Elton John's Silly Specs

I'm very annoyed today, because I didn't get through even half the work I'd intended to do yesterday. The thing was, I had to go to Burnaby to sign a form for my boss, and when I went out to get a taxi it was pouring rain. So, of course, everyone and his dog was in a taxi, and I couldn't find one for a good twenty minutes. By that time I was soaked, and chilled to the bone to boot. I hoped I would escape the dousing with my health intact, but I was not so fortunate--by dinner time, it was very difficult (not to mention painful) to draw breath. I had potatoes to eat, which was a bit of a consolation--garlic mashed potatoes with steak and blue-cheese sauce--but I made the mistake of taking some aspirin with codeine with dinner, and by midnight I was about ready to drop.

I thought the doziness might wear off eventually if I just stuck it out, so I plugged away at Bad Rats #8 for another hour or two. My traitor eyelids had other ideas--they kept closing themselves when I wasn't looking. I went to bed and worked on my current greyscale painting till I fell asleep, Wacom pen in hand.

Stupidly, I left a CD on when I went to bed, and it gave me very odd dreams. Strange, how a story can seem so much different when you only hear the words, without seeing what's happening. I was dazed, dozed, and drugged, and dreaming of Aida. But instead of being set in ancient Egypt, it was set in a modern brothel. Amneris and Aida were talking about some wealthy trick named Radames. Ha--should've put on "La Traviata".

Speaking of Aida, just whose brilliant idea was that, turning it into a Broadway musical? Who did that? Elton John, wasn't it? Bloody sacrilege, I say. Verdi already wrote a perfectly good opera. What's Elton John going to do, improve on perfection? He should improve on his glasses, first. He's the one with the silly glasses, isn't he? One might argue that he repackaged the story for an audience that would never listen to (or admit to listening to) Italian opera, and that it was a good thing to do. One might say that. I wouldn't. I say he's a wanker.

I am still quite zonked today--codeine hangover, perhaps?--but I'm going to see if I can't get some work done anyway. I've got to finish this Bad Rats #8, if nothing else. The whole project is due on Tuesday.

I'll just stop for dinner, then back to work.

You know what, too? I'm going to get dinner from Tony Roma's. So what if the delivery boy hits on me? Delivery boys hit on everyone. I can take it. Bring it on! I am not a wuss! (Well, I am, but I'm going to do my best impression of someone who isn't, tonight.)