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Casey/Male/31-35. Lives in United States/California/San Francisco/The Mission, speaks English and  . Spends 80% of daytime online. Uses a Faster (1M+) connection.
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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Saturday, June 8, 2002

Time Well Spent.

A withered hand rests on your shoulder. The gaunt man in black tells you, "Beware! Do not go to PopCap games and do not play PsychoBabble! This refrigerator poetry game will consume all your time and leave you beaten and craving more, like me.

"Instead, you could do something better. Maybe go see some art or something. Hear my sad tale, and be warned!"

He shuffles off sadly into the kitchen. Moments later, you hear him screaming.

07:40 PM PST (link)

Thursday, June 6, 2002

Comic Goodness.

Last week I wandered through When I Am King again and found they'd added wallpaper and press images. Pretty. (Excuse the verbification, but did I Paypal them? I don't remember now. I should.) I just caught up with Bee, a twisted and anxious little story. And now I'm anxious—I can hardly wait for the next episode. (Link via Mark.)

This morning's entertainment was Mashimoro. Because potty humor is always appreciated. (Link via Patric.)

And of course I made myself into a South Park Character.

I swear I'm going to finish a diary entry soon; I've got two started and a third in my head. Among them is my story of seeing Aaron and Robert this weekend at their lovely home. (Happy Birthday Sweetie! And a happy day-after to my dear friend Miss R., who I hope to see tonight at Bingo.)

In the meantime, though, I have to go shopping for things that I'm sure to get yelled at for later. ("What did you get that for? The old one was perfectly fine, except for the big holes in it and the backing flaking off!")

01:27 PM PST (link)

Tuesday, June 4, 2002

So You're Going To Die.

First of all, let me tell you how much I hate doctors who are condescending. Who cluck their tongues, wearing a world-weary "I've heard this one before" expression. Who chuckle, paternally, when you explain what another doctor told you, and patronizingly explain something you essentially just told them. Write me my god-damn prescription so I can get out of here.

With that out of the way, we proceed on to the basic physical. This goes mostly according to plan. However, one hint to my doctor: you can probably use a little less lube next time, if you're just putting a finger up there. I'm gay; I've had worse.

Sorry, was that too much information? Did I mention that my prostate apparantly feels "really normal?" (You have to take compliments wherever you can get them.)

The topper, though, is that in a strange parallel to my Mother's recent visit to her doctor, my blood pressure spiked while I was there. Funny that my blood pressure was high, having run from work where I was trying to meet a deadline, get cash for the cab and make it to my new doctor's appointment on the day before my first vacation day since New Year's Day.

Out of curiosity, afterwards I used the blood pressure machine at the Rite Aid a block away. It said 130/70. Not that I trust machines more than humans, but machines don't get kickbacks to prescribe hypertension medications, y'know?

10:06 PM PST (link)

With Added Electrolytes.

Note to the package designers at Sobe Beverages: If you can't control which caps appear on the bottles of light-yellow colored beverages, perhaps you should discontinue the ones which bear the slogan "Drain the lizard."

Suddenly I'm not so thirsty.

01:08 AM PST (link)


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