Recently in my ears
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I'm on the Facebook.
This may be the most important thing ever. It's a Hindi version of The Buggles' "Video Killed The Radio Star." And it's disco. It's from the 1982 musical Disco Dancer.
So there's that.
This date means much more to me than my birthday, and almost as much as my wedding anniversary.
Two years ago this hour, I was being shaved and dyed yellow, in anticipation of having my ribs cracked and my squishy internal parts moved around (the shaving I understand, but I'm pretty sure that being tinted yellow was just because they thought that operating on a Simpson would be funnier). The next six weeks were the most misery I have ever experience. Now, with the support of my family - especially my wife, I can quite truthfully say I feel better than I ever have in my life.
The true and harrowing story of my heart surgery may be found here, in reverse chronological order. I could barely sit up long enough to type those posts.
I must say that science pretty much rocks, as I am still here.
Most of my scars have faded.
I have actual muscle tone now, which seems a bit strange.
I've been exercising, which is a new experience for me. In the time since the surgery, I've gone from needing help with getting out of bed and being told not to lift anything heavier than five pounds to riding around the San Diego Bay a couple of weeks ago with my dad (and an average of five heart bypasses each), and I'm pretty sure we could have done the route a couple more times without any trouble.
I had a drastic drop in weight immediately following the surgery. Then I put it back on. And continued. My doctor showed me a graph: Tap. "Here's your weight when you first came in." Tap, a bit below where that first mark was "Here where you were following the procedure. And this," dragging his finger upward across the page, higher and higher, past the starting point, and almost to the top of the page, "is how much you've gained since. So the good news is, you got your appetite back." He told me to lose weight.
I came back a month and a half later. He greeted me with a shocked, "You lost weight?"
I said, "yeah, you told me I should."
"But I tell that to a lot of people, and it doesn't happen."
So he proceeded to ask me questions, try to get into my head to figure out what it was that kept me disciplined with what I was eating and how much exercise I got, so that he could motivate other patients.
What it came down to is that for those people, it was theory. I had fairly concrete evidence of what can happen. To them, they *might* have a heart attack, they *might* need surgery. I know exactly what happens. Having a heart attack can be quite motivating, but not really the sort of thing I can recommend.
I'd really like to stave off the next one, whether it's heart attack or surgery (the surgeon even considered that I probably would have another operation when she selected which vein to move, so that there would be another one available for next time) for as long as I can.
Booker T. Jones doing a much too suave version of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy."
You'll find it on The Road From Memphis.
So Harold Camping, who previously said the world would end in 1994, is trying to convince people that it will happen this weekend for sure, and I haven't made any plans yet.
I used to host parties for occasional apocalypse, a favorite being 1998's X-Day. Brandon, my Minister Of Mixed Drinks, devised a concoction called an Armageddon, with the frozen/slush version being a Ragnarok; I believe they involved pineapple juice for some reason, but other than that I couldn't tell you what was in them. A couple of bands played, and there may have been a couple of hundred people there, most of whom I'm sure were unaware the world was about to end.
With this weekend's apocalypse imminent, I feel weird not having any particular plans. I might just end up playing Champions Online or catching up on some television with my wife, but neither of those options seem like a dramatic enough build up to some post-rapture looting.
If you think the end of the world should be loud and angry (with more than a dash of wit), you could check out Gogol Bordello opening for System Of A Down at Cricket Wireless Amphitheater.
If you see Armageddon as a time for introspection, you probably already have tickets to the Belly Up Tavern's sold-out Yeasayer show.
If you want to pay respects to some local ska-core icons with a death motif, the Voodoo Glow Skulls are going to be at the Casbah.
You could also go for some burlesque presented by the Keyhole Cabaret, assuming you are some kind of old-timey perv with a sense of aesthetics and style.
And, of course, there is Lonsdale & Brooks: Geeky Music for the End of the World. Knowing them, I can pretty much guarantee more than a couple of Cthulhu references.
I still haven't decided how I'll be seeing out the end of the world this time. How abut you, what are you doing for the world's demise?