Potentially bad news

On Friday, doctors found a four-inch tumor on my stepfather’s kidney. It could turn out to be no big deal, or it could be very, very bad news. He’s going in for more tests and possibly surgery Monday, and we’ll know more after that. I’m not remotely ready to deal with this right now.

As I type this, I realize that I have, for a good while now, lost all interest in blogging. I’m shutting this blog down in a month; I’ll keep the domain, and make it a redirect to any new blog I may start up in the future, but this thing’s been a dead shark for a while now.

I’m all a-Twitter

I installed the Twitter thing at right; you send little messages about where you are from your phone and it updates pretty quickly. In short, I can write very short blog posts from my phone whenever I feel like it, and you lucky people can read them immediately. We’ll see if I actually end up using it.

Addendum: Here’s my link.

Decompression

I’ll be out of town from tomorrow (Saturday) until late Tuesday. I’ll have no Internet access, and only spotty phone service; if anyone needs me, you’ll just have to do without.

Can’t wait.

Interesting exchange

Just as I was getting ready to leave work today, I got a text message from a number my phone didn’t recognize: “Let’s trade pics.”

Ever-obliging, I wrote back: “Well, OK, but who is this?”

Response: “Tristan.”

Tristan? I used to know a dog named Tristan. He didn’t send text messages very often, though, and I think I heard he died a few years back. So I answered: “I think you may have the wrong number, Tristan.”

Tristan replied: “Oh but can we still trade pictures..I am horny.”

I was driving home by now, and I’m not really coordinated enough to use my phone and drive at the same time, or else I would have sent a humorous message along the lines of “Maybe you could trade picures with the cops.” A few minutes later my phone rang from a number that had caller ID blocked. Figuring it was “Tristan,” I didn’t answer.

Apparently Tristan got my voicemail. He didn’t leave a message, but about 30 seconds later I got a final text message:

“Sorry Sir.”

BRAAAAINS

At the Second Annual Memphis Zombie Massacre last night: