Today, I returned to physical therapy for me war wound left knee. While laying on my back, my jeans awkwardly rolled up above my knees and my pink, brown and green striped socks pulled up over my calves like a '70s basketball player, the big and powerful physical therapist bent and straightened my knee, sat on my foot, and generally poked and prodded my kneecap. He then stood, did a bizarre spiral contortion with my leg, and asked me, "Does that hurt?"

"No," I answered.

After another twisting and bending leg move, he asked, "Does that hurt?"

"No."

Again, another similar pretzel move, and again he asked, "Does that hurt?"

"No."

Later, as I fell all over the place doing one-leg squats while hopping (Jesus Christ), I felt vindicated that I am, indeed, broken. The realization of how pathetic this sense of vindication was left me further desolated.

At the end of our session, he gave me some kama-sutra like move handouts to strengthen some muscle located west of my sense of decorum. He wanted to schedule something on my birthday but I declined as I do not like to do wobbly public one-legged squats while hopping on my birthday. He said, "How do you feel about aging gracefully? You're 30 years young, right?"

"Uh, soon to be 31. I feel, um, fine about it. Thanks."

Abdul called me at home today.

Abdul has been in Canada for about 10 years and he is one of the keener students in an intro. composition course I teach at a local college.

He writes the craziest shit in his essays. Writing against abortion, he decided to take a statistic he found on annual abortions performed in Toronto and multiply it by the the global population--and then he plugged that number into some recursive formula to get the number of abortions performed in human history.

I think his final number was 1500 billion. "The greatest holocaust in human history."

Abdul is a dark Pakistani man in his forties, and he dyes his beard orange. Like really orange. Also wears his slacks nice and high. The other day after class he and I had a really perplexing conversation about origami--that is, until I figured out he was saying "polygamy." Not origami.

Salut, Abdul. You are more fun than the 20-year-olds I teach.

Today I answered the phone at work to a man asking me where we want the condom machine putting. This confused me a little, given that I work in local government offices, but I nevertheless did my best to help. I asked him if there was a name that the delivery was for the attention of on the invoice.

"Yeah, a Mr Wayne Kerr", he said.

"Um.. I think someone might be having you on, mate", was the best response I could muster.

"What? Fuckin'... Don't you want it then?", he asked.

I redirected him to the call centre.

Keep paying those taxes, suckers. Just see what we do with them.




Oh, and ABdul sounds amazing, by the way, Andrew!

same shit, different day.

at least i'm told it's a different day.

My brother recently visited me. While here, he bought me a really gorgeous pair of sunglasses that were lightyears beyond what I would spend on myself for this type of thing. They are fantastic. Big without being ridiculous and pleasingly weighty.

About a week ago, I realized they were gone. I don't mind losing things every now and then because it inspires epic ordeals of organization and scouring that otherwise would be put aside in favor of more pressing tasks like reading and drinking barley pops and long walks and usually results in success. My search and its attendant cleaning left me with an office and apartment that gleams like Mr. Clean's pate, but no wonderful and heavy sunglasses.

About ten minutes ago, I found them hiding in a crate of vodka next to my desk. I was so excited I clapped. I put them on, looked in a mirror and realized that I don't really like them.

simmo wrote:"Yeah, a Mr Wayne Kerr", he said.

The USB ports on one of our work computers died. My coworker called the service branch of the manufacturer to get it fixed. They were not able to assist him because their computers were down. Although it is not really funny, this made me laugh. It has been a long day.

Jon

Barbo wrote:The USB ports on one of our work computers died. My coworker called the service branch of the manufacturer to get it fixed. They were not able to assist him because their computers were down. Although it is not really funny, this made me laugh. It has been a long day.

Jon

My girlfriend's computer's USB ports have mysteriously also died... how does one go about resurrecting these things? Or does dead mean forever in this case?

By all other indications (Device Manger, etc.) the system thinks the things are still working... but they no longer recognize any device that is plugged into them. Instead of that pleasing 'tha-donk' sound and things happening, I instead get nothing happening at all.

I have tried 'removing' the USB ports and having them be 're-detected' and 're-installed' - but that hasn't helped or changed anything at all.

If you end up learning any tips/tricks (or if anyone else knows anything else to try), please PM me and let me know!

Arson Smith wrote:USB stuff

Someone recently mentioned the USB host controller to me - the piece of hardware responsible for the ports. Maybe get that checked out?

I heard Queen's Spread Your Wings and the rest of the News Of The World album today for the first time since I was about eight years old. It did not disappoint me. It's fucking brilliant.