pat robertson, weight lifter of god

My favorite pointless news bit of late is Pat Robertson's claim that he can leg-press 2,000 lbs (via Deadspin). But what's even better is that once this rather absurb claim was pointed out, a Robertson spokesman went public to assure that the claim was true. (As the Deadspin folks point out, the Florida state leg press record is 1,335 lbs.)

wrath of the injured

There's nothing like the prospect of having to use crutches for 8 weeks to bring out the rage. If there one could identify a "benefit" from my situation it would be that I was able to get a handicapped parking pass that's good for the next few months. At work I can park reasonably close to the building I work in and only have to cross a small courtyard and climb a couple of half-flights of stairs.

This afternoon parking around work was insane because of a minor league baseball game going on across the street. I got back from lunch and all of the handicapped spaces were taken, as well as any reasonably nearby non-handicapped spots. But one of the cars didn't have a handicapped pass on it (it's always kind of a giveaway when you have a giant SUV that anyone moderately physically challenged would find impossible to climb in and out of). And oh, the parking authorities were notified. I stopped short of staying until the police were called to have the car towed, but I really hope the asshole ends up with the $250 fine.

It's not that having to park farther away once pisses me off. It's that when you have to walk around on crutches every fucking second of a day you won't take any bullshit from the part of the population that doesn't have to use their gimpy fore-appendages to transport their entire body weight.

bring your milkshake to MY yard

I really would like a milkshake right now. Just thought I'd let you all know.

I am a big fan of milkshakes, but I don't even know how to make them. The advertisement at many places claiming their milkshakes are "hand-dipped" suggests to me that hand-dipping is somehow essential, if only because it sounds dirty.

I do know a good milkshake when I see one though - real ice cream of the flavor of the milkshake. If it's strawberry there damn well better be bits of strawberry in it. There's a place around here that makes a chocolate milkshake by adding, I think, chocolate syrup to a vanilla milkshake. This is not a chocolate milkshake. They do, however, make a peppermint milkshake in the winter months with crushed peppermint candies in it that is awesome.

Milkshakes should also be served with just a little whipped cream and a cherry on top. Places that don't do that are just never really gonna cut it for me, however good the main substance of the milkshake.

Once I had a milkshake at a White Castle. Or, rather, "milkshake," as the thing I actually consumed was more semblance of food than actual food, quite like their little sandwich "hamburger" things.

To this day the best milkshakes I've ever had have come from Blossom Deli in downtown Charleston, WV. Those things are the shit.

half-woman, half-machine

Well, the percentages don't quite work out like that, but after getting two stainless steel screws put into my ankle on Thursday, I am at least partially an artificial being. People keep asking if this means I'm going to have super-bionic kickball skills as a result; alas, I kick with my right foot, and the enhancements were on the left.

The surgery went well. The anesthesia involved giving me sedation and then doing a nerve block on my leg, which involves injecting the anesthetic directly into the nerves of your leg. It made all sensation go away in my leg for several hours, which is one of the oddest feelings I have ever experienced. The day after surgery I was whisked away in a van by my family to go to a wedding in Cleveland. The 9-hr car ride was pretty awful, but it was nice to be around a bunch of happy and frequently drunk people who were all willing to wait on me.

I'm finally back at work, and it's nice to feel like a productive member of society again. This broken ankle is decidedly a pain in the ass. I've got to hobble around on crutches for two months. Two months! Since I can't do any sort of physical activity that involves using both feet, I'm going to dedicate myself to creating insane upper-body strength. I will crush all you little men with my bulging arms! Or something.

the opiates are making me all verklemmpt

Zacharias Moussaoui has attempted to rescind his guilty plea in his now post-sentencing trial for involvement in the 9/11 attacks. According to his affidavit (PDF, affidavit starts on p. 4), the fact that the jury didn’t give him the death sentence made him see the American justice system in a new light.

I awoke to this story on my radio alarm clock this morning, and I find it kind of touching. I was excited when I heard that the jury had passed on the death penalty, for a variety of reasons, and to see a person who is impressed by just treatment to the point of rethinking the entire American justice system is kind of inspiring. It’s also yet another example why treating anti-American extremists within a system of justice is a much better idea than subjecting them to extra-legal detention and torture. As if we really needed another example.

Of course, previous evidence that Moussaoui is a paranoid schizophrenic leads me to think maybe he’s finally gotten on the right dose of anti-psychotics and realizes how batshit crazy his position over the last two years has been.

elsa's new nemeses: road and car

So I was crossing a street with a fern yesterday and got hit by a car turning right. Fortunately, only the front right corner of the car and tire hit me, so I landed on my well-padded ass with a broken ankle on my left leg and nothing worse. But still, the broken ankle thing sucks ass. The inside of the bone is broken and a bit displaced, which means I need to have surgery to get a couple screws to hold everything in place. That will happen sometime later this week, and it's out-patient surgery that usually takes 30-40 minutes and is done under sedation, so all in all it's an ordeal about equivalent to having my wisdom teeth taken out, without all of that unpleasant gauze in your mouth.

Now my leg is wrapped up in a splint (a "sugar thong splint" according to my two-weeks-away-from-graduating-med-school sister) that is sort of half cast, half ace-bandage mukluk. It's oddly similar in color to my cat, and she seems to have kind of befriended it. At least, that is, opposed to her reaction to me walking on crutches, which is like, "Bizarre six-limbed bionic creature coming through! Run!"

The fern, by the way, survived without any injuries.

this must be the opposite of hungover

Remember how I couldn't stand listening to disco the other day because I was hungover? Right now "Tangerine" is kicking my ass, in a good way, so maybe I should say that "Tangerine" is spanking my ass. The occassion? COFFEE. I usually drink green tea in the morning, but today I got up early to go the gym before work and I needed a little extra kick to get started at work. Because I don't drink coffee very often, I now feel practically high, and I feel the desire to write an entire blog post extolling the virtues of coffee.

Anyway, if disco makes your head explode when you're hungover, but spanks your ass when you're on a caffeine buzz, then...what was I talking about? Oh, right. COFFEE IS AMAZING.