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I'd link you to some appropriate music, but I imagine we're all seasonal music-ed out by now. :D
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Let me tell you the tell of dinner. It was at the Smokehouse Grill here in Berea, KY. We had eaten there once before, Cosmic and I, and it was entirely mediocre. On a whim, I said, "Let us eat there again and get some things which should be more 'normal' for their menu than the my Philly cheesesteak sandwich I partook of last time."

And so we entered, and a slightly addled older woman seated us. I later overheard her saying to another customer, "I still don't have my table numbers down." This was the hostess.

We ordered dinner, it was easy. For myself, I ordered a sirloin, well done because I don't trust random restaurants not to give me salmonella if I don't. For sides, I ordered the 'broccoli casserole' and the 'rice pilaf.' Cosmic also had a sirloin, well done because she doesn't want to get horrible food poisoning from a dodgy kitchen, with a salad and 'loaded' baked potato.

We were, in the mean time, served an excellent Pepsi and some flavorless bread products (ostensibly dinner rolls) with some meager spreadable butter. Our waitress had forgotten to take our menus with her, though we had handed them directly into her hands. The salad was brought forth, and perched atop it were many croutons and gigantic pieces of onion. Cosmic said "Huh, the croutons have been soaked in something, maybe olive oil." Believing perchance I had found a new delicacy for my salads I tasted one and discovered that in fact it was not olive oil, it was old fry oil, for the croutons had been deep fried in it and then left to sit out and cool. There was french fry, okra, and other assorted flavors in the croutons. (This could become an avant garde technique to season croutons if it isn't already. If it becomes so, let the world know that it began here at the Smokehouse grill and nowhere else.)

Later, our menus were removed and food appeared before us. My steak was well past being merely well done. It was somewhere between overcooked cardboard and leather. Cosmic's steak was medium well, closer to medium, with a strange greasy outer coating. They had both been cooked upon a grill, probably with some of the gigantic stack of firewood behind the restaurant providing the heat. Mine was simply abandoned to the cruel fates of the grill, while Cosmic's must have found its way upon the griddle or a skillet filled with greasy remnants of other meals. Needless to say, these steaks were not very good in either case.

The side dishes fared little better, for Cosmic's 'loaded' baked potato was loaded only in the sense that it cost me 99 cents more than a different side. It was overcooked, had a few paltry crumbs of bacon upon it, and a smidge of cheese. There was no butter or sour cream to be found: she was forced by desperation to use the rest of the meager butter from the dinner rolls to try to salvage a decent potato from the ruin. Her attempt, I note, failed utterly. It was beyond salvation.

My sides were somehow even worse. The broccoli casserole may have been cooked in a casserole pan, but there was nothing else to indicate that this was not boiled bits of broccoli stems (I counted two tips in the dish and was afraid to look in the green-- I get ahead of myself I apologize). The broccoli stem chunks were served in a greenish snot-based liquid and entirely unseasoned. There was a garnish of bacon which I refused to touch, for it was several times more bacon than her potato had.

My rice pilaf was at least made of rice. I can only hope that the yellow color of the rice came from saffron in tap water, as it was cooked too long and had a flavor that I can only describe as "Hitler in a dish." If my hopes are vain, then I pray only that it was boiled and I will not be dying from whatever other fluid was used to create the abomination.

We soon quietly paid the check and exited, but not before bringing the picture linked via thumbnail at the top of the post home with us. Behold the glory of broccoli casserole and rice pilaf.

In conclusion, the best part of the meal was the Pepsi and the cleansing hand wipe Cosmic had in her purse. I feel bad for the truckers, travelers, old people from the nursing home next door, and in general anyone else who is either too addled to know better or completely unfamiliar with this restaurant. To anyone who eats there willingly more than once, I don't understand why you would. I will go to my grave regretting this dinner decision, and I hope that Cosmic will someday forgive me for the travesty done to her gentle palette on this ruinous day.
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Even when you think you knocked it out of the ballpark.
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Whatever I set my facebook password to, I knew it... and then promptly forgot it one day after logging in last week.

My university e-mail's web interface doesn't like Firefox 6 on this computer for whatever reason. After banging my head against my desk a little I gave in and tried Internet Explorer... it worked right away.

I couldn't change/retrieve my facebook password because... it's tied to my university e-mail.

Ergo I have learned that I am a goober.
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Last Thursday I had a little brush with being much, much blinder than I already was. I'm not entirely sure of the cause, but I awoke in the morning to the feel of sandpaper on my eyelids, then burning, horrid acidic burning, as tears flooded my eyes. The effect was to reduce my eyesight to something that can only be described as "legally blind." I couldn't make out text, with my glasses on, anywhere near my face. The blindness was mostly gone in a day, and I think I'm back to normal now.

