sylvia Plath418. The little prince of Belleville, Calixthe Beyala
419. Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert
420. A King Lear of the Steppes, Ivan Turgenev
421. The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
422. Memoirs of a Revolutionist, Peter Kropotkin
423. Hija de la Fortuna, Isabel Allende (in English, Daughter of Fortune)
424. Retrato en Sepia, Isabel Allende
425. Villette, Charlotte Brontë
426. Steppenwolf, Herman Hesse
427. Ubik, Philip K. Dick
428. Mein Kampf, Adolf Hitler
429. Solaris, Stanislaw Lem
430. The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
431. Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre
432. The Island of the Day Before, Umberto Eco
433. The Elementary Particles, Michel Houellebecq
434. The Angel Of The West Window, Gustav Meyrink
435. A Farewell To Arms, Ernest Hemingway
436. Naked Lunch, William S. Burroughs
437. Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut
438. In the Eyes of Mr. Fury, Philip Ridley
439. Consider Phlebas, Iain M. Banks
440. Into the Forest, Jean Hegland
441. Middlesex -Jeffrey Eugenides
442. The Giving Tree -Shel Silverstein
443. Go Ask Alice -Anonymous
444. Waiting For Godot, -Samuel Becket
445. Blankets - Craig Thompson
446. The Girls' Guide To Hunting And Fishing, Melissa Banks
447. Voice of the Fire, Alan Moore
448. The Geography of Nowhere, James Howard Kunstler
449. Coraline - Neil Gaiman
450. The Circus of Dr. Lao, Charles G. Finney
451. Jitterbug Perfume, Tom Robbins
452. John Lennon: The Lost Weekend, by May Pang and Henry Edwards
453. A Long Fatal Love Chase, Lousia May Alcott
454. Pygmalion, Bernard Shaw
455. Breakfast at Tiffany's, Truman Capote
456. Skinny Legs And All, Tom Robbins
457. Written On The Body, Jeanette Winterson
458. An Equal Music, Vikram Seth
459. A Widow for One Year, John Irving
460. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Rebecca Wells
461. Reservation Blues, Sherman Alexie
462. Hidden Power, Kati Marton
463. Cold Mountain, Charles Frazier
464. Macbeth, William Shakespeare best. Shakespeare. ever.
465. The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer
466. The Iliad, Homer
467. Common Sense, Thomas Paine
468. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare
469. The Odyssey, Homer
470. Personal History, Biography by Katherine Graham
471. Mansfield Park, Jane Austen
472. Truman, David McCullough
473. One for the Money, Janet Evanovich
474. Blue Dahlia, Nora Roberts
475. Little Altars Everywhere, Rebecca Wells
476. Guilty Pleasures, Laurell K. Hamilton
477. Kiss of Shadows, Laurell K. Hamilton
478. Whispers of the Dead, V. Artemis Reyd
479. The Stranger, Albert Camus
480. Women, Charles Bukowski
481. The Firebird Poems, Gerald Locklin
482. Cannery Row, John Steinbeck
483. The Good Earth, Pearl S. Buck
484. Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams, Sylvia Plath
485. The Meaning of WIfe - Anne Kingston
486. Cunt - Inga Muscio
487. Cinderella's Big Score - Maria Raha
488. How I Paid for College - Marc Acito
489. Bastard Out of Carolina - Dorothy Allison
490. The Last Picture Show - Larry McMurtry
491. Days of War, Nights of Love, crimethinc
492. Valencia, Michelle Tea
493. Obasan, Joy Kogawa
494. Dona Flor and her two Husbands, Jorge Amado
495. Ishmael, Daniel Quinn
496. Earth, David Brin
497. The Satyricon, Petronius
498. Running in the Family, Michael Ondaajte
499. The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus, Christopher Marlowe
500. Stardust, Niel Gaiman
501. Northern Lights, Nora Roberts
502. Cat's Eye, Margaret Atwood
503. The Midnight Folk, John Masefield
504. The Grand Elipse, Paula Volsky
505. I, Claudius, Robert Graves
506. What's Bred in the Bone, Robertson Davies
507. The War With Mr. Wizzle, Gordon Korman
508. Drink Down the Moon, Charles de Lint
509. The End of the World News, Anthony Burgess
510. Blood Price, Tanya Huff
511. The Blue Castle - Lucy Maud Montgomery
512. Green Hills of Earth - Robert A. Heinlein
513. Guns of the South - Harry Turtledove
514. "Jefty is Five" - Harlan Ellison (a short story, but one I can't forget)
515. Shambleau by C.L. Moore (a short story) can be found in Penguin Book of Vampire Stories among others
516. A Room With a View - E.M Forester
517. Fool On the Hill - Matt Ruff
518. Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler
519. Jaws - Peter Benchley
520. The Black Stallion - Walter Farley
My additions:
521. Antigone, Sophocles
522. She's Come Undone, Wally Lamb
523. Above the River, James Wright
524. Shit of God, Diamanda Galas
525. The Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower, Stephen King
Ah, nothing like an English degree to make you look fairly well read...
So yeah, bold what you've read, italicize what you've started and not finished, add on 3-5 of your own at the end.
001. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
002. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
003. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman
004. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
005. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling
006. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
007. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne
008. 1984, George Orwell
009. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis
010. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
011. Catch-22, Joseph Heller
012. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
013. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
014. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
015. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger
016. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
017. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
018. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
019. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres
020. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
021. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
022. Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling
023. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
024. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
025. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
026. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
027. Middlemarch, George Eliot
028. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
029. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck
030. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
031. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
032. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
033. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
034. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
035. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
036. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
037. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
038. Persuasion, Jane Austen
039. Dune, Frank Herbert
040. Emma, Jane Austen
041. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
042. Watership Down, Richard Adams
043. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
044. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
045. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
046. Animal Farm, George Orwell
047. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
048. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
049. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
050. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
051. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
052. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck053. The Stand, Stephen King
054. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
055. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
056. The BFG, Roald Dahl
057. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
058. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
059. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
060. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
061. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
062. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
063. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
064. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
065. Mort, Terry Pratchett
066. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
067. The Magus, John Fowles
068. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
069. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
070. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding
071. Perfume, Patrick Suskind
072. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
073. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
074. Matilda, Roald Dahl
075. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding
076. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
077. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
078. Ulysses, James Joyce
079. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
080. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
081. The Twits, Roald Dahl
082. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
083. Holes, Louis Sachar
084. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
085. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
086. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
087. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
088. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
089. Magician, Raymond E Feist
090. On The Road, Jack Kerouac
091. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
092. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel
093. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
094. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
095. Katherine, Anya Seton
096. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
097. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
098. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
099. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
100. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie
101. Three Men In A Boat, Jerome K. Jerome inspired by 'To Say Nothing of The Dog"...
102. Small Gods, Terry Pratchett
103. The Beach, Alex Garland
104. Dracula, Bram Stoker
105. Point Blanc, Anthony Horowitz
106. The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens
107. Stormbreaker, Anthony Horowitz
108. The Wasp Factory, Iain Banks
109. The Day Of The Jackal, Frederick Forsyth
110. The Illustrated Mum, Jacqueline Wilson
111. Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy
112. The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 1/2, Sue Townsend
113. The Cruel Sea, Nicholas Monsarrat
114. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo
115. The Mayor Of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy
116. The Dare Game, Jacqueline Wilson
117. Bad Girls, Jacqueline Wilson
118. The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
119. Shogun, James Clavell
120. The Day Of The Triffids, John Wyndham
121. Lola Rose, Jacqueline Wilson
122. Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray
123. The Forsyte Saga, John Galsworthy
124. House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski
125. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
126. Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett
127. Angus, Thongs And Full-Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison
128. The Hound Of The Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle
129. Possession, A. S. Byatt
130. The Master And Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov
131. The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood
132. Danny The Champion Of The World, Roald Dahl
133. East Of Eden, John Steinbeck
134. George's Marvellous Medicine, Roald Dahl
135. Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett
136. The Color Purple, Alice Walker
137. Hogfather, Terry Pratchett
138. The Thirty-Nine Steps, John Buchan
139. Girls In Tears, Jacqueline Wilson
140. Sleepovers, Jacqueline Wilson
141. All Quiet On The Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
142. Behind The Scenes At The Museum, Kate Atkinson
143. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
144. It, Stephen King
145. James And The Giant Peach, Roald Dahl
146. The Green Mile, Stephen King147. Papillon, Henri Charriere
148. Men At Arms, Terry Pratchett
149. Master And Commander, Patrick O'Brian
150. Skeleton Key, Anthony Horowitz
151. Soul Music, Terry Pratchett
152. Thief Of Time, Terry Pratchett
153. The Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett
154. Atonement, Ian McEwan
155. Secrets, Jacqueline Wilson
156. The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier
157. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey158. Heart Of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
159. Kim, Rudyard Kipling
160. Cross Stitch, Diana Gabaldon
161. Moby Dick, Herman Melville
162. River God, Wilbur Smith
163. Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbon
164. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
165. The World According To Garp, John Irving
166. Lorna Doone, R. D. Blackmore
167. Girls Out Late, Jacqueline Wilson
168. The Far Pavilions, M. M. Kaye
169. The Witches, Roald Dahl
170. Charlotte's Web, E. B. White
171. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
172. They Used To Play On Grass, Terry Venables and Gordon Williams
173. The Old Man And The Sea, Ernest Hemingway
174. The Name Of The Rose, Umberto Eco
175. Sophie's World, Jostein Gaarder
176. Dustbin Baby, Jacqueline Wilson
177. Fantastic Mr. Fox, Roald Dahl
178. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
179. Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Richard Bach
180. The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery
181. The Suitcase Kid, Jacqueline Wilson
182. Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens
183. The Power Of One, Bryce Courtenay
184. Silas Marner, George Eliot
185. American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis
186. The Diary Of A Nobody, George and Weedon Gross-mith
187. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
188. Goosebumps, R. L. Stine (some of 'em, not all)
189. Heidi, Johanna Spyri
190. Sons And Lovers, D. H. Lawrence
191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
192. Man And Boy, Tony Parsons
193. The Truth, Terry Pratchett
194. The War Of The Worlds, H. G. Wells
195. The Horse Whisperer, Nicholas Evans
96. A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry
197. Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett
198. The Once And Future King, T. H. White
199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle
200. Flowers In The Attic, Virginia Andrews
201. The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
202. The Eye of the World, Robert Jordan
203. The Great Hunt, Robert Jordan
204. The Dragon Reborn, Robert Jordan
205. Fires of Heaven, Robert Jordan
206. Lord of Chaos, Robert Jordan
207. Winter's Heart, Robert Jordan
208. A Crown of Swords, Robert Jordan
209. Crossroads of Twilight, Robert Jordan
210. A Path of Daggers, Robert Jordan
211. As Nature Made Him, John Colapinto
212. Microserfs, Douglas Coupland
213. The Married Man, Edmund White
214. Winter's Tale, Mark Helprin
215. The History of Sexuality, Michel Foucault
216. Cry to Heaven, Anne Rice
217. Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe, John Boswell
218. Equus, Peter Shaffer
219. The Man Who Ate Everything, Jeffrey Steingarten
220. Letters To A Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
221. Ella Minnow Pea, Mark Dunn
222. The Vampire Lestat, Anne Rice
223. Anthem, Ayn Rand
224. The Bridge To Terabithia, Katherine Paterson
225. Tartuffe, Moliere
226. The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka
227. The Crucible, Arthur Miller
228. The Trial, Franz Kafka
229. Oedipus Rex, Sophocles
230. Oedipus at Colonus, Sophocles
231. Death Be Not Proud, John Gunther
232. A Doll's House, Henrik Ibsen
233. Hedda Gabler, Henrik Ibsen
234. Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton
235. A Raisin In The Sun, Lorraine Hansberry
236. ALIVE!, Piers Paul Read
237. Grapefruit, Yoko Ono
238. Trickster Makes This World, Lewis Hyde
240. The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley241. Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever, Stephen Donaldson242. Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
242. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon
243. Summerland, Michael Chabon
244. A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
245. Candide, Voltaire
246. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More, Roald Dahl
247. Ringworld, Larry Niven
248. The King Must Die, Mary Renault
249. Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert Heinlein
250. A Wrinkle in Time, Madeline L'Engle
251. The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde
252. The House Of The Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne
253. The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
254. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan
255. The Great Gilly Hopkins, Katherine Paterson
256. Chocolate Fever, Robert Kimmel Smith
257. Xanth: The Quest for Magic, Piers Anthony
258. The Lost Princess of Oz, L. Frank Baum
259. Wonder Boys, Michael Chabon
260. Lost In A Good Book, Jasper Fforde
261. Well Of Lost Plots, Jasper Fforde
261. Life Of Pi, Yann Martel
263. The Bean Trees, Barbara Kingsolver
264. A Yellow Raft In Blue Water, Michael Dorris
265. Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder
267. Where The Red Fern Grows, Wilson Rawls
268. Griffin & Sabine, Nick Bantock
269. Witch of Black Bird Pond, Joyce Friedland
270. Mrs. Frisby And The Rats Of NIMH, Robert C. O'Brien
271. Tuck Everlasting, Natalie Babbitt
272. The Cay, Theodore Taylor
273. From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsburg
274. The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Jester
275. The Westing Game, Ellen Raskin
276. The Kitchen God's Wife, Amy Tan
277. The Bone Setter's Daughter, Amy Tan278. Relic, Duglas Preston & Lincolon Child
279. Wicked, Gregory Maguire
280. American Gods, Neil Gaiman
281. Misty of Chincoteague, Marguerite Henry
282. The Girl Next Door, Jack Ketchum
283. Haunted, Judith St. George
284. Singularity, William Sleator
285. A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson
286. Different Seasons, Stephen King287. Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
288. About a Boy, Nick Hornby
289. The Bookman's Wake, John Dunning
290. The Church of Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns
291. Illusions, Richard Bach
292. Magic's Pawn, Mercedes Lackey
293. Magic's Promise, Mercedes Lackey
294. Magic's Price, Mercedes Lackey
295. The Dancing Wu Li Masters, Gary Zukav
296. Spirits of Flux and Anchor, Jack L. Chalker
297. Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice
298. The Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices, Brenda Love
299. Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace
300. The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison
301. The Cider House Rules, John Irving
302. Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
303. Girlfriend in a Coma, Douglas Coupland
304. The Lion's Game, Nelson Demille
305. The Sun, The Moon, and the Stars, Stephen Brust
306. Cyteen, C. J. Cherryh
307. Foucault's Pendulum, Umberto Eco
308. Cryptonomicon, Neal Stephenson
309. Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk
310. Camber of Culdi, Kathryn Kurtz
311. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
312. War and Rememberance, Herman Wouk
313. The Art of War, Sun Tzu
314. The Giver, Lois Lowry
315. The Telling, Ursula Le Guin
316. Xenogenesis (or Lilith's Brood), Octavia Butler (Dawn, Adulthood Rites, Imago)
317. A Civil Campaign, Lois McMaster Bujold
318. The Curse of Chalion, Lois McMaster Bujold
319. The Aeneid, Publius Vergilius Maro (Virgil)
320. Hanta Yo, Ruth Beebe Hill
321. The Princess Bride, William Goldman
322. Beowulf, Anonymous
323. The Sparrow, Maria Doria Russell
324. Deerskin, Robin McKinley
325. Dragonsong, Anne McCaffrey
326. Passage, Connie Willis
327. Otherland, Tad Williams
328. Tigana, Guy Gavriel Kay
329. Number the Stars, Lois Lowry
330. Beloved, Toni Morrison
331. Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, Christopher Moore
332. The mysterious disappearance of Leon, I mean Noel, Ellen Raskin
333. Summer Sisters, Judy Blume
334. The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo
335. The Island on Bird Street, Uri Orlev
336. Midnight in the Dollhouse, Marjorie Filley Stover
337. The Miracle Worker, William Gibson
338. The Genesis Code, John Case
339. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stevensen
340. Paradise Lost, John Milton
341. Phantom, Susan Kay
342. The Mummy or Ramses the Damned, Anne Rice343. Anno Dracula, Kim Newman
344: The Dresden Files: Grave Peril, Jim Butcher
345: Tokyo Suckerpunch, Issac Adamson
346: The Winter of Magic's Return, Pamela Service
347: The Oddkins, Dean R. Koontz
348. My Name is Asher Lev, Chaim Potok
349. The Last Goodbye, Raymond Chandler
350. At Swim, Two Boys, Jaime O'Neill
351. Othello, by William Shakespeare
352. The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas
353. The Collected Poems of William Butler Yeats
354. Sati, Christopher Pike
355. The Divine Comedy, Dante
356. The Apology, Plato
357. The Small Rain, Madeline L'Engle
358. The Man Who Tasted Shapes, Richard E Cytowick
359. 5 Novels, Daniel Pinkwater
360. The Sevenwaters Trilogy, Juliet Marillier
361. Girl with a Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier
362. To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
363. Our Town, Thorton Wilder
364. Green Grass Running Water, Thomas King
335. The Interpreter, Suzanne Glass
336. The Moor's Last Sigh, Salman Rushdie
337. The Mother Tongue, Bill Bryson
338. A Passage to India, E.M. Forster
339. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky
340. The Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux
341. Pages for You, Sylvia Brownrigg
342. The Changeover, Margaret Mahy
343. Howl's Moving Castle, Diana Wynne Jones
344. Angels and Demons, Dan Brown
345. Johnny Got His Gun, Dalton Trumbo
346. Shosha, Isaac Bashevis Singer
347. Travels With Charley, John Steinbeck
348. The Diving-bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby
349. The Lunatic at Large by J. Storer Clouston
350. Time for bed by David Baddiel
351. Barrayar by Lois McMaster Bujold
352. Quite Ugly One Morning by Christopher Brookmyre
353. The Bloody Sun by Marion Zimmer Bradley
354. Sewer, Gas, and Eletric by Matt Ruff
355. Jhereg by Steven Brust
356. So You Want To Be A Wizard by Diane Duane
357. Perdido Street Station, China Mieville
358. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Bronte
359. Road-side Dog, Czeslaw Milosz
360. The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje
361. Neuromancer, William Gibson
362. The Epistemology of the Closet, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick
363. A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr
364. The Mask of Apollo, Mary Renault
365. The Gunslinger, Stephen King
366. Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
367. Childhood's End, Arthur C. Clarke
368. A Season of Mists, Neil Gaiman
369. Ivanhoe, Walter Scott
370. The God Boy, Ian Cross
371. The Beekeeper's Apprentice, Laurie R. King
372. Finn Family Moomintroll, Tove Jansson
373. Stormbringer, Michael Moorcock
374. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Philip K. Dick
375. Assassin's Apprentice, Robin Hobb
376. number9dream, David Mitchell
377. A Game of Thrones, George R. R. Martin
378. Five Quarters of the Orange, Joanne Harris
379. Darkness at Noon, Arthur Koestler
380. Einstein's Dreams, Alan Lightman
381. Dance On My Grave, Aidan Chambers
382. Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula Leguin
383. Hyperion, Dan Simmons
384. Martian Chronicles, Ray Bradbury
385. Checkmate, Dorothy Dunnett
386. To Say Nothing of the Dog, Connie Willis
387. A Clash of Kings, George RR Martin
388. The Egyptian, Mika Waltari
389. Moab Is My Washpot, Stephen Fry
390. Contact, Carl Sagan
391. Mythago Wood, Robert Holdstock
392. Feersum Endjinn, Iain M. Banks
393. The Golden, Lucius Shepard
394. Decamerone, Boccaccio
395. Birdy, William Wharton
396. The Red Tent, Anita Diaman
397. Foundation, Isaac Asimov
398. Il Principe, Machiavelli in English translation
399. Post Office, Charles Bukowski
400. Macht und Rebel, Abu Rasul
401. Grass, Sheri S. Tepper
402. The Long Walk, Richard Bachman
403. Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman
404. The Joy Of Work, Scott Adams
405. Romeo, Elise Title
406. The Ninth Gate, Arturo Perez-Reverte
407. Memnoch the Devil, Anne Rice
408. Dead Famous, Ben Elton
409. Scarlett, Alexandra Ripley
410. Dead Souls, Nikolai Gogol
411. Look to Windward, Iain M. Banks
412. The Colossus of Maroussi, Henry Miller
413. Branded, Alissa Quart
414. The Idiot, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
415. Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac
416. White teeth, Zadie Smith
417. The bell jar, Sylvia Plath418. The little prince of Belleville, Calixthe Beyala
419. Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert
420. A King Lear of the Steppes, Ivan Turgenev
421. The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
422. Memoirs of a Revolutionist, Peter Kropotkin
423. Hija de la Fortuna, Isabel Allende (in English, Daughter of Fortune)
424. Retrato en Sepia, Isabel Allende
425. Villette, Charlotte Brontë
426. Steppenwolf, Herman Hesse
427. Ubik, Philip K. Dick
428. Mein Kampf, Adolf Hitler
429. Solaris, Stanislaw Lem
430. The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
431. Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre
432. The Island of the Day Before, Umberto Eco
433. The Elementary Particles, Michel Houellebecq
434. The Angel Of The West Window, Gustav Meyrink
435. A Farewell To Arms, Ernest Hemingway
436. Naked Lunch, William S. Burroughs
437. Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut
438. In the Eyes of Mr. Fury, Philip Ridley
439. Consider Phlebas, Iain M. Banks
440. Into the Forest, Jean Hegland
441. Middlesex -Jeffrey Eugenides
442. The Giving Tree -Shel Silverstein
443. Go Ask Alice -Anonymous
444. Waiting For Godot, -Samuel Becket
445. Blankets - Craig Thompson
446. The Girls' Guide To Hunting And Fishing, Melissa Banks
447. Voice of the Fire, Alan Moore
448. The Geography of Nowhere, James Howard Kunstler
449. Coraline - Neil Gaiman
450. The Circus of Dr. Lao, Charles G. Finney
451. Jitterbug Perfume, Tom Robbins
452. John Lennon: The Lost Weekend, by May Pang and Henry Edwards
453. A Long Fatal Love Chase, Lousia May Alcott
454. Pygmalion, Bernard Shaw
455. Breakfast at Tiffany's, Truman Capote
456. Skinny Legs And All, Tom Robbins
457. Written On The Body, Jeanette Winterson
458. An Equal Music, Vikram Seth
459. A Widow for One Year, John Irving
460. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Rebecca Wells
461. Reservation Blues, Sherman Alexie
462. Hidden Power, Kati Marton
463. Cold Mountain, Charles Frazier
464. Macbeth, William Shakespeare best. Shakespeare. ever.
465. The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer
466. The Iliad, Homer
467. Common Sense, Thomas Paine
468. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare
469. The Odyssey, Homer
470. Personal History, Biography by Katherine Graham
