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Just a reverse-link test.

Blush, Blush

      A friend of mine who obviously checks out my stats on RateMyProfessors more often-- and surely more frequently-- than I do called to my attention a recent addition which has the Not-So-Good Doctor blushing a bit.   ("My, my, I'm all aflutter....")   I'm trying to remember (a harder and harder thing to do as time passes) the last time I had the c-word used in relation to me, though I'm willing to bet it was probably circa 1976.   Frankly, I just don'ts kna whats ta say, except of course, "Are you sure you were in one of the classes I taught?"

      But, thanks to whatever overly kind person left that contribution, which turned my ugly mug a nice deep red that suggested burst blood vessels.   And, how, oh dear me how, do I have a 75% hotness rating?!?!?   It must say something about what university does to one's mind.

Rest In Peace

      It's hardly the most flattering picture of him, but in a way it's so Jimmy, glass in hand.   With thanks to Ron J for the image.

      For those of you that didn't know Jimmy Habib, one of the Not-So-Good Doc's old cohorts from The Open End, he was one of the kindest and most sincere fellows you could imagine, and he was a good friend.   He'll be sorely missed.

RIP, Jimbo.

So Long Ago, So Very Far Away, or A Portrait Of The Doctor As A Young Idiot

      A rare image of the Not-So-Good Doctor-- before, in fact, he was even called that-- a hundred million years ago. Or, more accurately, 1995. Frankly, I can't decide if I like this picture or hate it; it's certainly not flattering, no picture of the Doc ever being that, but in a strange way it "sums me up," a shrugging, tired, wind-blown and utterly dissheveled figure, strangely placed against the backdrop of history. Strange, too, how much has changed-- and how little. The history, for the record: a day in Montreal during the last referendum silliness.



      Argh. I don't quite know why I'm posting this here. Like most pictures of myself, I probably won't be able to bear looking at it for long, so count on it being removed when I'm feeling a little less philosophical and a little more cynical.

Ch-Ch-Ch-angezzz

      For those of you still bother to check this page occasionally, the Not-So-Good Doctor has shorn his beard and most of his hair. He has, in other words, reclaimed the wildwood, and now looks more like some retarded page-boy than the Green Knight or some brown-haired King Lear. The swarthy Celtic look has now been jettisoned, or, rather, it is on its way there. (There is a perverse pleasure to it: those of us that can change our appearances so drastically can feel, however falsely, like we're regaining years.) I now, apparently, look like I'm in my mid-twenties again, which I find hilarious for reasons that should be obvious. Unfortunately, the lack of fur exposes my ugly-- or, as the kids say these days, "fugly"-- mug more than it used to be beneath my (not apparently but measured, by a curious waitress-friend) 9" bangs. I'll miss the concealment. So, I'm sure, will those that have to look at me on any sort of regular basis. Zelda-Zozo, the real one and not the imposter, will no doubt giggle hysterically at the thought of Doc J looking like a page-boy. This is rather like making Richard Harris resemble Haley Joel Osment. (And people wonder why I hate my face.)

      In other news: a curiosity regarding the matter led me to weigh the cats yesterday, with Trouble clocking in at 17lbs, -3 lbs from his usual of the past Gawd-knows-how-many-years. The weighing itself was the result of this: I knew he felt lighter than he had, and Jenny's tendency to eat like a fluffer at a gangbang had compelled it. Jenny, a month and change ago seeming so slight, has now peared-out to 15lbs, which is typical for any females that enter my sphere of influence and so proceed to eat without chewing. But, Gawd love her, poor Jenny, my hair now so much reduced, has taken to trying to clean my ears, my eyelids, my forehead and my neck now that she has so much less hair to "clean." Given the scratchiness of a cat's tongue, you can probably surmise how difficult this is to tolerate without lapsing into prostrated giggles. She still barely leaves my side, and she's obviously most content when the Doc is asleep or seated, so she can be assured of his presence, if not attention, without interruption. Oddly enough, Trouble used to be like this, but no longer is-- or seldom is unless he can be assured of absolute privacy. He's a proud cat. He STILL thinks he's John Wayne, after all.

