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The EP looked through all the event monitor charts I’ve transmitted so far, and didn’t see anything particularly unusual. But he was looking for fast palpitations–basically tachycardia–where I flag anything that “feels weird.” If he’s not alarmed, I can only assume everything is “normal for me,” and move on, right? He wants me to come back a week after I return the event monitor. I don’t expect he’ll find anything odd, since I haven’t had any episodes since the 27th of September aside from lots of PACs and PVCs which are apparently insignificant.

So today at 8:30am, I had an MRI. It wasn’t as bad as last time, but it sure seemed louder somehow. The machine was much more recent–sporting a fancy LCD embedded into its doughnut badness–yet in the advancements it contained, apparently none of the engineers considered integrating sound dampening to avoid permanently deafening patents enclosed entirely within its grasping confines after repeated exposure to proximal squeals resembling a drunken hobo occasionally plucking the same frayed string on a “sweet” electric guitar he found jacked into a defective amp incapable of any setting below 100 decibels. And that was with the questionable headphones which conveyed sound through some archaic, almost steam-punk technology literally involving tubes muffling some insignificant fraction of the inescapable din. I was done at 11:30am. Hey! Only 3 hours! I’ll be invariably pestering them daily for a disk containing these gruesome movies so I can inflict the misshapen horror thrumming in my chest upon my friends and family.

Hey Congress? Fuck every last one of you worthless shit-eating cock-mongers and the crippled, tumor-riddled horse you raped to the tune of Let the Good Times Roll while simultaneously flipping off a bus of nuns with a composite hand constructed entirely from freshly butchered kitten heads.

Ugh! Fine, I’ll write something! Geez.

So the post-hurricane monsoon eventually hit Illinois and dumped copious amounts of fluid upon our hapless suburbs, and a friend of ours has an aunt and uncle living in dangerous proximity to a lake. Most of Saturday afternoon on the 12th was spent moving their furniture to the second floor and sandbagging his house, and we didn’t get home again until around 1am. Nothing really notable happened, but I was highly amused by the garter snake seeking high ground on a recently arranged sandbag; thankfully I didn’t step on any wildlife while wading through the knee-deep miasma back to Jen’s car.

There’s a lot of debate in application development circles over various sundries such as column naming schemes and framework implementation details. Well, I’d like to clear all that up.

See, there are more application frameworks than grains of sand on the entire planet Earth, and each one of them has a different philosophy and API for creating database objects. Rails, Django, Turbogears, Zope, Zoop, Drupal, Catalyst, Nitro, Nuke… holy fucking Christ, stop it already! Apparently each individual person who glanced at a programming book last week thinks that language is the epitome of cognitive design, yet is incapable of operating a search engine, so decides to shit out an application framework collecting his or her various insights and pet peeves into a pulsating monstrosity that inevitably and mysteriously gathers followers, like an insidious cult.