Phrase of the Moment:
¤ Phrase: "fumble"
¤ Usage: When someone drops something. Anything at all. Yell it in a play by play guy voice.
¤ Origin: It's what they call a dropped ball in a football game.
¤ Notes: I've been saying this one, usually in my head, for years. I started saying it at the NFL games I used to work at the San Diego stadium, since after all, players drop the rock, and you've got to point that shit out. It's also a lot of fun to yell. Draw it out, like the play by play guy. "Fummm-boh!"

It's fun to say, or at least think, in real life, when you or someone else drops something. Malaya enjoys it when I say it, and has taken to saying it herself, both when I drop things and when others, out in public somewhere, drop them. It helps your public declarations of this a lot if you're unconcerned by other people viewing you askance. -- May 31, 2004

ednesday was not exactly tropical drinks and warm sea breezes in paradise. I was up very late Tuesday night, writing non-stop from around 1am until 7am. Good writing though, stuff I wanted and needed to get done on my novel. I was getting tired by 6 though, but kept on trying to get a bit more finished, under the delusion that I might finish the chapter that night. (I actually spent another 6+ hours on it Wednesday evening and I'm still not entirely done.)

Anyway, just as I was about to save things, brush my teeth, have a quick goodnight surf around and go to bed, Malaya emerged from the bedroom.  This isn't uncommon, and I figured she was just after a drink of water or needed to pee. So I was surprised when she came into the living room and plopped down on the couch, wearing house pants and long sleeved shirt. She wasn't due to wake up for about 4 hours yet, and when I inquired as to her health I got the expected answer. She was sick, felt sick, her stomach and back were aching, nausea, etc. The whole flu-like symptoms grab bag. Or perhaps food poisoning. I'd throw in morning sickness, but no, she's not pregnant.

Her tummy hurt if she laid down, she couldn't sleep, she was hungry but thought she'd puke if she ate, and so on. Unfortunately, I'd been awake for 18 hours and was just about to go to bed. She urged me to turn in, said she'd be fine, but I lingered for another hour, doing a bit more writing and then some surfing while I brushed my teeth, and by that time she thought she could try going back to bed.

So into the bedroom we went, and after much tossing and turning (my legs itched and my mind was still really working, even though my body was exhausted) she finally gave up on sleeping, and headed out to spend some quality time dry heaving over the kitchen sink. I got up and we talked some; she didn't want to go to the hospital or call a doctor, and I ended up going back to sleep. Only to wake up an hour later when I heard her retching again, and then again around 11, and then at noon when a package came FedEx and he knocked on the door. I finally got up around 2, about 5 hours after I first went to sleep, and emerged from the den-like bedroom to find the condo silent, the blinds drawn, Malaya asleep on the couch, and Dusty curled protectively on her belly.

She woke up shortly, but still felt crappy. Was hungry but didn't want to give her nausea any more ammo. Wanted a doctor but not enough to make an appointment or go to the emergency room.  And sadly enough, there's no real end to this story. Malaya felt tired and crappy and cold all day, mostly sat on the couch in a semi-vegetative state, and went to bed early. She even skipped the gym on a non-Sunday, for the first time in at least 4 or 5 months.

Luckily for me, sitting around the condo all day is basically what I want to do every day, especially when I'm in the mood to work. So we watched a DVD from the library (Signs) and didn't eat much, and I worked or surfed while she read or watched TV or worked some, though sitting at the desk was hurting her back. No, not the most exciting day of our lives.  But a somewhat productive one, and at least we didn't spend a bunch of money on something unnecessary or short-lived.

Incidentally, we have no idea what Malaya was sick with. Virus? Flu? Food Poisoning? Unknown. She felt better as the day went on, ate normally, went to bed early, and with any luck she'll sleep the night through, rather than joining me out here in about an hour, as she did yesterday.

