A journal of questionable quality

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Shabby start to the week

Sunday develops a list
The weekend that will never be remembered as a classic, unless you count disaster as such.

Stomach drama; every night, round the same time; an inconvenient number at 2.30 - 3.00 am, a time more suited to sleep. The stomach and I have history. A product of too much of the good life when I was younger. These new aches and discomfort do not get soothed by anything; Mylanta, nope, Enos, nope, various anti spasmodic, nope, just nothing happening.

Spend daytimes trying to figure what's happening in the evening, blaming everything, changing everything.

Friday night a major one. Big pain. Big enough to kill the nights sleep. We have work the next day. No drama, other than tiredness because we work our own hours.

Stagger through Saturday by cutting a job and adding it to Sunday.

Sunday, both final jobs done, looking good, no stomach drama. Until 3.00 am again; this time it's a record breaking pain, nothing will touch it. Eventually, around 5.00 am I am at the hospital, paying vast money to be seen by someone.

Blood tests, every type of examination possible. Conclusion - could be something to do with food, maybe some hangover from not moving about enough, just sitting in front of a screen all day waiting for the time to get up and get this shoulder thing going.

Cure? None. Relief? Yeh, we can do that - lay back here and get a morphine shot and that will take the pain away. Sure did. Oh, yes indeed.

Released from the ward, having had no sleep, at 8.00 am and home to get into a decent bed, sleep it off, still a delicious hangover of sorts from the morph, but not enough to write a book about.

Conclusion? Reduce, overall, the massive amounts of medication prescribed for me, and faithfully taken for more than a decade now. reduce it and see what happens.

That's what we're doing this week. Reduction. The local pool is closed, it's school holidays and I have nothing better to do than hang about while I drop of this regime of medication, interested to see what the outcome is.

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CoolMax and Calvins

the pleasure of ventilated underwear
Everyone knows if it doesn't have Calvin Klein on it, it won't be my underwear. We don't have an elitist thing going with Calvin Klein, it just so happens that the shape and fit that I like come complete with CK written in the waistband.

Being obsessive means that I have to own around 11 pair of them, all the same; no chance of getting confused with what to wear as underwear.

Kite buggying is not a good thing for underwear. It seems that the side forces when harnessed in are extreme, and a change of tack transfers the force rapidly from side to side in the seat, trying, as it does, to pull you out of the buggy and slam you on the ground.

Why do you need to know this? You don't, I just figured it out, hence the sudden decline in the amount of serviceable underwear. For some time I have been watching the waistband come free from the rest of the garment.

The other small problem with buggying is that you end up sitting in a pool of your own sweat, unsavory at the best of times, but downright anti social when it comes to the buggy. No one knows what to say to a guy with a wet arse - trust me.

Enter a cheap 'no name brand'. Jockey. Almost a world wide name in underwear, but overlooked by me. More specifically Jockey CoolMax, made, according to the box, of all sorts of synthetic stuff bound to ruin the ozone layer and increase global warming by a factor of 5.

The difference in price in Calvin Klein CoolMax and Jockey Coolmax is about $30.00. That, I am told by the household boss, is a considerable amount. I don't usually concern myself with price lest I become confused.

roadtest completed
Jockey's duly roadtested last weekend (not in buggy mode due to the shoulder from hell) and found to have all sorts of advantages; wet buggy bum should be a thing of the past, thanks to lycra, spandex, and all things unnatural. Wearing them is a feeling similar to wrapping your arse up in a biking jersey - same sort of material.

You will be pleased to know that.

Look for the man with the holes at a beach or park near you.

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Thursday, September 21, 2006

Bring back the written word

email is the new snail mail
I am of considerable age, of that there remains no doubt. Today I am older than normal; a night spent with stomach discomfort in the extreme and little sleep, backed up by a physio appointment to get some more pain from attempts to get mobility in the dreaded shoulder.

I am not so old that I have no ability to use email. I use it constantly, just like any good geek would.

