In case there are people who actually follow this thing and are wondering about my whereabouts, I am alive and mostly well in Atlanta.
Last Wednesday, I went to work after a long night of attempted insect genocide. I left work early because of a creeping nausea which at home turned into dry heaves, full-body soreness, and a general malaise. I have a feeling it was either a case of food poisoning or too much exposure to a variety of ant killers including, but not exclusive to, CVS Ant and Roach killer, Terro Ant Killer liquid, a vinegar and water mixture (apparently ants seem to like that not-so-fresh feeling), and some ouroboric acid.
Particularly irksome was the knowledge that despite the imperative urge to bring forth stomach acid through my mouth and nostrils, I would have to get up at 6:00 in the AM to get to the airport on time for my flight down to Miami. While I did feel better in the evening, I made sure, despite my pervasive fatigue, to pack some plastic bags in my carry-on, on the off-chance that the a bumpy flight would make me want to spew some amalgam of bottled water and Cinnabon.
Didn't do much of anything down in Miami, aside from watching a whole bunch of television and DVDs. Aside from a marathon of Modern Marvel's
"Engineering Disasters" on the History Channel, I watched a DVD of The Adventures of the Galaxy Rangers
and finally caught Donnie Darko
. The family also sat down together and watched both Hero
and House of Flying Daggers
even though we'd already seen the former once before.
So I'm back in Atlanta, doing a whole bunch of squat because I'm getting ready for this weekend--the family is heading to Los Angeles, where we're supposed to do a bunch of touristy type things. I don't think we'll be going to Universal, but I did just make a reservation to go see the WB Studio Tour.
Hopefully, as we pass through the Gilmore Girls
set, I'll catch Lauren Graham's eye, and I can whisk her away to Tahoe or BC or somewhere for a month of something or another involving me dressed up as Santa Claus.
Yeah, right. A silly Chinese boy can dream, can't he?