      As for the felines, I should mention this: she-- easily-- eats 2 to 3 times what he does in a day, and she'll pry, or try to, into avenues (the green box, loose juice containers, empty plates) that Trouble would never go near. SHE IS A PIGLET, Gawd lub her. She's incorrigable, but she's adorable, even if she has made it perfectly clear that, as much as she warms to others, she is My Cat. Would any woman I've ever known had even a sliver of her sense of devotion-- or loyalty.... Even that sliver might keep me from being as cynical as I am. (In the end, it hardly matters. The Doc loves his girls. He can't help it. Call it a curse. He does. Regularly, and with much profanity.)

      But now, he says returning to a previous point, I wonder how much authority I'd command in a classroom of adults now looking like Doogie Howser's fugly cousin. It matters little. I'm screwed any which way I go. The old man in a young man's shape, or the young man in an older man's form, I'm always-already contradictory. Smarter minds know how to reconcile these things; to lesser ones, the problem can seem Everest-like. Maybe scale is everything. And I was always-already too ***** for myself. Go figger. Ironist that I am, I should have been born into a less-ironic age. Or at least a less-Alanis-kinda-ironic age. Grumble, grumble, grumble. Not only do I think I missed my calling, I missed my time period by decades. Grumble, gru.... Well, you know the rest.

The Odd Couple

      In further tales of feline comingling: it's hard to tell from this image, but these two are actually lying together, and touching. Considering Trouble's innate sense of "individuality"-- i.e., his willingness to tell other animals to fuck the Hell off, with force if necessary-- this is a little surprising, but not entirely unexpected by me, a rare witness to the fact the old bugger actually does have a soft spot that is not his gut. Jenny, of course, is ingratiating herself to him bit by bit, whether the old fart likes it or not. Yesterday, I caught him letting her clean him-- until, of course, Trouble realized I saw this, at which point he ran off and pretended she was annoying him. (She wasn't. Obviously. But that wouldn't jibe with his cranky, macho code, this cat that still thinks he's John Wayne.) Ah, he sighs, thinking back. Come May I will have had Trouble for ten years. Hard to believe, that.

      Yes, I know: I'm sure most of you are getting sick of this cat stuff. Don't worry, it'll fade from these pages-- er, screens-- soon enough.

Virgo Clowns

      Oh boy, this is so hilariously wrong I had to post it here. Let's just parse through the first section:

The past two years initiated a period of long-term and very dramatic change in your life. This trend continues and perhaps even accelerates in 2005. You are like a rocket ship headed for the stars but you're not sure which one you will hit. You are in a very exciting period in your life. Anything can happen. Any dream can come true.

No, no, no and no....

Last year should have been a prosperous one as well. There was much travel, good living perhaps even high living and financial expansion. This trend will continue in 2005.

This couldn't possibly be more wrong.

Love was very unstable in 2004 and this trend continues in 2005 and for years to come. Seems to me that most Virgos are enjoying the instability for it also brings much freedom and excitement. The space between boyfriends or girlfriends is just as interesting as when you actually have them.

Who the Hell writes this shit? "Enjoying"?!?!?! Er, no.

Most important interests in the year head are finance until October 26th; communication and intellectual interests after October 26th; home, family and domestic issues; health and work; love and romance; religion, metaphysics, higher education, foreign travel after July 28th; friendships and group activities until July 16th; spirituality after July 16th. With so many areas of interest it will be hard to keep your focus but it seems to me you are after a wider kind of development this year.

I'll not hold my breath. This year, I suspect, will be as bad as the past seven. But I have to quote this garbage, which is so vomitous that any of you reading this will likely send whatever you're drinking right through your nose (so be warned):

Though you Virgos tend to be conventional, in love you are far from it. You are making friends with and perhaps involved in love affairs with people of different cultures and ethnicities. You have thrown out all the rulebooks in love and are making up your own as you go along. The deep belief here is that you can have love and personal freedom. Many of you are finding this but not for long. Your new freedom and openness expose you to love opportunities in the most unexpected ways. Love can happen at any time and probably does. You are experiencing highs in love that few people ever experience but the lows, the crashes can also be severe. Nevertheless, you are undeterred. You pick yourself up and start again. It's all part of the process.

Oh, this is ripe. The flies are circling from the aroma, the word "undeterred" having a particularly pungent irony to it that's strong enough to cause me to lose my lunch all over the computer screen. Oy vey. The great thing about this stuff: it gets one's sneer going good and strong. I feel like Bugs Bunny, snickering away at Elmer Fudd or Yosemite Sam with the words "He don't know me very well, do he?"