471. Mansfield Park, Jane Austen
472. Truman, David McCullough
473. One for the Money, Janet Evanovich
474. Blue Dahlia, Nora Roberts
475. Little Altars Everywhere, Rebecca Wells
476. Guilty Pleasures, Laurell K. Hamilton
477. Kiss of Shadows, Laurell K. Hamilton
478. Whispers of the Dead, V. Artemis Reyd
479. The Stranger, Albert Camus
480. Women, Charles Bukowski
481. The Firebird Poems, Gerald Locklin
482. Cannery Row, John Steinbeck
483. The Good Earth, Pearl S. Buck
484. Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams, Sylvia Plath
485. The Meaning of WIfe - Anne Kingston
486. Cunt - Inga Muscio
487. Cinderella's Big Score - Maria Raha
488. How I Paid for College - Marc Acito
489. Bastard Out of Carolina - Dorothy Allison
490. The Last Picture Show - Larry McMurtry
491. Days of War, Nights of Love, crimethinc
492. Valencia, Michelle Tea
493. Obasan, Joy Kogawa
494. Dona Flor and her two Husbands, Jorge Amado
495. Ishmael, Daniel Quinn
496. Earth, David Brin
497. The Satyricon, Petronius
498. Running in the Family, Michael Ondaajte
499. The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus, Christopher Marlowe
500. Stardust, Niel Gaiman
501. Northern Lights, Nora Roberts
502. Cat's Eye, Margaret Atwood
503. The Midnight Folk, John Masefield
504. The Grand Elipse, Paula Volsky
505. I, Claudius, Robert Graves
506. What's Bred in the Bone, Robertson Davies
507. The War With Mr. Wizzle, Gordon Korman
508. Drink Down the Moon, Charles de Lint
509. The End of the World News, Anthony Burgess
510. Blood Price, Tanya Huff
511. The Blue Castle - Lucy Maud Montgomery
512. Green Hills of Earth - Robert A. Heinlein
513. Guns of the South - Harry Turtledove
514. "Jefty is Five" - Harlan Ellison (a short story, but one I can't forget)
515. Shambleau by C.L. Moore (a short story) can be found in Penguin Book of Vampire Stories among others
516. A Room With a View - E.M Forester
517. Fool On the Hill - Matt Ruff
518. Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler
519. Jaws - Peter Benchley
520. The Black Stallion - Walter Farley
My additions:
521. Antigone, Sophocles
522. She's Come Undone, Wally Lamb
523. Above the River, James Wright
524. Shit of God, Diamanda Galas
525. The Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower, Stephen King
Ah, nothing like an English degree to make you look fairly well read...
So yeah, bold what you've read, italicize what you've started and not finished, add on 3-5 of your own at the end.
Book Tag
Tag! I’m it. Without revealing too much about myself, here’s a glimpse into the bookwork hidden inside of me.
1) Total number of books I’ve owned.
Gods this number is in the tens of thousands. I've been an avid reader since I was a wee kid, my degree's in English (one of them), Denise's degree's in English (one of them)... we currently have eight overloaded bookshelves and about forty unpacked boxes of books. And then, of course, I've bought and sold a huge number of them.
2) The last book I bought.
The Book of More Flesh, an anthology.
3) The Last Book I read.
Heh. The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead by Max Brooks.
4) 5 books that mean something to me.
First Book - the Giving Tree
First Read - The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe
Most Times Read - The Drawing of the Three
Largest Impact - Johnny Got His Gun
Biggest F-ing Page-turner (most recent memory) - Song of Susannah
5) Tag 5 people and request they fill this out on their journals
Odalisquek, Rod, Drew, Adj, Aimee & Angie
1) Total number of books I’ve owned.
Gods this number is in the tens of thousands. I've been an avid reader since I was a wee kid, my degree's in English (one of them), Denise's degree's in English (one of them)... we currently have eight overloaded bookshelves and about forty unpacked boxes of books. And then, of course, I've bought and sold a huge number of them.
2) The last book I bought.
The Book of More Flesh, an anthology.
3) The Last Book I read.
Heh. The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead by Max Brooks.
4) 5 books that mean something to me.
First Book - the Giving Tree
First Read - The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe
Most Times Read - The Drawing of the Three
Largest Impact - Johnny Got His Gun
Biggest F-ing Page-turner (most recent memory) - Song of Susannah
5) Tag 5 people and request they fill this out on their journals
Odalisquek, Rod, Drew, Adj, Aimee & Angie
Saturday, May 28, 2005
A Little Dose of Good News
Unless there's a sudden turn for the worse, when I can drag myself online, I won't bitch about doctors or the pneumonia again until next week after the CT. Suffice to say my energy levels are pathetic and it all sucks.
I promised good news, and only the most obtuse wouldn't know what that news is before they read it below.
Denise's labour was induced this morning. We had a 6am appointment to arrive, and they had her meds for the induction rolling by 7. Local friend Cindy Wright was able to come on extreme short notice to help Denise in all the ways I couldn't because of the illness, and she effing rocks for doing so. My mother was supposed to show in order to help watch the kids, but she didn't arrive until it was too late. Somewhere around 10:30 or so, labour began getting all painful for Denise. At 10:42 she began pushing, and at 10:48 the baby was born (6 minutes pushing/hard labour--4.5 more than with Aeia, about an hour less than with Lash).
Denise is doing fine. She's still at the hospital resting (as is baby) and we expect to bring them home tomorrow.
