serinde

Please stop wrecking my favorite comics. Your twin +5 weapons, Mischaracterization and Inability To Craft A Plot That Makes Sense, are making Birds of Prey mediocre and Teen Titans a giant, festering pile of horse diarrhea.

Just so you know, if you come anywhere near Booster Gold, you are as dead as disco.

No love whatsoever,

Me.

Edit: Oh fucking wonderful, and Will "Amazon Attacks" Pfeiffer is going on Blue Beetle. THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS

This morning was a giant pile of steaming chaos, so I ran during lunch instead. This week's leitmotif is:

* 3 min. run
* 1.5 min. walk
* 5 min. run <-- DOOM DOOM DOOM
* 2.5 min. walk
* 3 min. run
* 1.5 min. walk
* 5 min. run
* Fall down

I managed the first five-minute run by downscaling speed...a lot...but pushed myself hard on the second one (for values of "hard" which are laughable to actual athletes, even amateur ones). Having drunk insufficient water this morning, I ended up overheated and dehydrated. Hurrah! But I did manage to evict much of the morning's spleen and ire. (Don't worry, it will refill.)

Up two pounds, but did not weigh myself immediately upon rising, and there was rather a lot of chocolate consumption this weekend. Ahem.

Looks like about 2" down so far. So, no running this morning, since I did not heed must_sew_faster and acquire the clever run-on-all-surfaces shoes.

My st00pid lizard brain attempted to short-circuit me, by which I mean there was another exciting episode of Alarm Clock Fail. Woke up at ten past six instead of 5:20, beat head into pillow, froze for a moment, and said GODDAMMIT WILL DO ANYWAYS. So I get the late train, so fucking what.

I curtailed my warm-ups and got the job done. It's ass-cold again; did not cover up my mouth and nose this time, and it seemed okay, but now that I'm sitting down and cooling off I have a little tiny recurring cough. It'll go away.

I don't feel like my endurance is getting better yet--3 minutes "running", ha ha, is still awfully hard. How long does it taaaaaake?

Down 3.5 lbs from yesterday, which had been back up to starting point. o_O

Our long national nightmare is over: at last we have an XBox Elite. With the right sort of motherboard, even. (Yes, and a Wii, all at the same time. Life is like that sometimes.)

We buckled down to some serious song unlocking this evening, and then relaxed for a bit of fnu. I knocked the vocals out of the park on "Don't Fear the Reaper"--well, big fucking duh. Steve, however, muffed the guitar solo and nearly got booed off stage. Buck Dharma he is not. (I did slightly less well on "Suffragette City" because I kept getting distracted by the "oh, is *that* what the words are there? Huh." And by the time we got to "Go With The Flow" I'd had enough wine that my voice was doing wacky things.)

Am much looking forward to trying "Dani California".

The guys from Boston have much to answer for. "Foreplay/Long Time" is one of the maybe ten songs that's unlocked from the get-go, and it's listed under "Impossible Songs", and they do not lie; nevertheless it keeps showing up in the random set lists you have to succeed at to unlock more stuff. DOOM DOOM DOOM

Playing drums is really. fucking. hard. Bass and guitar are about the same as in Guitar Hero (go figure), so with me on bass and Steve on guitar we are a tolerably smooth unlocking machine.

So, working as we do a mere mile apart these days, Dave and I finally got 'round to having lunch today. He not unreasonably suggested splitting the distance difference, so I employed Teh Googles and cross-referenced with Yelp, and thus we ended up at this place called Gino's at 61st and Lex. (Rumor has it that it was Sinatra's favorite eatery.)

It was very clear on the instant of entry that we were not the usual demographic. They took one look at our pale Celtic (or in my case, Celto-Slavic) faces, and seated us right next to the kitchen.

But the food was quite good, and decently priced for the area. Will Go Again, possibly dragging along dariodevil for protective camouflage.

I have today off, thank you city guvmint, but nevertheless got up at almost the usual time to see dariodevil to his appointment at Weill-Cornell. (Further humor: it's right near work.) This went promisingly indeed, and he should be on track to get the help he needs.