Email, as a communication medium seems to have caved in on itself from my observations. Now we are told anywhere we go, 'email us', which we dutifully do, only to receive no reply. I have some inbound email today replying to questions I asked about ten days ago. Does that seem like the high speed we are constantly beaten over the head with? I think not.

The reason, I am informed by the two companies I contacted again for an explanation of their rudeness, is that they have so many emails to answer there now exists a backlog.

Is it me or does that sound like the postal service, when we had a postal service?

Was not email the harbinger of doom for the written, posted item? Was it not email that caused the postal service to scale back services due to the amazing efficiency of the electronic medium?

It's all bullshit; the whole email thing is a collective wank, on a global scale. Too much email is now a standard reply to any query about a lack of service.

I see on Twitter yesterday some self obsessed user stating that he had 400 emails in his inbox. I suspect there is some competition somewhere to see how many people can accrue in their Inbox and this guy was a card carrying woofter intent on winning at the expense of my expected reply. That or the guy is really out there in lah lah land, and spending way too much time wanking himself on Twitter and getting nothing else done.

I am the proud owner of a Waterman fountain pen, a Waterman rollerball, a Waterman propelling pencil. I am honored to own them. I love them all.

I am forming the opinion that life might be more pleasant, more refined, if I reverted to the 'old school' way of doing things, pen to paper. Nice paper. Quality paper, with quality ink. Stamps. Things that are 'real', tangible and good to look at.

I suspect, however, that a serious percentage of people are now unable to write with a pen, even though, as I pointed out, writing the question, posting the letter, and awaiting the reply would in fact have been faster.

I fear we face sad times in the communication field. We have bred a generation that have not been taught the rudimentary skills of wielding a pen.

Sad indeed - more especially for numb nuts, the guy with 400 emails.

Should you want me I am available at PO Box 4162, Forest Lake, QLD 4078. Simple isn't it? You should include your postal address for a reply.

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Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Burgeoning..

backed up and did it again
Oh, yes. Do something as inane as a high five with me plllleeease, for I am a champion. A modest champion.

While Steve Irwin was being immortalised (English spelling)I was fighting the demons of lethargy and inertia. A great battle is was too, but I naturally prevailed and it was down to the pool for the second time since the 'incident'.

20 laps today. One kilometer. It used to be a whole bunch more than that.

Up on the initial 10 yesterday. Still in 'shoulder friendly' mode; kickboard and on my back, giving the legs a much needed workout, hopefully managing to include some ab work, get those pesky little 'handles' hanging out the sides of me to diminish. Must be some advantage to all this.

Physio tomorrow will prove if the pool is a worthwhile thing or not.

It's still a month away for full blown free style movement.

Time has been dragging. I've told you that anyway; everyday I think, I hope. If it's dragging for me it's going to have to drag for you.

Now, back to Twitter to make the participants there miserable too.

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Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Tentative..

Its a beginning
Made history.

First time in more than 3 months that I have been in the pool.

10 laps. 500 mtrs. No freestyle allowed. The rules.

One half kickboard. Seemed to fix that small problem where my arm wouldn't extend fully. It's extending now. Other half on the back. Not backstroke, just on the back - strictly according to the rules.

Good to be back there; pity that they are closing next week for a refurbish and a changeover to chlorine only rather than the previous system. I do love the smell of chlorine. The smell of clean.

Just to compound the situation their reopening coincides with the urge by every school in the area to send students in, wave after wave, for swimming lessons. Now that's going to complicate things, me being a fan of children and all that.

There are other pools around so I do have a choice. I'm just not good at 'cold calling'; walking in to unfamiliar public places is not up there with things I really like to do.

Let's see how it goes this week.

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Monday, September 18, 2006

Was that it?

High speed weekends
I say it all the time, but even by my standards that was a quick weekend. Worked part of Saturday. Gradually getting up to speed, training the arm/shoulder, more movement in it now everyday. Pain is a companion of note however.

