Thursday, November 26, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
H1N1ghtmare
So with all the H1N1 pandemonium floating around lately, its apparently leaked into my subconscious. I officially just had my first swine flu nightmare (more like a napmare, though, since it was in-between winks on my uncomfortable couch).
Anyway, get this.
Important Fact: the H1N1 vaccine (and most vaccines, for that matter) contains "inactivated viral antigens". Basically, it's like giving yourself a small Einstein-tampered dose of the disease so that your immune system can drop kick the real thing in the future.
If there are still dosages left at the university tomorrow morning, I'm planning on getting one (...so what, call me a paranoid douche. there's a time and place for hot & sweaty, and it's definitely not during finals or my merry effing Christmas).
Important sidenote: Jurassic Park is amazing
Important relevance: Don't watch it before getting vaccinated.
How the hell does this all tie together? Welllll it just so happens I watched the entire Jurassic Park trilogy last week; and my horrifying napmare went a little something like this...
A couple *cough troglodyte cough* U of S Archaeology students somehow diddled with the H1N1 vaccine by filling the "inactivated viral antigens" with frog DNA, like the scientists did with dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. Somehow I realized this just as the needle penetrated my pores, a second too late. Now can anyone remember what happened to the dinos in JP because of this mixed frog DNA?
That's right. They were ambisexual (could change sex like frogs).
So suddenly, as if it made 100% sense, I grew blonde hair, long nails, and a bra (not breasts, just a bra *sigh*). The archaeology jerks then proceeded to chase me around campus -- what they planned to do with me once they caught up, God knows -- and it was absolutely t-e-r-r-i-f-y-i-n-g. Somehow I sprouted high heels around Place Riel, but then fell down the stairs and was totally paralyzed. As I looked up, archaeology boys descending with drooling smiles, I SCREAMED and then
Woke up.
No bra, no blonde hair.
Phew.
If Freud and Joseph were right and dreams are just coded messages about our real lives, I'm not quite sure what this one was trying to say. Don't get the H1N1 shot? Don't fall for an archaeology kid? Don't dress in drag?
Well damn, I can't promise I won't do any of those.
Seriously, though, I understand that everything that happened in this dream is utterly impossible from one tiny flu shot (I'd need at least a good surgeon and $100 La Senza gift card for that), but yet I can't help keep hearing that famous Jurassic Park quote: "nature will find a way..."
P.S. If some crazy Jurassic Park-like science thing does go down, please film it and then kill me before anyone else gets the chance to make two shitty sequels. Thank you.
Anyway, get this.
Important Fact: the H1N1 vaccine (and most vaccines, for that matter) contains "inactivated viral antigens". Basically, it's like giving yourself a small Einstein-tampered dose of the disease so that your immune system can drop kick the real thing in the future.
If there are still dosages left at the university tomorrow morning, I'm planning on getting one (...so what, call me a paranoid douche. there's a time and place for hot & sweaty, and it's definitely not during finals or my merry effing Christmas).
Important sidenote: Jurassic Park is amazing
Important relevance: Don't watch it before getting vaccinated.
How the hell does this all tie together? Welllll it just so happens I watched the entire Jurassic Park trilogy last week; and my horrifying napmare went a little something like this...
A couple *cough troglodyte cough* U of S Archaeology students somehow diddled with the H1N1 vaccine by filling the "inactivated viral antigens" with frog DNA, like the scientists did with dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. Somehow I realized this just as the needle penetrated my pores, a second too late. Now can anyone remember what happened to the dinos in JP because of this mixed frog DNA?
That's right. They were ambisexual (could change sex like frogs).
So suddenly, as if it made 100% sense, I grew blonde hair, long nails, and a bra (not breasts, just a bra *sigh*). The archaeology jerks then proceeded to chase me around campus -- what they planned to do with me once they caught up, God knows -- and it was absolutely t-e-r-r-i-f-y-i-n-g. Somehow I sprouted high heels around Place Riel, but then fell down the stairs and was totally paralyzed. As I looked up, archaeology boys descending with drooling smiles, I SCREAMED and then
Woke up.
No bra, no blonde hair.
Phew.
If Freud and Joseph were right and dreams are just coded messages about our real lives, I'm not quite sure what this one was trying to say. Don't get the H1N1 shot? Don't fall for an archaeology kid? Don't dress in drag?
Well damn, I can't promise I won't do any of those.
Seriously, though, I understand that everything that happened in this dream is utterly impossible from one tiny flu shot (I'd need at least a good surgeon and $100 La Senza gift card for that), but yet I can't help keep hearing that famous Jurassic Park quote: "nature will find a way..."
P.S. If some crazy Jurassic Park-like science thing does go down, please film it and then kill me before anyone else gets the chance to make two shitty sequels. Thank you.
Friday, November 6, 2009
bureaucraps
A french kiss for whoever can answer this riddle:
What is something that never smiles but always stares; something that flies but doesn't have wings; something almost everyone owns but is impossible to get?
...
Answers? Anyone? Tongue's waiting...
Give up?
It's a passport. A bloody fricken' passport.
Detect my disdain? Good. See, this morning my mom phoned to say that since we're going to Hawaii in February, we should renew our passports ASAP (they expire in March, and the goverment warns against travelling with id that expires within six months of vacation or something). So after only a mild dose of complaining, I grabbed my passport and darted straight down to Wal-Mart to get my picture retaken.