Since then, I've had trouble sleeping. And on reflection, I think it's because I'm afraid I will have a brush with the same problem if I sleep for too long. To the end of preventing this, I've been subsisting on 1-2 hour naps in bed or on the couch. Short sleep, so that I can wake up and blink a lot, and force a lot of tears into my eyes to stave off the coming blindpocalypse. I never will claim it makes a lot of sense, but that's how psychological things are. They simply don't make sense, because the subconscious is not a rational actor (heck the consciousness is barely rational, no matter how much we may lie to ourselves about being rational beings).

That's part of the reason I've said even less than usual here on livejournal. I've been trying to convalesce over the summer, but these past few days I've been reluctant to say anything at all to anyone.

This kind of ridiculous illness seems to be a recurring theme this summer. It's like all the neglect I put on myself over the past year of dissertation writing finally came home to roost. I've had more health problems than I can really remember since I moved into my apartment in June. I don't want to whine about my health, because that's kind of annoying, but the short list is "several kidney stones, gout attacks, and various other ailments," along with the inexplicable attack of super dry eyes that wrecked my eyesight for a day and change.

I don't think I'm going to let that kind of poo-poo stop me anymore though. I have things I want to get done. I have things I have to do. Wallowing in misery's not going to get me anywhere, and as I was reminded when I looked at my livejournal comments a little while ago, I've got friends and colleagues waiting on me to get in gear.

So health problems, take this as a declaration of independence. The Doctor is in the house and he's going to put it into order.

Edit: And I see life wants to throw me some curveballs already. I can't log into my university e-mail or my facebook account. I'll conquer you yet, technology!
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How some people just like to go find things to make themselves angry?


Sep. 9th, 2011 01:49 pm
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There is a quiet tyranny to the waiting room. The enforced blandness in the decor, with the generic nature scenes and the muted typically earthy or green colors are an example. Often there is no music: any choice could be taken as offensive by a patron forced to endure said music for 15, 20, 30 minutes at a stretch. With nothing of substance to provide a modicum of aural stimulation one turns to the magazines. How many people have read last year's Better home and gardens or Golf Digest? The contents, like the pages, are stale and lifeless. Each provides a moment of distraction, crinkle under the fingers but this passes as all things do. The overbearing quiet, punctuated by murmurs of office workers chatting, a called name, or tired dull foot steps builds a prison. I want to break free. I want to liberate the soul from these shackles. We have the technology to make this better, my friends, let us work together and end the soft oppression of the soil imposed by waiting rooms. Let us go forward together.
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How long must I remain ensnared within this wellspring of disease. There is coughing, coughing all about me. Inside the building as well as without. The appointment was 20 minutes late to start. I have the vague funk of mildew and stale cigarette smoke lingering. Yes I'm sure the no smoking sign degree everyone. Good old old fashioned waiting rooms, there's nothing else quite like them.
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This was some potent stuff. It made the gout go away, but also made my body basically stop healing correctly. Crazy times.
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They're lurking downstairs, a whole gang of them. They're delicious and moist, chewy, chocolatey, butterscotchy, and they're waiting for me. If you don't hear from me in 24 hours, call an ambulance, I'll need it.
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I set this silly character's battlecry to "I'll shit up your butt!" Moments after hitting it in a mission, I hear, "I can't believe it fit!"

Busy Day

Aug. 6th, 2011 12:10 am
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Left to go to the Fayette Mall in Lexington around 3:30. Hit the bank on the way out, literally drove around Lexington, had lunch at Tony Roma's (delicious noms I must eat them), visited Jo-Beth Booksellers, Whole Foods (the things I do for Cossie <3), the length of the Fayette Mall, bought a Madeline pan at Williams and Sonoma, then went grocery shopping at Meijer's.

It was a busy day with some company I rather enjoy.
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Cowboys and Aliens was a pretty fun movie. More fun because I was busy eating hot fries, chili dip, candies out the wazoo with Cos while watching it. <3


Jul. 28th, 2011 05:23 am
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So, that weirdo was out again last night. We stalked him down the road (this time he had a trashbag). We actually went out driving to catch up with him, curious as to where he was 45 minutes after passing our window (answer: getting more trash into his trashbag of doom. Once we got back, we waited for him until returned (low light very red video in da house). Well, turns out he's the guy that lives at the end of our building. He also swept the driveway, went weeding around the mailbox, and generally creeped me out a whole lot. Is this weird?


Jul. 26th, 2011 11:14 pm
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You can't let me watch Chopped on the Food Network. I get all "THESE PEOPLE ARE DOIN IT WRONG" and then want to go cook their ingredients in the kitchen, right down to the honey herb coughdrops... >.
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Took Cossie to get her a state ID. Got my driver's license updated while I was in there. took 10 minutes, tops, for both of us. Given how government tends to work, I am amazed by this level of service. \m/ Madison County clerks' office, you ladies rock.
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Why does this keep happening, I thought I decided I'd be 29 forever? D:


Jul. 19th, 2011 04:38 am
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So outside, in a semi-rural street, at 3 bloody AM, some guy is walking down the road, picking up random things from the curb. And messing around with a wooden pallet from the construction next door. I'm kinda o_O but he didn't seem to be doing anything illegal, just kinda weirdo-creepy, so we let it go.


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