chaosvizier

So, as a person who has never really broken a bone before, this broken arm thing is a fresh new experience for me. I just thought I'd ramble on about all those things that just don't work right here anymore. If you've done this before, then you know: THE STRUGGLE IS REAL.

0.5: TYPING. Before I start the real part of this list, let's be frank: I type a lot. With both hands, proper typing form and all that. Losing my right hand has led to...inaccuracies. So pardon any typos you see here; I've got one finger doing all the work of one hand and it will show.

1. LIFTING. I'm not a strong human being by any stretch of the imagination, but I can carry some weight if I need to. Surprise! Not any more! Any significant weight on this arm brings an equally significant amount of pain. Grocery bags? No deal. Winter jacket? Heavier than I thought. Laptop? CHUNKY. An add on to this category would be TWISTING or PULLING. If I keep my wrist stationary, nor problem, I can carry a glass of water without issue. BUT! If I have to pour water from a pitcher into the glass, now we have issues. Same with opening a door - turning the knob can be tricky, and then pulling the heavy door open with the hand twisted... nope. It's all up to Lefty.

2. EATING. I have, in the past week, missed my mouth with silverware more times than should ever be allowed. It's worse than Ted Stryker's drinking problem in "Airplane!" I suppose on the plus side it regulates my intake and slows me down when I want to shovel food into my gaping maw. Of course, non-silverware-requisite items like sandwiches and cookies are exempt from this issue. But two-handed coordination issues like popping a pill with one hand and chugging a drink with the other can be challenging.

3. COMPUTERING. Typing aside, the switch from righty mouse to lefty mouse borders on apocalyptic. It ain't happening. It's like being an American and then driving in England: it seems ok for a bit and then suddenly you're in the middle of some crazy wee village and there are cows everywhere and everything is backward and GAME OVER YOU DIED.

4. TOOTHBRUSH. I expected this to be easier, I really did. I was mistaken. This more than anything has pushed me to consider an electric toothbrush that would do the work for me. Still, this is better than...

5. THE TOILET. Really, the less said about this, the better.

6. THE SHOWER. Most casts are not water proof and cannot get wet, which means taking lots of actions to protect the cast while still doing the needful to stay clean and non-stinky. I have this giant arm condom courtesy of CVS which covers the whole arm and has a tight rubber seal at the top to keep water out. This is great, but does not address the issue of how you still only have one good arm for use in cleaning. Fun fact: it's tough to clean the left armpit with the left hand. Things just don't bend that way.

7. DRIVING. I'm lucky here, because I have an automatic. If I had a manual transmission I would be so screwed. I can barely get my seat belt on without help from Lefty. I pity anyone with a manual and a broken right arm, you are done, my friend. Done.

8. PUNCHING. Ok, so maybe this doesn't apply to everyone (and shouldn't, really), but this does put a serious crimp in my karate training. My arm doesn't quite move right to do a lot of motions, and sudden movements still hurt quite a lot. So my overall effectiveness is way down, which is tough when you're the teacher and have to demonstrate all the movements to everyone. On the other side, I'm doing a lot of drills one-handed, including drills that require two hands, and it terrifies the younger students that I can do with one hand something that is designed for two, especially with weapons involved.

9. HOUSEKEEPING. Washing dishes? Nope. Laundry? Very slow. Vacuuming and sweeping? Challenging. Cooking? Hahaha just kidding, I sucked at cooking way before this arm broke; nothing's really changed there. Shoveling snow? Snowpe. Chainsaw? HAHAHAHANope. Dusting and wiping down surfaces? Ah, there's a job for Lefty. Cleaning snow and ice off of car? Sllllooowwww. Trash? Thank god for these new wheeled trash cans, muuuuch better. So... not the best in the house right now. That will cost me.

10. WORK. I type a lot at work, so my first comment applies in full force here. But I also meet and greet a lot of people, which means I shake a lot of hands. My first instinct is always extend the hand. Even with my close friends where I've known them for eons, I still put out the hand and then turn it into a hug. But I can't stop my instinct, and so I've taken a lot of painful handshakes because I operate without thought. Cheeky handshakes. Need to work on my fistbump.

So, in summary, don't break your primary arm. It will suck.

So, the internet appears to be abuzz with the technique to summon a Mexican demon named Charlie.