Now I don't know about the rest of the world, but a passport isn't something I'm necessarily concerned about every day. Sure it's a life-line when travelling, but otherwise it never really crosses my mind -- until I started thinking about the expiry date, that is. So although I still had four months left, all of a sudden it seemed like those sixteen weeks wasn't very long at all. My brain, bored in traffic, started conjuring up worst case scenarios, mostly revolving around being late and subsequently missing out on Hawaii.
Cut to Wal-Mart. Fortunately this process was painless -- I'm out with my photo pack in ten minutes. Unfortunately, it was unjustly windy outside (my hair was a wreck), I hadn't shaved, and my clothes thought it funny to bunch up in awkward places. Translation: my pics could pass for Amy Winehouse. I contemplated requesting a re-shoot, but the visions were getting worse; if I didn't hurry up and renew, not only would I miss Hawaii, but I would be damned to stay stuck in Saskatoon for the rest of eternity! AaaAAhhh!
So I threw my cash at the photographer and sprinted out with passport and pictures clutched in my knuckles. Irrationality was taking over -- I swear I heard a greeter shout: "welcome to Wal-Mart, may I see your passport?"
Next up was the government building. These places terrify me... I always feel extremely out of place and unwelcome. Or like I'm doing something illegal. And not to criticize the system or anything, but, well, why the hell do they need policemen stationed at every door? True, they're the oldies who probably catch more gum disease than criminals, but really? And maybe I wouldn't make fun of these old people if they were a tad nicer, but come on. They're grumpy. I mean, ever wonder why majority of adults are angry and frustrated but most grandparents are endlessly nice and sweet and kind? It's because you just don't see the angry old grumps as much -- they're busy trolling these tall brick government buildings.
Anyway, I took the elevator up to the passport office and waited in line. When it got to my turn, Officer Agnid asked what my business was. "Renewing my passport," I replied. Well the rest is a whirlwind of bureaucratic bullshit. I'm first told to fill out a specific form for easy renewal, but then find out that I can't because my previous passport was issued when I was under 16. Therefore, I have to essentially start from scratch because they need all original id, guarantor's signatures, government issued id, $100, a vial of blood, and my first born child.
And you know what I said back to that load of bureaucrap?
Ok.
Honestly, besides blog-venting there's nothing I can do to ease the passport pain. Guess I'll just have to fill everything out properly, bide my time, and do the whole thing over again six years down the road. Getting angry or staying grumpy doesn't solve anything. It just guarantees you a job with the government.
What is something that never smiles but always stares; something that flies but doesn't have wings; something almost everyone owns but is impossible to get?
...
Answers? Anyone? Tongue's waiting...
Give up?
It's a passport. A bloody fricken' passport.
Detect my disdain? Good. See, this morning my mom phoned to say that since we're going to Hawaii in February, we should renew our passports ASAP (they expire in March, and the goverment warns against travelling with id that expires within six months of vacation or something). So after only a mild dose of complaining, I grabbed my passport and darted straight down to Wal-Mart to get my picture retaken.
Now I don't know about the rest of the world, but a passport isn't something I'm necessarily concerned about every day. Sure it's a life-line when travelling, but otherwise it never really crosses my mind -- until I started thinking about the expiry date, that is. So although I still had four months left, all of a sudden it seemed like those sixteen weeks wasn't very long at all. My brain, bored in traffic, started conjuring up worst case scenarios, mostly revolving around being late and subsequently missing out on Hawaii.
Cut to Wal-Mart. Fortunately this process was painless -- I'm out with my photo pack in ten minutes. Unfortunately, it was unjustly windy outside (my hair was a wreck), I hadn't shaved, and my clothes thought it funny to bunch up in awkward places. Translation: my pics could pass for Amy Winehouse. I contemplated requesting a re-shoot, but the visions were getting worse; if I didn't hurry up and renew, not only would I miss Hawaii, but I would be damned to stay stuck in Saskatoon for the rest of eternity! AaaAAhhh!
So I threw my cash at the photographer and sprinted out with passport and pictures clutched in my knuckles. Irrationality was taking over -- I swear I heard a greeter shout: "welcome to Wal-Mart, may I see your passport?"
Next up was the government building. These places terrify me... I always feel extremely out of place and unwelcome. Or like I'm doing something illegal. And not to criticize the system or anything, but, well, why the hell do they need policemen stationed at every door? True, they're the oldies who probably catch more gum disease than criminals, but really? And maybe I wouldn't make fun of these old people if they were a tad nicer, but come on. They're grumpy. I mean, ever wonder why majority of adults are angry and frustrated but most grandparents are endlessly nice and sweet and kind? It's because you just don't see the angry old grumps as much -- they're busy trolling these tall brick government buildings.
Anyway, I took the elevator up to the passport office and waited in line. When it got to my turn, Officer Agnid asked what my business was. "Renewing my passport," I replied. Well the rest is a whirlwind of bureaucratic bullshit. I'm first told to fill out a specific form for easy renewal, but then find out that I can't because my previous passport was issued when I was under 16. Therefore, I have to essentially start from scratch because they need all original id, guarantor's signatures, government issued id, $100, a vial of blood, and my first born child.
And you know what I said back to that load of bureaucrap?
Ok.
Honestly, besides blog-venting there's nothing I can do to ease the passport pain. Guess I'll just have to fill everything out properly, bide my time, and do the whole thing over again six years down the road. Getting angry or staying grumpy doesn't solve anything. It just guarantees you a job with the government.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)