Sunday did the one cleaning contract together; it's a serious size that one, commendable for it's collection of heavy duty steel fabrication equipment. Stuff to play on. It rained on the tin roof for us; almost impossible to talk over it; grand stuff. I do love the sound of rain on a roof.

next stop - a pool
This morning we have been hunting down a pool. A public pool. Preferably a heated public pool. We have one locally but, as suspected, the local schools will be in full swimming mode after the school holidays. Alternatives will save disappointment on the day.

I love the pool. I need the pool having finally convinced physio ladies I can be trusted to get in one and just use a kickboard. I lied. Only an actual attempt will prove the point. No matter - 'kickboard only' will still help get my underused legs back into shape, if nothing else.

the absence of sleep
Staggering about. Mind jammed. These last two nights have been notable for their lack of meaningful sleep. Don't know what causes it, but 2.00am comes and I am wide awake, serious stomach pain and very little else. Two nights in a row - 2.00 - 4.30, not the most endearing time to be awake.

Think I might try a small afternoon snooze to catch up.

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Friday, September 15, 2006

Twitter does maps

now with mapping
I have mentioned Twitter often. You should have been reading; you would then know about it. If you don't it's too late, you've failed.

Twitter takes up a load of my day. I am fascinated by the process. I like to see what people are thinking, what they are texting about. It's even more interesting now that the UK are involved - gives a continuation from one continent to another.

There are already mashups of Twitter. A seriously good one is the site badge that displays the last text from you. A way of letting people know where you are, what you're doing. Another brilliant one is this setup here [ http://moi.st/ ], which I liked so much I stole. The trouble is, how do I put it anywhere and get away with it.

Investigations continue. I could always blame someone else. Hang on, no, I do that all the time.

The most fascinating to date is the Twittermap, [ http://grauhirn.org/twittermap/ ]  which, the help of Google Maps, manages to pinpoint your location on a map if you include your coordinates anywhere in a text message. A particularly brilliant piece of work.

As time goes on there will be a host of other mashups I suspect.

Join Twitter, get twittering, and you will see what I mean about being addictive. Australia seem to be slow on the uptake - hell even KiwiPete managed to get organised before an Australian, what's up with you all?


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Thursday, September 14, 2006

One less licence

heady day, heady decisions
What did I say in the previous post? The thing about keeping all my licences as unemployment insurance?

Change of heart. Change of attitude. Exposed to the monster that is the public service, better defined as Transport, my will began to slip away.

This is the deal; find my old mate to get him to sign the paperwork to say I am a good guy; spend the rest of the day with him, catching up, him trying to convince me to be in a truck - 12 hours a day 7 days a week, me resisting but sighing at the good time that were had all that time ago.

Leave him, after the mandatory catch up with all the other drivers in the area, wanting now to get in a truck just for a bit of fun, knowing that it will never work that way - I will end up with a full time job and no home life - wondering if that's really so much of a problem. Yvonne is pretty tied up with her kids; they are high maintenance and I don't think she would miss me as much as she thinks. Time flies.

The Transport Dept is one of those places where you have to line up and pray that you have everything right. We get to go to the 'industry' section, designed to keep us away from real people. There will only be one lethargic person available when we get there. Excruciating.

Eventually I will get to the front. Producing paperwork for both cab and tow truck is confusing for them. We go through this every year. How come both. 'Why not?' Investigations in the very depths of the computer of rules will finally convince them that this transactions indeed possible, just unusual. Transport don't like unusual.

And, with luck, and more than a bit of patience, we will prevail and go on to do it all over again next year.

not this year
Two hours of physio, some heavy going stuff designed to get my rebuilt shoulder going again, and I'm not feeling like continuing the day. The mood will not accommodate seeing anyone, old mate or not; the shoulder is going to be an impediment getting in and out of trucks - I'm just looking to get out of town and back to the comfort of a hot shower.

Transport is on the way home; required signer of paperwork is the other direction. Can't do it.

Today is historic, today I am going to do the one licence. The tow truck one is handed in; tears are in order; I have had that for many years, attended many accidents, messed with many dead, burnt bodies, and made a lot of money doing so. Now it's gone. Not forever, I can apply again anytime, but continuity is lost.

Sad day, but couldn't stand the pain of getting it all done with a serious deadline.

Taxi operator renewed, Transport staff startled to see only one piece of paper. Duly processed and out of there.

I worry that this is just another stage in the gentrification of Bruce.

I somehow don't think so.

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Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Time to confess

it's that time of the year
Every year, same time licenses to renew. Not for me the comfort of having a licence that lasts until the end of time. I am made of sterner stuff. Sterner stuff involves renewing licences every year, the stuff of real men.

A satisfying feeling is knowing that no matter what you can still make an instant living. A lot of people do not have that luxury; held hostage in jobs they never wanted and will never like. Too scared to move for reasons that I am never sure of.

I was very young when I decided there would be nothing like 'having' to keep a job.

I have, and always keep current, a cab licence, and a tow truck drivers licence. Should have caused plenty of you to shudder. 'Imagine, driving a cab'. I can. I have done on a few occasions. I expect I probably will again. It's the quickest way to make money short of robbing a bank. Instant return - you make the money right now and you have the money right now. A thoroughly righteous way to pull money and have a good time. And you never have trouble getting a job.

Make the same money as any office job, more, but without the checking in, checking out, yes sir, anytime sir, and all the other poop that you poor bastards put up with. Sad.

The tow truck licence may be about to drop off my list. It becomes exceedingly difficult to keep it up with the annual ritual of calling in to get the forms signed by an old and dear mate who always, without fail, manages to make me feel I really should be back in a truck as soon as possible. He has that knack. He is so naturally exuberant that you feel like you need to be doing it with him right then.

We go back a bit; survived a few commissions created to investigate stand over tactics and illegal drop fees being used by some drivers, but not, naturally, by us. What can I say? Just good old boys making a living.

We indeed had some fun times; tow trucks are the bane of almost anyone associated with vehicles of any type. Tow truck drivers are typecast as low bred thugs; this is as it should be, makes it so much easier to be a prick when you are already typecast. Makes it easier to listen, straight faced, to the unlikely bullshit that any male driver on the planet will tell you when they are trying to cover the fact that deep down they are just shitful drivers - that is the real reason their car is halfway up a tree. Trust me, I've heard just about everything.

time to fess up
Because all tow truck drivers have such a bad rap it is expected that not one of them will manage to make it through a year without a indictment of hideous size for something indescribably evil, hence the annual renewal requirement.

So, I have to fill in the form with confessions of all the things I have done bad over the preceding twelve months, 'attach another sheet if required'. All the criminal bastardization I've managed, all the wicked things I have been caught doing. 'Caught' is the vital bit.

This year, let me see - the same as last year; no convictions for blowing away time wasters or backchatters, no fines for driving at 200 mph in a 30 mph zone, hell, there must be something I can confess to. Nope. I'm a clean skin. I'm another disappointment to the Transport Department. I'm a disappointment to the towing industry.

And, to be contemplating not renewing it amounts to a form of treason.

Like I said, I'm only contemplating it... starting to smile thinking of the old F350 4x4, ears truck I used to drive. Nothing like the sound of a V8 to make your day better. A V8 and lots of flashing lights, oh yes.

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Friday, September 08, 2006

Mood

swinging in time to mood
Mood swings. Sudden. Rapid. What the hell? Do I need anymore than I have on a normal day? Do I need any at all.

Depends on pain. No pain I'm looking out the window, looking at that blue spring sky up there, looking at breeze indicators, calculating how much wind is happening; is there enough for a power kite?

Then I'm down. Just down. Shoulder. Pain. Remember the rules; no exertion of the power kite type for some considerable time. We were looking at six months. We're well into that now - maybe about half way through.