1) Really, internet? Really?
2) I'm of the (perhaps unusual?) opinion that a Mexican demon would be named Carlos, not Charlie. But perhaps I should be open to Carlos's adoption of anglicized nicknames. It's his choice; who am I to decide for him?
3) My knowledge of demonology is questionable, but do demons have Earthly nationalities? Were they not formed from the primeval aether at the dawn of creation? Or do they spring into being from the collective subconscious of mankind, drawing upon the nationality of the believers?
4) Did Carlos/Charlie take into account the nature of 21st century Earth technology when he allowed his summoning mechanism to be publicized? Because it looks like he's getting several thousand summons an hour. How does he pick and choose who he visits? Is he getting really tired? Like "Ok, five seconds to rattle their lampshades. Cut power here, half a second. Cracked mirror, two seconds. Haul up to Chicago for a few minutes, then back to Dublin, and Cairo... sweet Jesus, this is the worst idea ever... shit, did I say Jesus? Oh man, boss is gonna yell at me."
5) Is the chubacabra jealous of all the attention Carlos/Charlie is getting? He used to be the number one Mexican spook, but Charlie's got the web by the balls and isn't letting go. Poor goat sucker. Born in the wrong century.
6) No really, internet. Are we seriously doing this? Can't we just say Bloody Mary in the mirror three times like the good old days?

In summary, people are crazy, I'm still sober, and if you say my name five times to a gin bottle, I'll try to head over there soonest and maybe rattle something. But you gotta mean it.

Yes, that feeling you have when you've done all this before. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm getting old, and my eyeballs aren't exactly operating on full thrusters. Today's glorious misread is, again, borne from the sports headlines:

"Isaiah Austin diagnosed with Martian syndrome, basketball career over."

I agree with this completely. If the Martians want to play basketball, they can form their own leagues and keep it to themselves. Martians have no place in human sports.

...hmm, maybe that's not correct after all. Let's see here... reading glasses...

"Isaiah Austin diagnosed with MARFAN syndrome, basketball career over."

...well fine. I still think those Martians should keep their shapeshifting asses out of our sports. Yes, you too, J'onn J'onnz. Frigging Martians.

I'll post a real entry eventually, summarizing my trip in all its inglorious glory (read: tl;dr), but for now I have to ask myself: Why, in the middle of Kenya, can I hear the distinct and unmistakable sounds of a full-fledged bagpipe and drum band? And no, not a small one either. It's loud, and it's marching, and it's not just someone's TV or stereo on too-high volume. Either there are some very very lost Scotsmen nearby, or there's way too much gin in my latest gin and tonic...

Dreams really are funny things. I'm sure everyone knows this; we've all had weird dreams. But sometimes you do things in your dreams that are so... realistic, in a doofy way. Observe:

Reality: My alarm is set to go off at about 5:50 am. Because I've been getting up at this time for ages, my body is rather used to that, and often wakes itself up around that time, or sometimes a little earlier. Case in point, today, when I woke up at 5:15 am. I roll over and go back to sleep. REM kicks in, and enter the dreamtime.

Dreaming: Location unknown. Setting unknown. Other people unknown. But one of them says "Let's play Monopoly!" Somehow I know that I only have half an hour before my alarm goes off, and therefore I don't have time to play a full game of Monopoly. So, I invent Attrition Monopoly to speed things up.

1) You roll the dice. Whatever you land on, you get. No payment necessary. Carpetbagger.
2) If you land on someone else's stuff, you pay them.
3) You don't collect money for passing Go. What is this, Communism?
4) If you go to Jail, game over. You probably deserved it.
4a) If you land on the Jail square, that means you went to Jail. No one just visits. Game over.
5) No trading properties. This is every man/woman/other for themself.
6) The only money you can make is from other people landing on your stuff, or getting lucky with Chance and Community Chest.
6a) Chance and Community Chest cards do not reshuffle. Every time one is drawn, it is applied and then removed from the game.
6b) The "Get Out Of Jail Free" cards are the only thing that can save you from Jail. Except that it costs you half your current money. No one gets out for free.
7) You don't need a whole set of properties to build houses and hotels. But good luck having enough money to do so.
8) Free Parking? Lose a turn, because, hey, free parking! How can you resist?
9) The moment you reach $-1, you lose. No mortgaging property. Your game is over.
10) Last man standing wins.

We play. Dream memory fades, and then my alarm goes off.

Reality: I wake up. I remember all the rules. I think, "That actually sounds like more fun than real Monopoly." And then I think "I don't even own a Monopoly set. What the hell?"

Stupid dreams.

Ok, I'm going to tell a story. Fair warning, and cut-tagged, because, well, storytime.

( It's one of my shorter stories, though, so don't be too put off. )

Also, just for shits and giggles...

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Count-Palatine Chaosvizier the Fortunate of Buzzcock Lepshire Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Huh huh, they said "buzzcock", huh huh.

I haven't updated here in a long while. I guess I was saving it up for today, when I could buy twenty-four advent calendars and start. I have to buy twenty-four because once I start opening windows, I JUST CAN'T STOP.

( More stories follow. Good stories! Embarassing stories! Stories! )

I have a paper cut on the side of my forehead.

I don't even know how that is remotely possible. It's not like I routinely headbutt a ream of A4 out of frustration. Well, maybe sometimes. A4 is of the devil. But still.