Bloodclot, oh yeah, well I can see 360...yeah, I can see all around me...
I realize that I've pretty much been M.I.A. from Livejournal this summer (still better than K.I.A. though, right?) and for that I apologize. Sort of. It doesn't really seem to have had much of an impact on the world, mine or yours, anyway. You see, since Computer died, it's been hard to find time and equipment with which to post. And I don't have a lot of interesting stuff to say. I can summarize what's been happening pretty easily:
I turned 21. Now I buy beer sometimes. I visited Moscow for 2 days. My brother visited me in Olympia for a week. We swam in the Sound and we swam in the ocean (which is cold, by the way) and we saw a stunning 5 movies. We drove down to Portland, I handed him off to my mom. In Portland I went out drinking with my good friend and former college roommate Max. Stayed the night at Max's apartment, returned to Olympia.
Today I went to the eye doctor. Some of you may be aware that my eyes are not so sharp. Let's say that on a scale of Red-Tailed Hawk to Western Blind Snake, I am a platypus. I can see, just not very far. And my eye doctor, who is somewhat of an alarmist in my view, is determined to prove that I have Glaucoma, despite massive evidence to the contrary. I want to save her the suspense. "I don't have Glaucoma," I want to say. But she won't hear a word of it. So she subjected me to numerous tests, and I don't know who dreams these things up, but it is someone with quite an imagination.
First I had to put my head inside a large white dome and, with a ridiculous flesh-colored patch over one eye, press a buzzer every time I saw a light. The lights appeared randomly, and were barely discernible from the searing whiteness of the dome itself. Eventually, left alone in this tiny room, the machine began to drive me mad. Was that a light? Well, press the buzzer anyway. What was that? Did I imagine it? Is anyone out there? When does it stop?!
Then I was taken to 4 separate rooms, each featuring an equally bizarre apparatus, which performed some ostensibly vital test, such as whether my eye likes to have air blasted into it, what happens when my eyeball is injected with scorpion venom, and how long I can stare into a strobing square of neon red before I have a mild stroke. I felt like I was in a Bond movie, trying to access a top-security vault (known as The Ocularium), and the suspicious villain (Doc Ocular) put me through every exam conceivable. And when it was all over, I finally said to my doctor, "So, what do you think now?"
"Hard to tell."
"Do you still think I have Glaucoma?"
"Yes. Maybe. Come back in six months."
"Fine." Oops, forgot to tell her I'll be carousing the South Seas in six months.
It's all fine, though. My life is going to explode (in a good way) in a few months. And it ain't ever gonna stop. Not this time.
I turned 21. Now I buy beer sometimes. I visited Moscow for 2 days. My brother visited me in Olympia for a week. We swam in the Sound and we swam in the ocean (which is cold, by the way) and we saw a stunning 5 movies. We drove down to Portland, I handed him off to my mom. In Portland I went out drinking with my good friend and former college roommate Max. Stayed the night at Max's apartment, returned to Olympia.
Today I went to the eye doctor. Some of you may be aware that my eyes are not so sharp. Let's say that on a scale of Red-Tailed Hawk to Western Blind Snake, I am a platypus. I can see, just not very far. And my eye doctor, who is somewhat of an alarmist in my view, is determined to prove that I have Glaucoma, despite massive evidence to the contrary. I want to save her the suspense. "I don't have Glaucoma," I want to say. But she won't hear a word of it. So she subjected me to numerous tests, and I don't know who dreams these things up, but it is someone with quite an imagination.
First I had to put my head inside a large white dome and, with a ridiculous flesh-colored patch over one eye, press a buzzer every time I saw a light. The lights appeared randomly, and were barely discernible from the searing whiteness of the dome itself. Eventually, left alone in this tiny room, the machine began to drive me mad. Was that a light? Well, press the buzzer anyway. What was that? Did I imagine it? Is anyone out there? When does it stop?!
Then I was taken to 4 separate rooms, each featuring an equally bizarre apparatus, which performed some ostensibly vital test, such as whether my eye likes to have air blasted into it, what happens when my eyeball is injected with scorpion venom, and how long I can stare into a strobing square of neon red before I have a mild stroke. I felt like I was in a Bond movie, trying to access a top-security vault (known as The Ocularium), and the suspicious villain (Doc Ocular) put me through every exam conceivable. And when it was all over, I finally said to my doctor, "So, what do you think now?"
"Hard to tell."
"Do you still think I have Glaucoma?"
"Yes. Maybe. Come back in six months."
"Fine." Oops, forgot to tell her I'll be carousing the South Seas in six months.
It's all fine, though. My life is going to explode (in a good way) in a few months. And it ain't ever gonna stop. Not this time.