How is this anything but awesome?

Yes, these are Star Wars chopsticks (by kotobukiya). I saw them on a blog called That's Hideous, which is normally pretty accurate about relative hideousness of objects. This one baffles me, however, and I am going to start calling the site "You keep your mouth shut about my religion." I'm pretty sure people would get upset if I started making fun of people using crucifix ladles and stations of the cross tea sets.

Of course they are part of a larger collection of Star Wars artifacts (or dining gear, if you prefer the more secular description).

Here is a link to the original site. In case you are afraid to visit the chopsaber page for fear of going crazy from extended exposure to awesome, I will sweeten the pot. The collection includes C3-PO and R2-D2 tumblers (R2 looks more like a highball glass, but whatever).

Well, my warranty ran out today, or Muscles spasms are not the laugh bonanza I thought they'd be

I woke up this morning with what I will call "a profound inability to get up, change position, or otherwise budge without gasp-inducing pain in my hips." After various pills and the application of a heating pad, I spent an hour of so thinking two things...

1. 1) Who is doing all that whimpering?
2. 2) Will my whimpering become so commonplace that Rene eventually forgets to feed and water me as I lay in bed, on the floor, or under the house eating wet cigarettes in the dark like a god-damned dog? A dog with terrific back pain, no less.

We hauled the becrippled old coot (me) to the doctor with only slight intervention from the crane operators repairing the immersion school across the street. All things considered, I will probably not take the time to dig out my 1st grade notebooks and check the box next to "ride in a crane bucket" from the collection of humorous essays "Awesome things I will do when I grow up that will have nothing to do with drug interaction worries or chronic pain management." Crane rides are supposed to be fun and informative, rather than hurried and embarrassing. Also, they should not involve children jeering in both English and beautiful, fluid French unless it takes place in a dream or a wes anderson movie.

The doctor very quickly determined that a muscle, or set of muscles, in my lower back were spasming. I was very relieved at the diagnosis, because it was simple, direct, and not permanent. As the king of worst cases scenarios, I was prepared to have to answer questions like, "Josh, how long have you known about this wiccan ceremonial lance in your kidney?" and "Would you describe the pain as bubonic, septicemic, or vampiric. It's the plague, but we need to determine which one?" so the actual visit was pretty tame. I got a prescription and started taking pills.

I have spent the remainder of the afternoon aching, struggling to stand, and looking up potential interactions between the stuff I was prescribed and the stuff I had in the medicine cabinet that I felt certain would help as well. I am not a medical doctor, but am able to mimic one in my bathroom (and by "in my bathroom" I mean "in a hallucinogenic fog").

Wish me luck. I am planning for the muscle relaxer to peak just as I start my Hendricks and St. Germain IV drip.

Dear tattooed man with the swastika emblazoned wife-beater,

I saw you at the coffee shop this weekend ordering a Mochasippi®. You were wearing crocs and camouflaged cargo shorts. I also noticed that you had what appeared to be the beginning of a beer gut. Quick question: are you trying to be a stereotype?

Sincerely,
Rene

Since I spray ink to confuse predators...

Like most folks, I spend a large portion of my day dealing politely with people who say "Although I've never met you, or know you only peripherally, I am driven to shower you with gifts. Please give me some indication what form these gifts, so numerous and expensive, should take."

Worry no more, strangers: Octopus Jewelry. I don't mean pendants and whatnots designed for invertebrate formal occasions. I mean jewelry made with real octopus. I'm not kidding. Take a writhing tentacle, subject to some unspeakable alchemical process, voila.

Day Two...island life monotonous

The sun comes up every morning and the afternoon showers are the only interruption in an otherwise sandy, shoeless, marooned existence. Get it... a person on a blog is like a marooned sailor and the internet is the ocean. He is ostensibly free, having no modern stresses like running water and antibiotics to trouble him, but Rene is still not posting. What is keeping her?

1. 1) Coconut addiction?


2. 2) Late Stage Scurvy?


3. 3) Swanky new lifestyle with the natives?

The truth is any of these, or a thousand other solutions could be correct. She is a complex lady.

I decide that perhaps she is unable to locate me because I am too perfectly concealed (my custom camouflage consists of a swarm of live bees tethered to my clothing via spider silk). I had hoped it would make me look blurry and distant, but instead just makes me look very badly stung.

Well, I am not giving up my bees...no matter how many die for having stung me. Look harder, madame. Look harder.

First post on our new blog

Rene and I are going to give blogging a shot. Our lives are so unbelievably exciting that the world will suffer without daily glimpses.