One thing I found myself pondering in the afternoon, when we were talking about how she felt. Why do humans get so affected and wiped out by puking, while most animals (cats and dogs at least) seem to regard it as no more taxing than chasing their own tails?  Is it just that the animals have more practice at it, and they're always horking up a stick they swallowed, or half a chewed up sandal, or a bunch of rubber bands, or a hairball, or whatever. Practice makes perfect? And if that's true, then by extension do bulimic women or binge drinkers or guys who spend too much time trying to make weight in wrestling eventually grow so used to puking that when they get the flu and can't keep their dinner down, it's no problem?

Since I don't drink and I'm not that serious about losing weight, I hardly ever vomit. Maybe once every year or two, and only when I'm really sick with the flu or incredible anxiety or something like that. Puking doesn't kill me, but I really, really dislike it, even though I generally feel much better afterwards.  Not immediately afterwards, when my muscles feel like water and my gut is turning inside out, but five or ten minutes later my body usually rejoices at the purging. Malaya was so wrecked that she found herself just lying on the kitchen floor, too weak to move, at one point, and I've had similar experiences when kneeling before the porcelain god.

So my question is, if a person pukes all the time, do they eventually get used to it and hardly react at all, dog style?  Or is there just something about the human body that takes a bullet from involuntary regurgitation every time, no matter how often it's done?  Or am I looking at it backwards, and simply underestimating the suffering animals endure when they vomit. After all, cats and dogs are very stoic creatures, prone to "walking off" just about anything short of evisceration.

Feedback (so to speak) is accepted.

I'm not going to go into yet another long anti-Garfield the Movie rant. I've chewed this train wreck a second excretory orifice several times in the past, and now that it's about to be released this weekend, other critics are getting their turn.  There are only 12 reviews posted at this time, and the only surprise about the early reviews is that one of them is actually positive. Most of the rest feature lines like this:

FOX has slotted “Garfield, The Movie” to open one week after “Harry Potter” and the same weekend as “Riddick”.  They seem to be hoping that “Shrek” mania is over and the littlest tots are looking for something new.  Maybe this will be the film for them.  As for the adults, look forward to a long slow 86 minutes that you will never be able to get back.

No one says it's horrendous, just that it's totally uninspired, and entirely unnecessary.

The reviews are also helpful in that they provide a summary of the plot, thus satisfying my vague curiosity about it in a convenient, bite-sized form.

“Garfield” finds the fat cat being taken to the vet on a daily basis, only because his owner, Jon (Breckin Meyer), has the hots for the Dr. Liz Wilson. While on one such trip, Liz asks Jon to take the big step - adopt a dog. Garfield’s used to being the center of his owner’s attention and now with this new goofy canine invading his home, Garfield’s relegated to a secondary position. Not happy sharing Jon’s love, Garfield locks Odie outside one night – and Odie does what most dogs would do, he wanders off chasing after cars and gets himself totally lost. The chase is on as Jon and Liz set off to find the lost pooch, while Garfield has to save Odie from a TV personality who’s looking to trade in his cat sidekick for a performing dog.

I'm also not surprised that the new remake of The Stepford Wives is being slammed. There were countless reports of rewrites, reshoots, and actors battling the director. It's now batting 20%, with just 2 out of 10 reviews positive, and when you consider that negative reviews are not just negative, but as hate-filled as this one, this could be quite a weekend battle.

"One of the biggest messes in recent memory - an incoherent hack job that can never decide whether it wants to be a horror film, a social satire or a broad comedy."

We might be looking at Garfield vs. Stepford as a sort of Envy vs. Godsend II, where two major films with major actors are released the same day, and proceed to duel for a spot on the "worst reviewed film of the year" list. Whether Garfield and The Stepford Wives will flop financially as well has yet to be determined, but we can always hope.

¤ I am a bit concerned that Riddick is garnering just 50% positive reviews thus far, since I'm interested in seeing that one on Friday. However, there are only 10 reviews online at this point, and it's not like big dumb action movies are really known for being critical darlings.

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