I don't go outside. Sit here, in front of a screen. Entertaining the cat. Checking the news, checking Twitter, looking, looking.

fantasy stuff
Picture this: serious kite tracking across the sky. Serious I said, think bigger than you have seen, imagine 6mtrs wide - 18,19,20 feet in my language, humming across the wind window.

When I'm trying to pull myself out of the 'black hole' I keep that in mind; 6mtrs of serious kite, 100 feet of line, strolling over to the buggy with kite neutral overhead. Climbing in that buggy, pulling the kite into the 'zone' and hanging on.

That thought usually gets me back up there; other times it puts me back down there, too many variables, it can go either way.

Picture this: heated swimming pool; cruising through laps, stretching shoulders, reaching out, big, long, sweeps of the arm, pulling through the water, feeling good. Love the smell of chlorine. Stretch abs, arms, shoulders; I know I'm going to be into early afternoon painkillers to loosen the neck up.

Strategically places Speedo's (not dick togs as we call them, I hasten to add) remind me of that pleasure every time I walk past the closet. Remind me I am capable of these things. On a bad time they remind me I am not capable of these things.

It's hard to deal with a swinging mood; it was always hard to deal with it in my normal state; that's what the pills are for, but now it seems to have escalated. Time, I think, to try and get it under control. Somehow.

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Thursday, September 07, 2006

Bikes, perils, cars, pain

Flagr saves the day
Luck has us still with projects that manage to work. Flagr, much mentioned here abouts, maintains it's ability to function and even with a fear of boring people we still manage to find zillions of places that need the Flagr touch.

Click the link, check it out, we have Australia and New Zealand covered. There is so much more to do on the New Zealand one; the place is too good not to have it's best bits pointed out.

So far we have managed to include such esoteric sites as the road that the rider of The Worlds Fastest Indian used to break an early record, the location of a man who still cuts vinyl records from any source by lathe, and so many other things.

In honor of the 'bike incident' I have been forced to make a dedicated map, 'places to fall off bikes', which I suggest, demand even, you go and check out.

Strange thing; Of late, the good old home country, New Zealand, has been on my mind a bit more. 30 years in Australia have done nothing to diminish my Kiwi'ness, and there is sometime the thought that it would be a good place to be again. Kite buggying would be a breeze, hell it was after all invented there, I could finally learn, before I die, how to ski, and too many other advantages to mention. Homesick? After this long?

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Yellow Arrow, gasping, fighting on.

yellow arrow still dead
In totally non breaking news, Yellow Arrow, the sweetheart of the physical bookmarking set, purveyor of all things good, battles on with arrow functionality but no journal ability anymore.

The bastard of it is that I should have added a redirect post before it blew up, but then, with it working you don't think of anything happening. Won't be fooled again.

I think as sites get a bit of age on them that bugs get rarer and maintenance drops off, all the more difficult to keep whatever designer put it together interested in doing anymore on it.

The Web 2 revolution seems to have spawned many brilliant sites that have been launched and then left to die. I noticed, while on my standard cruise around some of the sites I like to view to keep the juices flowing, that there are a few with the correct slots for content, but no content. Have a look here: nakedcomms which was launched late 2005, run through a few of the options and you will see what I mean. Even space there for awards they intended to win. What did happen to them?

We will, sadly, see more of this from what I can gather.

We still have a few arrows left in stock, and with me getting more and more mobile the time is rapidly approaching when I will be back marking what counts in our world.

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Twitter your way around your world

twitter has a small death
Naturally, the minute I turn my back something falls to pieces. This time it's Twitter, again. Seems they have been making with some big changes to the cosmetics - and somewhere along the line it seems to have forgotten me, or updates from my phone, however I think it looks rather fresh. As one subscriber put it, it does look a little like a 'Japanese teen site', but it still looks good. All I need it to do now is actually takes messages from my phone.

