Fleeing The Scene

And now, I'm going to San Diego, where instead of arguing with friends over the merits and possible length of the writers' strike, I'm going to go hang out with my mother for a day.

Whee!

Endings and Beginnings

I've never watched The Sopranos. I could never get into it. My mom, however, loves it, and since she's here helping me with my foot, I sort of half-assedly watched the finale.

As the screen went black and she realized they'd ended it where they had, she said something that I'm sure must have come out of many a Sopranos fan's mouth:

"Oh, those fuckers!"

And now, to watch John From Cincinnati and see exactly how big a cocksucker Milch is for ditching the best show ever for this piffle.

Edited to add: So, is John supposed to be autistic? Or were they just trying so hard for "blank slate" that they wound up completely and terribly overshooting?

Miscellaneous Etc.

A few odds and ends before I disappear into Foot Surgery Land tomorrow:

- Disgusting double-entendre of the day.

- CBS resurrected Jericho, which makes me happy because I enjoyed how insanely ridiculous that show was. I was not enough of a fan to send unsolicited tons of peanuts to CBS, but still, it's nice to know the show will live to create even more egregious plot holes.

- Mom's here to help me out with the first couple post-surgical days when I'll be doped to the gills, which will be helpful. However, mom snores REALLY loud. I'd forgotten about that.

- I have to be at the surgery center tomorrow at 5:45am, so I'm getting up at 5. Between mom snoring and Chaplin yowling, I don't think they're even going to have to give me a sedative to get me back to sleep.

Scheduling

So the surgery is taking place Thursday, June 7th, or 364 days after I first hurt this bad boy, or one day before my birthday.

The good news is that I will be on some very excellent drugs for my birthday. Nothing I wanted more this year than to be high as a kite! Well, perhaps that this would have gotten better months ago like it should have, but I digress.

Mom, who I'd managed to hold off from coming so far, has taken over dad's traditional role of Helpful but Overreacting Parent, and is coming out for the surgery.

It will likely take me until she gets here to get this place clean enough to prevent her from having a heart attack at the sight of it on arrival. And she'll still say "God, this place is filthy!" no matter how long I spend cleaning it.