Rael Peterson came in with an APGAR of 9 and 9; he was 20 inches tall and 7.7 pounds. He has the proper number of fingers and toes and a near full head of hair. Some pictures were taken; I don't know how well they came out yet, but I'll post the best of them later.
I promised good news, and only the most obtuse wouldn't know what that news is before they read it below.
Denise's labour was induced this morning. We had a 6am appointment to arrive, and they had her meds for the induction rolling by 7. Local friend Cindy Wright was able to come on extreme short notice to help Denise in all the ways I couldn't because of the illness, and she effing rocks for doing so. My mother was supposed to show in order to help watch the kids, but she didn't arrive until it was too late. Somewhere around 10:30 or so, labour began getting all painful for Denise. At 10:42 she began pushing, and at 10:48 the baby was born (6 minutes pushing/hard labour--4.5 more than with Aeia, about an hour less than with Lash).
Denise is doing fine. She's still at the hospital resting (as is baby) and we expect to bring them home tomorrow.
Rael Peterson came in with an APGAR of 9 and 9; he was 20 inches tall and 7.7 pounds. He has the proper number of fingers and toes and a near full head of hair. Some pictures were taken; I don't know how well they came out yet, but I'll post the best of them later.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Neither Dead nor Better
I realize I said I wouldn't be online again until better or dead, but thought some of you deserved an update and I could maybe post here a couple times, answer an email, etc. while I had a small amount of energy (which is to say I'm neither all better or dead).
The pneumonia antibiotic has me all messed up: the fatigue is more, I vomit up about 90% of what I eat and drink and I have a really unpleasant amount of diarhea. The plus side is that it is working its slow magic: I'm breathing a little better.
This morning I had a second appointment with this doctor in order to follow-up on the treatment thus far and to go over the chest x-rays that were taken on Tuesday in order to guage just how bad the pneumonia is.
The pneumonia's bad enough, the x-ray showed something worse. There's an unidentified foreign mass in the upper portion of my left lung. I'll be having a chest CT on this upcoming Tuesday in order to find out if it can tell more about what the mass is (and won't find out from the doc til I see him again on Thursday June 2nd). Right now, the hope is that the mass is something caused by the massive infection of walking around with pneumonia improperly diagnosed for so long. It's sure as sand my hope. There isn't a large familial history of cancer in my family; only one member was ever diagnosed: my maternal grandfather. So the risks from that end are low. The fact he had lung cancer doesn't help assuage my fears though.
Right now I'm really freaking out and trying not to show it in front of the kids or Denise.
Today they also decided that Denise should have the baby induced, and soon. Unless she goes into labour on her own before then, they'll be inducing the baby on Saturday morning.
The pneumonia antibiotic has me all messed up: the fatigue is more, I vomit up about 90% of what I eat and drink and I have a really unpleasant amount of diarhea. The plus side is that it is working its slow magic: I'm breathing a little better.
This morning I had a second appointment with this doctor in order to follow-up on the treatment thus far and to go over the chest x-rays that were taken on Tuesday in order to guage just how bad the pneumonia is.
The pneumonia's bad enough, the x-ray showed something worse. There's an unidentified foreign mass in the upper portion of my left lung. I'll be having a chest CT on this upcoming Tuesday in order to find out if it can tell more about what the mass is (and won't find out from the doc til I see him again on Thursday June 2nd). Right now, the hope is that the mass is something caused by the massive infection of walking around with pneumonia improperly diagnosed for so long. It's sure as sand my hope. There isn't a large familial history of cancer in my family; only one member was ever diagnosed: my maternal grandfather. So the risks from that end are low. The fact he had lung cancer doesn't help assuage my fears though.
Right now I'm really freaking out and trying not to show it in front of the kids or Denise.
Today they also decided that Denise should have the baby induced, and soon. Unless she goes into labour on her own before then, they'll be inducing the baby on Saturday morning.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Why I Hate Incompentant Doctors
Finally went to doctor again yesterday as, though flu symptoms abated, cough, fatigue and difficulty breathing continue to be as aggravating and painful as they've been the past six months.
It turns out this whole time I have NOT had bronchitis. I have pneumonia. Pneu-effing-monia. I'm fortunate I'm not dead after six months of such a glaring misdiagnosis.
My new meds have me completely knocked on my keister. I won't be back online until the pneumonia is gone or I'm dead.
It turns out this whole time I have NOT had bronchitis. I have pneumonia. Pneu-effing-monia. I'm fortunate I'm not dead after six months of such a glaring misdiagnosis.
My new meds have me completely knocked on my keister. I won't be back online until the pneumonia is gone or I'm dead.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Bugged
Wednesday night I was fine, then I went to see Star Wars at the midnight showing and they packed us all in to a comparatively small room rather than have a line circle around the building. Someone in the herd gave me a bug of some sort and I still feel like utter poo. Some nasty flu-like bug. Misery.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
At 12:01 this a.m. I witnessed magic
and then that was met with a counterspell.