Want to see a seriously good application of Twitter? Of course you do, how silly of me to ask; go here and you should be able to work it out. I liked it so much I stole it. Now all I have to do is figure out how I can get away with calling it my own.

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500 grams

no pain, no gain
Physio getting right along now. This week I get to not only battle to lift my arm up level with my face, but I get to add some weight. Ever ready I had amassed a considerable collection of weights; all the better to fling about with wild abandon the minute I got the go ahead from the 'physio who must be obeyed'.

Got to the weight adding point today. 500 grams is the total amount. The little barbells that I keep stubbing my toes on are 2.5 kg. I didn't think to go that low; I don't think you can. I sneeze about 500 grams worth. The collars on the hand weights total more than that.

Using the kitchen scales we managed to find something metal, and almost 500 grams, just a bit over. Stand back, I'm getting ready to lift. Spotter ready? This is going to be an arm bending, arse tearing, eyeball bulging number, to be done lying on my side, that will be horizontal.

But, good news does come of it. The subject of working out in a swimming pool, the preferred option, came up. Seems there may yet be a case for that. That's something I have been hanging out for.

Is this 'incident' taking as long as I think it is, or do the days go quicker now?


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Tuesday, September 05, 2006

And so..

still inside
Eight or nine weeks I have been sitting here. A self imposed incarceration. Some weird shit in my head makes me stay inside when I am damaged. I could go outside. I could go out of the suburb, hell I could drive to Sydney and back if I felt the need.

Just the head thing working in the background means I'll stay here. Predictable at least.

meanwhile the world goes mad
Not just Iraq. There's drama everywhere. No one gives a shit about Iraq anymore. Too many people, on both sides, getting killed.

People trying to win territory, hearts and minds are getting shot to shit - that being the 'liberating' forces. They're dealing with an enemy that not only hates them, it hates everyone else as well. Why bother. Leave them to it.

steve irwin gets it
Yesterday Steve Irwin  (Crocodile Hunter)  was killed in a freak accident - done in by a one in a million shot from a stingray. At least in Iraq you know you may get blown away, this guy didn't even see it coming. Nice guy, just a tad hyperactive.

ragheads get loose in jordan
Today some rag head in Jordan has a meltdown and shoots six people while shouting 'god is great'.

Oh, excellent - there's mitigating circumstances they tell us in late news; he's from the same area as Abu Abi Hummbum Ahmedgrabmydick or whatever they call the supposedly second in command for Al Quacker in Iraq.

Truly - this sand bunny decides to attack a group of tourists in Jordan in retaliation for something that happened somewhere else. Now, that makes sense. Tourist are so obviously to blame for that - I can see it a mile away. Good to see the 'increased security' is working a treat in Shitcity Jordan. No wonder the national dress for blokes is a dress.

iran tosses the darky out
The boss of the worlds second biggest toothless tiger, the UN,  (the biggest being - you guessed it, the good old USA)  managed to get his face in the news and bugger all else when he visited Iran.

What did he expect; he isn't starting to think that he's an important dude is he? Shit, the UN have run away from any confrontation that's happened since the 90's. Spent force. Irrelevant, some would say.

I like to think of the UN as a limp dick. A very limp dick.
What in hell was Amtrak Amin Annan think he's doing? That is a hell of a trip just for a photo op. Sure as hell wasn't going to get any concessions out of Iran. The thing to get concessions out of people is called - 'nuke 'em' folks; they look at you the wrong way, you nuke 'em, get some respect happening here, get the US to win something. They've been losing since 1950 after all. For gods sake, please win something.

more importantly - mission critical
Twitter, my favourite toy, broke down for a minute or two today; now that's news, that's the stuff that gets people going. You take their Twitter off them, they soon sit up and take notice, let me tell you.

Even the woman writing a 'private' novel in Norwegian (so that's why she can't show it to anyone - true story) would be put out about that.

more mission critical
While the entire world spun out of control I was required to spend the whole day looking for inspiration for the site reboot - the two years late reboot. I've had to surf almost every good Flash site on the web checking how they have been doing things, looking, looking.