We were between trains, so stopped at the Subway Inn for a quick pint, because I had always wanted to. It is a happy dive, much like the Holland Bar over on Ninth. Not quite as cheap but the bartender was very friendly. Will definitely go again. They don't have draft beer but they do make a powerful rum and Coke.

Got home, made food, and took the formerly-office-cats to the vet; where I learned they'd picked up conjunctivitis and ear mites from their six weeks in juvie hall Beth's basement. Measures were taken, also vaccines given, and Dusty's ear haematoma was lanced & drained, and boy wasn't that a treat for everyone. Some folks are coming to meet them tonight possibly to adopt them, if they make it through the snow. If that doesn't work, I may have to drive them to Maine, heigh ho.

It's 9 degrees F. out there right now. I've been inside ~15 minutes and I am only just recovering sensation in my ass.

I weathered the Three Minute Run tolerably well. It helped that I went very slowly. Speedy Gonzales I am not, and possibly may never be. I note that if I have to concentrate on pacing myself, it makes it even harder to ensure my right foot's landing on the heel instead of the ball. I'm not sure how much I should worry about that at this juncture. Anyone?

This week's workout is only 18 minutes, as opposed to the previous weeks' 20. And although I feel like Death as soon as I finish a three-minute-run section, I am recovered at the end of the corresponding walk that I could probably do at least one more cycle iteration. (That's just how my stamina rolls, yo.) (That is the sound of elibalin telling me never to try and speak that dialect again.) However there is both the time factor and the Don't Overdo It factor, so I probably will refrain Wednesday.

I took my MP3 player along today, with my normal headphones. This worked well...probably because I don't move fast enough to cause the headphones to slide off.

I should have time to do morning pages right after I get in but I never feel like my head is in the right place. Now, after 15-20 min. of dorking on Teh Intarwubs, I feel like I could. Not sure what that is all about.

Up two pounds, probably due to Saturday's bacchanalia. Damn you, top-notch wurst from the Swiss Pork Store.

(Should I have an icon just for exercise? Hmm.)

I am tolerably sure they gave me leaded coffee at the diner last night, instead of the decaf I asked for. (It's hard to tell with the shot of whiskey in it.) Either that or it was because I was reading Elektra:Assassin for the first time right before bed. I couldn't fall asleep for hours, and there was no comforting darkness behind my eyes, just crazed Sienkiewicz renditions of whatever I was thinking about.

Needless to say, hauling my ass out of bed at 5:20 was not easy.

I hit the snooze button, which is the first step towards damnation, but managed to get up when it went off again. Forcing myself to run, also not easy. Indeed the actual running bits seemed harder than Wednesday. I'm viewing next week's step-up, which is much bigger, with a deal of trepidation. (It's 90 sec. run, 90 sec walk, 3 minutes run (!!!!), 3 minutes walk.)

Same weight as Wednesday.

want to go back to bed arhghghgh

I had a day composed of frustration, self-loathing, and despair (and hormones) and felt incredibly woeful by the time I got on the train. Feelings did not get better, and I was as emo as a truck full of MySpace and listening to "Sister Rosetta" by Alabama 3 when I saw a painting in my mind's eye, the capturing of which was instantly of the utmost importance.

I have paints...somewhere.

OK, charcoal. I would sketch it in charcoal/ash (since we haven't cleaned out the fireplace, aheheh) and paint later.

On what?

I was grimly and slightly-hysterically considering ripping the back off a pizza box when I thought that maybe the Rite-Aid by the train station might have posterboard, at least. And so they did. I twitched in line, feeling like Coleridge hearing the man from Porlock coming up the walk, because I felt that if I didn't get this down out of my head as fast as possible, it would fade like dreams do if you don't write them down first thing you wake up.

And then it started bucketing rain on the way home. I howled in frustration but Did It Anyways, taping the soggy posterboard to the back of my workroom door (that also was sub-optimal, let me say), turning off all the lights, lighting six or seven candles, and using chunks of charred wood to sketch--more or less--what was in my head.

I looked at it in the light, after. I have no idea if it sucks or what. But I am going to try and paint it. (Can you paint on posterboard?)

I now feel like the-day-after-Ecstasy.