Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

#426: THINGS THAT HAVE ONLY THE TINIEST CONNECTION TO THIS ENTRY: LOW-FLYING ELEPHANTS AND VACUUM TUBING

I have a recurring issue with my back. It's not that our relationship is necessarily bad; it's that our individual issues can be exacerbated by certain stressors which make our relationship temporarily dysfunctional.

This entire week has been a prolonged episode of dysfunction, and I'm pretty much ready to get off this ride and see if I have enough tickets for the one with the three-year-olds and low-flying elephants next door. I am pretty sure, though, that my heavy use of muscle relaxants would be frowned upon over there.

Since Monday, or maybe as far back as Saturday (it's hard to keep a firm grip on chronology these days), I have been consuming a steady supply of methoc@rbam0l. At times like this, sometimes it takes a few days for the drugs and hot baths to convince my back to quit with the tension already. I was hoping that today was the day, but it's not looking hopeful. My shoulder- and earlobe-skin has started knitting itself together.

In an effort to fight the development of shlobes, I may have to turn to alcohol. I just took my last dose of methoc@rbam0l, and if at 4:30 pm I am still cringing at the thought of reaching for my stapler, I am going down to the local pub to tenderize myself with some sweet pints of beer.

vicious OskarMy greatest comfort through this time has officially been the Fiery One, but the cat, Oskar, is a close second. While I was basically incapacitated on the sofa yesterday, he slept with me, cleaned my face, and occasionally kept my feet warm. When I checked my e-mail, he curled up between me and the keyboard. When I went to the bathroom, he stood watch by the toilet. Of course, his being close also involved a lot of chewing on my various limbs, chasing things on the computer screen, and attempting to crawl into my pants legs, but it was nice all the same that he wanted to stick so close to me.

Normally, when I take these meds, I start to feel kind of gooey inside, like I'd be good veal if we were cannibals, but this time, I am experiencing none of the methoc@rbam0lic smooshiness. I am a rock hard chunk of muscular knots, and so I think I NEED A BEER! THAT I CAN'T AFFORD! TO REPLACE THE CHIROPRACTOR! THAT I CAN'T AFFORD!

Oh, who am I kidding. I just want to go for a drink after work, and I'm stopping with the methoc@rbam0l this afternoon just so that I don't fall face first into a planter by 6:00 pm.



On a side note, did you see CSI Miami last night? Holy jeebus, it was funny. They tracked down the killer partly through finding out who a particular blogger was, and I don't know what kind of blogging software this blogger was using, but it was ridiculous.

The text on the weblog was absolutely huge, the entries were animated to rotate forward toward the viewer, and the background was that annoying hyper-coloured, faux-water shite. Then, when the CSI guys wanted to track down who was writing the weblog, they hacked into the central part of the blogging software, which was actually animated to look like an electronic orb with paths leading in and out of it.

I know that it is hard to make blogging look exciting on screen, but the dramatization of it was silly. I don't know about you, but personally, I could have gotten the gist of their tracking down an e-mail address without the giant electronic brain to illustrate it for me. I felt like I was in the 1950s and that martians wearing vacuum tubing on their arms were going to enter the scene and demand to be taken to the leader inside the box.

In a robotic monotone, they would have said in unison:
Take us to Biz Stone. We are told he lives inside that electric box.