The real problem is that there is just nothing that can't be done. These days if you can think it you can do it, and I think too much.

All in all far more important than constant, never ending death on the television. I said so, therefore it is.

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Got over the weekend..

you, me and dupree
Appeared, to the chief censor of the household, to be the only safe movie that her young son (10 - therefore not young)  should see on Saturday. With me. I am deemed not suitable to pick a movie for the poor bugger to see because I figure what they see at the movies is nowhere near as bad as what they are going to see in real life.
Yvonne had to do the weekend jobs - a continuation of the shoulder drama that has been happening now for over eight weeks, and this time there was no other way to handle it with eldest child going in to the city to see the annual fireworks event complete with two F1-11's performing a 'dump and burn'. Can't really take that experience off the fella.

As soon as Yvonne had left the building I gave 'the kid' a choice; any movie he felt the need to see I would take him to. He stuck with the Dupree thing, whether in fear of getting caught or actually wanting to see it.

An odd movie; notable for a decent view of Katie Holmes and very little else. The kid seemed to be happy enough with it even if he didn't manage to get a belly laugh out of a masturbation scene.

If not for Katie I would have preferred the Jet Li one that was on at the same time. I had offered him that. Maybe he was hanging out for Katie too.

Job done, kid 'movied', amused for the day. Saturday gone. Movie seats are uncomfortable for people with buggered shoulders. In case you wanted to know.

Sunday was better; children out for a brunch with their father, me back horizontal after a bit too much in the self physio stakes caused rather more pain than I had figured on. Sunday is a day you can afford a bit of day bed time anyway.

Another sleep and it's a new week. I don't think the weekends are long enough.

The point of the post was to show just how good I am with children. As anyone that knows me will testify.

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Friday, September 01, 2006

Physio begins

Physio for beginners
So, that's what they do. I'm really rather impressed. First post op appointment; expecting to be sat down and told what I was doing right / wrong / more / less, and then kicked out. Wrong. This lady actually made a big difference.

The problem has been, amongst other things (frustration, housebound, pain), that my arm has not been able to move out to the side; this will take too long to explain so let's just condense it; the arm is supposed to be able to do this outward turn that it doesn't want to do anymore. I figure at my age I'm bloody lucky to have any movement at all so ignore it. Not so the physio lady; she rolls me over, nearly tears my arm off, causes serious pain while doing it, but arrives at a solution that I don't notice until I get home. It now rotates outward.

We are talking a big change here - not just the addition of a bit of movement, but an increase of about six inches in travel. I noticed it sitting here, chewing pain killers, hours after seeing her.

I'm sold. Physio is good. Rephrase: My physio lady is good. Anyone that can create that much difference is right up there in my book.

I have to go back. I seem to have a few appointments. I figure I'm going to get some pain, but with improvement like that I'm going to put up with it.

I've never had anything to do with a physiotherapist before (other than one carnal episode years ago), figuring it was all smoke and mirrors. When I broke both my arms and a few nerves quit, leaving me without a bicep for a year or two, I went to one who seemed to think that I should be in the too hard bin as he had never seen that type of damage before, so impressions must last.

So, the improvement has begun. A long time coming, but now with this lady helping me it should speed up a bit.

Couldn't come soon enough; Yvonne is stressing, having to work on the weekends means she doesn't get to be the all obliging mother of the century to the boys, in fact at one point it looked like she might have to ask eldest son to stay home and look after the younger one, but I am doing the deed as I need punishing for even thinking about biking anywhere, anytime, and eldest son, if put out, will sulk hugely, causing her to lose her status. Fucked if I know how all that works. I cringe watching the interaction.

Enough; I have to go and ingraciate myself to someone.
Go to this http://brisbane.craigslist.org/eve/201576445.html craigslist entry. A semacode for the masses to mess with. Will they get it? I don't really expect so. Will you?

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