Yeth, Marthter

Update on the inconvenient injury front: I went back to the doctor yesterday and got put on crutches, and now have a big dumb-looking fiberglass splint, since apparently my dignity hadn't plunged enough already in the past week. Still doesn't look like a break, but the doc called it a third-degree sprain, and that can't be any good.

I've actually been back at work since Tuesday, which is about as much fun as you'd expect, as is hauling around my seventeen-stone ass on crutches, like Oliver Platt miscast as Long John Silver. The use of one's legs is a thing not to be taken lightly, kids. Worst of all, perhaps, I've been craving Chipotle like a fiend for about a week now, but there's just no way I'm doing the Cripple Pole-Vault for the three or four blocks it would take to get it, not when going down the hall for a piss is like an endurance run.

In light of all this, I had to cancel plans to go to NYC for the opening weekend of Hellboy, and so am a sad panda indeed. Not that I'm much fun to be around right now anyway, since I've been alternating between cranky and bitchy with occasional touches of sullen. Ah, well. At least spring can only get better from here.

Thanks to everyone for posting your well-wishes over the last few days. It means a lot. It's really nice to know that as much as this sucks, I've got the best friends in the world. Love you all.

Lame Dork

So I got out of work on Friday and managed to, on the way to the car, twist my ankle something fierce, such that I've been pretty much laid up for the last three days. The professional medical opinion so far is that it's a sprain and not a break, at least according to initial x-rays, but I've still been out of commission and on ice anyway. The lying around watching DVDs is nice, kind of; the hobbling around with a cane and not really being able to go anywhere is not. And feeling guilty about Stacy having to take care of me isn't much fun either, despite her being relentlessly sweet and cheerful about it. So, on the whole, a thumbs-down.

So that's why I've been even less diligent about my correspondence than usual. A longer, better update is soon to come; in the meantime, check out some of the new sidebar links. (And many thanks to Rivka for dropping by the other night; we mustelidae should stick together.)

:-o

Aiya, have I really not posted in two weeks now? That's just crazy.

It Is Time, Only Time

Happy Birthday today to David Tibet, the Very Voice of Current 93.

He seems to be celebrating the occasion by transforming himself into Vincent Schiavelli, which is probably fitting enough. Or it could be that he's begun to channel the late Tiny Tim, who he befriended in Tiny's latter years, and who can be heard on "How The Great Satanic Glory Faded" saying "The Devil is an angel. The Devil is a beautiful angel... He compares to Sharon Stone..." over the telephone to David. It's a funny old world.

If I could have one wish
as in the fairytales
I would unmake my past
and rise like Lazarus
and stand in sunlight
and banish all the dark
that locked my face away
and say to you again
oh that
that was only time

Anyway, many happy returns, Mr. Tibet. The world is richer and stranger with you in it; long life and good health to you.

"On the throne of many hues, immortal Aphrodite"

As I write this, the Marthas are going to City Hall in NYC to apply for a marriage license, joining (at last count) 50 other same-sex couples in a show of solidarity.

Our fingers are crossed, and our thoughts go with them.

UPDATE: Well, it looks like they got turned down, which is about what everyone expected. Still, chin up, guys. This is not the end; it's not even a step backwards. The supposed laws that are keeping this from going forward are looking flimsier every day, so don't you dare let this back you down. Love and good sense will prevail.