On a lark I bought a “Monster Energy Drink” last night. It’s the low-carb kind, and I figured I’d try it at breakfast instead of my usual fat-burner pill.

(Note: the comments form is not a place for you to shower me with criticism for eating this way, so don’t start.)

Like the other energy drinks I’ve had in the past, this one tastes like cold, carbonated soup made with a variety of !food. No surprise. Anyway, I sat down at my PC and found that my glass from last night was occupying the space I wanted to put the can of energy drink into. This problem has two solutions:

1) Carry the glass to the kitchen.
…or…
2) pour the energy drink into the glass, and then throw the can away.

I’m a geek, and a lazy one at that. I took option two, because it conserves energy.

I shouldn’t have done that.

In fact, the first words out of my mouth after pouring the drink into the glass were “I shouldn’t have done that,” punctuated with laughter.

You see, “Monster Energy Drink” looks EXACTLY like urine. Specifically, it looks like the deep, yellow urine you get when you’ve been overeating rich foods, and have not been drinking enough water. You holistic urinalysis types know what I mean — it’s the pee that says “you’re not eating right,” and suggests you pound liquids for half a day or more.

I’m going upstairs to show Sandra my glass of pee. If we’re lucky, she’ll blog about it too.

–Howard “I probably shouldn’t do THAT, either” Tayler

I just got back from a little airplane ride, generously provided by my friend Dan.

Dan, for the record, is my number-one fan, and nobody can take that title from him. You see, he was the first person ever to buy artwork from me. His last name, for the record, is Strohl…

Anyway, airplane ride. I understand that some people love aerial tours. It was nice seeing things I recognized. We circled my house, and I could even tell that Sandra and Patches were in the front yard (I called before take-off and told them to expect me). But the turbulence — even wee little drops and nudges — scares me clear to the core of my obviously yellow belly. Intellectually I have absorbed the fact that bumpiness is not indicative of “impending plummet.” My hind-brain, however, refuses to get on board.

So… it was a tame tour of the valley instead of an extended tour up the canyon and back. Still… I got pictures of my house from 1500 feet up.

–Howard

I’m back. I’m exhausted. I slept in this morning, and then took a nap after breakfast… for two hours.

I doubt I’ll get any cartooning done, but I’m good with that. Today is a recovery day.

–Howard

Yesterday was devoted to preparations for Penguicon. I’m pretty sure I’m ready now. My bags are packed, and they’re in the car.

Oh, and my stomach is threatening to secede.

See, I found out I’m on the “hot sauce tasting” panel, and I realized that I’m not “in training” at the moment. My p-gates are wide open, fully stocked with the neurotransmitter that tells my brain I have something too hot in my mouth.

So chalain and I went to lunch at the local Thai place with Rodney. I was going to order the five-star curry, but we got to talking with the waitress, and discovered that there are actually around 20 stars on that scale. There’s no point trying to train yourself for hot food in one go, and not going for something actually HOT. I had the five-star last week and never broke a sweat.

This time I broke a sweat. I also made the mistake of eating quickly, and not fully chewing all those fresh peppers. Now I’m busy depleting p-trans throughout my tract, which means that this morning my stomach feels like I drank a barrel of boiling oil. Fortunately I’ve been here before and I know that no actual damage is being done — there are some nerves firing, and the signals they send are worrisome, but I happen to know who pulled the fire-alarm.

Punk kid.

Anyway, I’ve just bounced up to about 75% of my usual training level. Bottled hot sauces are not likely to give me any measure of grief come Saturday.

–Howard