Paul had scored two more tickets to Revenge of the Sith's opening show, so now Dusty and I could go without dueling over the ticket Ian had.
We arrived around 8pm to find the line already horrendously long in front of us (showing on 4 screens at midnightish and all showings were sold out). The movie theatre people packed us all in like cattle as well, instead of packing us in some sort of orderly line (this naturally created a bottleneck much later). BY 11 I was so dehydrated that my cough was back and raging. Thankfully, Paul was nice enough to brave the sea of people and get me a drink--total lifesaver.
After a half hour of trailers (Stealth: no thanks; War of the Worlds: maybe; Fantastic Four: likely; Batman Begins: definitely--Equilibrium convinced me Christian Bale can pull off the action portion of the role) and PSAs (most for the Army and National Guard, sigh) the movie finally started, and ended two hours and fifteen minutes later.
Sith was everything I expected (read: many many lightsaber duels), but somehow less.
The acting was improved, almost even believable emotion at some points (especially from the lovely Natalie Portman). The story, while having some holes, inconsistencies and ridiculous moments, was definitely better than the first two, and the effects, of course, were grand and exceptional.
Like the other prequels, it dragged in parts: twenty minutes or so following the death of Dooku, most every Anakin/Padime scene (btw, when they first reunite and both lament that it's been ages since they'd been together, and then she announced her pregnancy, I couldn't help but wonder if Luke and Leia might not have the maildroid's eyes).
The duels were all quite grand, but for some reason, the only ones that excited me even a smidge were the duels between Vader and Obi-Wan and between Yoda and Palpatine. The rest were oddly emotionless from a viewer standpoint. I'd have liked to see more of the assassinated jedi putting up a better fight than they had, ditto for seeing Vader at least take out the adults at the temple.
More Chewbacca would have been nice. A little more Vader in Vader suit would have been cool too (and I wonder how much James Earl Jones was paid for his 2-3 lines--however much, it was worth having his voice back), especially since his big emotional Frankenstein moment left me laughing instead of feeling whatever other emotion was intended for me.
Yeah, it was the best of the prequels, but as I write this, I'm not sure yet whether I like it a lot, a little or barely at all. It didn't move me much. I see it again on Friday (a gift from the Chrisses because they felt bad about the Mustang's windshield getting shattered at their place) and will bring Lash. Perhaps his excitement will colour the movie a different shade for me.
Paul had scored two more tickets to Revenge of the Sith's opening show, so now Dusty and I could go without dueling over the ticket Ian had.
We arrived around 8pm to find the line already horrendously long in front of us (showing on 4 screens at midnightish and all showings were sold out). The movie theatre people packed us all in like cattle as well, instead of packing us in some sort of orderly line (this naturally created a bottleneck much later). BY 11 I was so dehydrated that my cough was back and raging. Thankfully, Paul was nice enough to brave the sea of people and get me a drink--total lifesaver.
After a half hour of trailers (Stealth: no thanks; War of the Worlds: maybe; Fantastic Four: likely; Batman Begins: definitely--Equilibrium convinced me Christian Bale can pull off the action portion of the role) and PSAs (most for the Army and National Guard, sigh) the movie finally started, and ended two hours and fifteen minutes later.
Sith was everything I expected (read: many many lightsaber duels), but somehow less.
The acting was improved, almost even believable emotion at some points (especially from the lovely Natalie Portman). The story, while having some holes, inconsistencies and ridiculous moments, was definitely better than the first two, and the effects, of course, were grand and exceptional.
Like the other prequels, it dragged in parts: twenty minutes or so following the death of Dooku, most every Anakin/Padime scene (btw, when they first reunite and both lament that it's been ages since they'd been together, and then she announced her pregnancy, I couldn't help but wonder if Luke and Leia might not have the maildroid's eyes).
The duels were all quite grand, but for some reason, the only ones that excited me even a smidge were the duels between Vader and Obi-Wan and between Yoda and Palpatine. The rest were oddly emotionless from a viewer standpoint. I'd have liked to see more of the assassinated jedi putting up a better fight than they had, ditto for seeing Vader at least take out the adults at the temple.
More Chewbacca would have been nice. A little more Vader in Vader suit would have been cool too (and I wonder how much James Earl Jones was paid for his 2-3 lines--however much, it was worth having his voice back), especially since his big emotional Frankenstein moment left me laughing instead of feeling whatever other emotion was intended for me.
Yeah, it was the best of the prequels, but as I write this, I'm not sure yet whether I like it a lot, a little or barely at all. It didn't move me much. I see it again on Friday (a gift from the Chrisses because they felt bad about the Mustang's windshield getting shattered at their place) and will bring Lash. Perhaps his excitement will colour the movie a different shade for me.
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