A whole week of being sick.




Freaking waste of time.


It was punctuated with some pretty strange fever dreams.  I can’t go into all of them, for lack of time and lack of memory, but let’s touch on one, one that was brief and one that I remember so well that a person could probably recreate if for me, with flash animation . . .


. . . my dream was a music video, all music and fast moving camera view.  It was a video for a techno style number, the kind with a manic bass, synthesized music, and flashing various late-night city scenes.  It was also the sort of techno track that involves just one word, repeated in various ways, in a rough, gravely, cool voice.  That word was “La Bodega.”


“La Bodega . . . La-La Bodega . . . Laaaaa Bodeeeega  . . . La Bodega . . .”


And as the beat picks up, we see the source of the voice, at least in this video:  Will Ferrell’s disembodied head.  So Will’s Ferrell’s head is floating through the cityscape, saying, “La Bodega” with stranger and stranger facial expressions (he’s really hamming it up).


And then I wake up.  Only I have no idea what the word “La Bodega” means or where it came from, so I look it up online . . . apparently is means “wine cellar” or some such.  Does anyone know of a techno or dance track that repeats “la bodega,” one that I might have heard (or has my diseased imagination made this from whole-cloth)?


Saturday, still sick, I went to a Catholic Charismatic Convention with my Grandma and cousins.  It wasn’t something I had looked forward to, but I found myself unable to say no to my Grandma (especially after she went all the way down to my awards ceremony for my Thesis…though I suspect part of the reason she wanted me to go, in the first place, was at the horror of hearing what my thesis was about…voodoo and fallen angels…tI was a little relieved that I wasn’t scheduled for an exorcism).  It was a . . . strange day.  I hadn’t been to church in years (“wayward” would be the pseudo-polite/pseudo-passive-aggressive term my former fellows might use) and I went through meetings, testimonies, confession, mass, the Eucharist, and the whole shebang in one day.  There were persuasive speakers.  There were some of the elements that I still find asinine . . . and there was a strange, diametrically opposed sensation of emotions: the irritation at being dragged there – and genuinely feeling touched that I have family members that worry about my spiritual being (even when I disagree).  There’s more to write on this…but I have to digest it.


That weekend, I also got to play some old, childhood video games with Steve, thanks to an emulator that converts my childhood past…into something that will actually play on a modern computer.  I also got to eat some lovely meals prepared by Heidi (who is a great nurse and is probably the only reason I survived my travels, while sick, that weekend).


A recent internet conversation with Wil, went something like this:

Wil : . . . and then writers came up.  I made a comment . . . then immediately retracted it in my head.

Me:  About?

Wil:  About how anyone who would call themselves a writer is clearly a fuck-head and something else derogatory.

Me:  Ah.

Wil:  Then i thought of you.

Me:  I usually go by “Writer.”

Wil:  You aren’t as flaky as, oh, say, anyone I’ve ever met who claims to be a writer.

Me: “Fuck-head” doesn’t fit on the business card.

Wil:  Ha-ha!

Not so long ago, my wonderful pet serpent, Lenore, was an oft featured part of this journal.  I used to even keep a death count on all the rodents that met their doom in her belly.  It’s been awhile since I’ve updated.  Lenore is now 2 years and 8 months old and is about 59 inches (maybe 6 feet) in length.  I’ve lost count of the dead rodents…but here are some pics I just took, to keep you busy.

Click here if you want to SOLVE A PUZZLE AND ENTER A REALM OF SURREAL MADNESS (and who doesn’t?).

What am I forgetting…oh yes…




Hypno-Toad commands you to go to Twilight Tales, this Monday (the 5th) at the Red Lion Pub at 7:30 PM, where there will be open Mic and where Joshua will read a story.  You will do this.  You must do this.  Obey Hypno-Toad.  There is no argument, there is no dissent, there is no resistance.  There is only Hypno-Toad.