Can’t really think of anything good to say, so instead I will proved status updates on PDR for everyone who follows his life:

Hey, remember how I was fighting a particularly tenacious wart on my left index finger? Well, as of January I have been able to say that I have won that battle. I suspect that I could have had that wart beaten at least six months earlier. I suspect that what I was dousing with Compound W for the last few months was not the wart but just callouses left by the constant warfare. Go figure.

I doubt I ever got around to mentioning it on this site, but another battle I have been waging for a few years was this melody I had a slight memory of but I couldn’t figure out what song it was from. Well, I finally figured it out. It was “You Won’t Dance With Me” by April Wine. Probably the reason I couldn’t find it sooner was that I was certain the song I was looking for was from the 50s. Oh well. I know better now.

Haiku!

You can’t break an egg
Until you tell it some lies.
That’s just how it works.

Final PDR update. I am pretty sure I am a werewolf. Hairy shoulders. Mammal. Sometimes I see the full moon. It all adds up.

And that’s that.

So, last week I totally got an extra half of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup in my pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

See?

Do you see?

As you probably know, since Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups are awesome and everyone should know how they work by now, the average pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups comes with three individual Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. The pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups I bought last week had the normal three Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and an addition half of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup! You can kinda see how the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup on the right was a little bit damaged by the extra half of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup which was smushed into the package with it.

Now it is unfortunate that sudden and unprecedented confusion for me on how to get the pictures from my camera to my computer delayed me a week in sharing this amazing news to the loyal public, but sure I couldn’t make such a claim without photographic evidence. People would assume I was just making it up for the fame. But I feel the announcement is not so abated because nothing else of interest has happened to me in the interim to mitigate its importance.

I got an extra half of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup everybody!

Usually Patrick D Ryall does not make New Year’s Resolutions. This year, he is going to go against that trend. This year: Patrick D Ryall is making a New Year’s Resolution! Alert the newsmedia! Do it quick!

Are you prepared?

You had better be, because here it is:

This year, Patrick D Ryall is not going to buy ANY nails! None! At all!!!

THIS YEAR, I WILL NOT BUY ANY NAILS!

You may be in shock. Probably you are. Just take a deep breath and sit down for a while. Remain calm.

So, here’s a post that I’ve been thinking about doing for almost a year now, but being really bad at Internetting I just haven’t got around to it until now. Anyway, here goes:

Some guy at work recently called me “Pat”. Of course, by recently I mean about a year ago. It was a guy who works in a different part of the company whose name I didn’t even know, so his calling me Pat just struck me as being off somehow. I mean, lots of people call me Pat, but it is usually people who I now better. Often times even people that I’ve known a long time prefer to call me Patrick. This, I assume, is because if I am ever asked my name or if I ever have to sign something or introduce myself I will, without fail, call myself Patrick. I have often had people ask permission to call me Pat before they start to do it. Like “Do you mind being called Pat?” and I have to say “No, I’ve been called worse.” or something. And it is true. I have been called plenty of things (Some things I have been called: Patrick. Pat. P. PDR. Patty. Pappy. Peder. Pee Doctor. Doctor P. Pudrig. PDFNR. Pat Smear. Patroclus. Peacock. P-Cock. Patty Cakes. Mother Theresa. Patrick Rydol. Patrick Drywall.) So anyway, I don’t know why I found it caused me pause to hear this work guy call me Pat, but it did. I guess the moral is, I’m complicated.

On the topic of being named Patrick: I don’t like meeting other people named Patrick. Never have. I believe this is a problem that has mostly to do with my name being common, but not too common. If I were named Chris or Adam or Mike or John or some generic name like that, I’d probably be used to running into Homonyms. Or if my name was something really obscure, like Ordob, Wibbung or Hamham, well then I’d probably be so surprised to find someone with the same name that I’d actually like it. As it is, I’m just at that point where I don’t have to regularly deal with other Patricks so I don’t build up a tolerance, but I do encounter them often enough to be bothered. I guess the moral is, I’m complicated.

I was thinking recently about the times I’ve been in the hospital. For my own benefit I am going to try to make a list of them. I’m going to go reverse-chronologically, because I’m working on my tachyon impression.

• About two years ago, I think (so 2006ish) I crushed my hand in a machine at work. Hours later the bleeding had not stopped and when I got to ER, I found out I’d lost a fingernail. Not a terribly long wait time. Some X-Rays and some poking and I got called a very good patient. It did take the convincing of like eleven people at work to get me to bother taking that trip. And even then I didn’t go straight from work. I went home to check my email and got a slice of pizza before I finally walked to the hospital.
• Around Summer 2001 I had what appeared to be blood in bodily functions that blood is not supposed to be a part of. It was my mother’s idea to get it checked out at the emergency room, plus I got to miss a day of work (I was a security guard then). So… this trip was essentially me getting probed in those certain regions. I remember making lots of jokes that the doctors and nurses either didn’t get or weren’t paying attention to. I don’t remember the wait being too long and the problem went away on its own immediately after that with me never actually getting an answer what caused it (though the doctor mentioned that some cereals have dye that can look like blood when it comes out…) More importantly I remember we decided to stop at KFC on the way home from the hospital and they were out of chicken. No fooling. Also when I called my employers to tell them I’d miss a day, they demanded I get a note from the doctor. They never came to get the note from me and I think I still have it around here somewhere (I keep it because like a week later Kip wrote his medical opinion of me, “Yer ah jackass!” on it).
• Another time, I think I was about sixteen, but don’t ask me to figure out what year that would have been, I was taking out the garbage on a snowy day and slipped in the ditch and twisted my ankle. I remember my brother asking me if I was okay and, being embarrassed I just told him to go inside. I literally crawled up the stairs to the house and eventually went to bed. I lived in the basement back then, so the next morning I again had to literally crawl up some stairs to get and my mother, seeing this, brought me to the hospital. I remember being impressed by the fact that when they saw me limping my way to the door with my mother’s help some orderlies greeted me with a wheelchair. I suppose that they do that stuff every day, though, so they know what they’re doing. The wait this time was really bad. Hours of sitting in that wheelchair and waiting. I got some X-rays but nothing was broken, so it was ice and not using the leg. Made sense.
• Junior High I got a weird rash one day. It was all over my legs. I don’t remember all that much of that particular trip, aside from the female doctor seeing my junk. I do remember that the rash was because of something which Sounded like “Hypo-purple-itis” and that made sense because the rash was purplish, but of course I don’t know what the thing actually was called.
• And once a very, very young PDR had some manner of dehydration and actually had to spend a couple nights in the hospital. It was over the holidays and, the way I remembered it growing up I missed Christmas. I have been assured though that I was actually home at Christmas and it was New Years Eve that I missed. I guess my child-mind equated not getting to play with all his (no doubt awesome) presents as essentially missing Christmas. The only important thing to come out of this is now, when I get a physical and they ask if I’ve ever had a stay in the hospital I have to answer about this vague thing instead of just saying that I’ve not.
• Also, my understanding is that I was born in a hospital. I’m taking other people’s word for that one, though because I sure don’t remember that. And you’d think you’d remember something that important.

So that’s that. The stuff of future medical textbooks.

Tachyons are the one that move backwards in time right? Am I making that up?