Practice Good Cripple Etiquette.

I'm feeling a little better. The dreaded cane has been retrieved from the dark corner of the basement where I keep my canes, wheelchair, and other assorted cripple accesories hidden from view; but at least it's the cane and not the chair.

The chair can kiss my big cornfed ass.

I'm thinking of a cane art project, by the way. I'd like to paint some bitchy little statement down the side of it such as:

Pleae don't feed the cripple

I'm too sexy for my shuffle

Bring it on, Grandma

Honk if you love crips

And my favorite:

CRIPPLE FIGHT!!!

Yeah. I figure that people are going to stare anyway, so I might as well give them something fun to read.

And while I'm at it, here's a public service announcement:

Even if you stare at your local cripple with that soppy, pathetic, gaze of sympathy combined with a cheesy-assed half-smile; you are still staring, and it is still annoying. You may think you're commiserating, but you're not. It's one thing to glance, but for Christ's sake, it's not like I'm wearing a live rabbit around my neck or anything.

If you're that curious, then just fucking ask. This annoys me, too, but it's better than sitting there with downcast eyes and trying to pretend that you're not burning inquisitive holes into my legs.

If you are over the age of twelve and are still staring at people who can't walk correctly, then you're kind of an asshole. If you point and whisper while doing so, then you're a genital wart on the dick of society. I understand that curiosity is completely natural, but there is such a thing as showing a little restraint and acting as if your mother raised you right.

Thank you.

Sorry, I'm a little bitter today.

So, I'm shaky but better, and less paranoid regarding the prospect of permanent cripple-icity. This too shall pass, just like every other irritating fucking setback. My head is still a bit swimmy, but this makes staring at the ceiling a very interesting experience that not many people are able to enjoy.

A day with my brain is very like watching Pink Floyd The Wall.

I don't know whether you participated in Grey Tuesday or not, but I found that the Grey Album is really quite good. I was skeptical at first, assuming that it would be a standard piece of over-hyped Rap Lite, but I like it. I kept waiting for Beyonce to chime in with an "Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh," but thankfully the record is both uh-oh and Beyonce free.

If you haven't given it a listen, I highly recommend it.

My son's obsession with Scooby Doo is getting really ridiculous. I can handle the Scoob, providing Scrappy is not entered into the equation, but enough is enough.

I have seen the damned DVD of the movie so many times that I'm starting to loathe Sarah Michelle Gellar.

I do have to give credit to the kid that plays Shaggy, though. He is Shaggy.

I was much happier when The Nightmare Before Christmas and Edward Scissorhands were the J-Man's favorites, but I guess the Tim Burton run has come to an end.

Oh, well. At least he isn't into Barney or some crap like that. I'd have to go against all that is good and proper and put a TV in his room if that were the case, because something about those little Stepford children and their lilting falsetto songs just makes me want to weep in a corner.

Happy Wednesday.

It took me precisely ten minutes to remember what day it is.

12:05 p.m. - 2004-02-25
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