No one asks "why not?"
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Lolcats, now without the lols
I can has cheezburger
I can has... cheezy vectors
I can has... cheezus christ
I can has... cheezy vectors
I can has... cheezus christ
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Start the Weak drawing
Likenesses have never been my strong point, so I really need to practice drawing them.
The trouble is, when it comes to thinking of people to draw I can only ever think of two people: Andrew Marr and Lily Allen, and I've tried to draw them already (here and here).
Still, here's another quick crack at Andy.
The trouble is, when it comes to thinking of people to draw I can only ever think of two people: Andrew Marr and Lily Allen, and I've tried to draw them already (here and here).
Still, here's another quick crack at Andy.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Daily Draw: 18.02 - 11.02 + Marrow stuff
No blog posts here for four weeks. For one week at least I have a half-decent excuse: I was SAVING A LIFE. (For the other three, I was sitting round in my pants watching Not Going Out on iPlayer).
It all started about five years ago when I signed up for the register of the Anthony Nolan trust at the Bristol University freshers fair. They had a stall nestled in between the Circus Skills Society and the Pottery Society (both of which I also joined).
And just as with juggling and pottery, nothing happened. Then one day, I got a call. Someone, somewhere had leukaemia (probably) and would die (possibly) unless a stranger like me would help them, for I was a match (you don't know the details). It's hard to say no really: once you've done the donation they give you a complimentary memory stick.
And so, after a draining catalogue of blood tests and blood re-tests, I did the donation. Marrow donation now is not like the old days though, or even like it was just a few years ago when you lay on your front and a surgeon went into your back with a pneumatic drill. The new, easier way is to have five days of injections of stem-cell stimulating hormones and then on the fifth day to go in to hospital and get hooked up to a machine for an ominous sounding harvest. The machine is an apheresis machine, essentially an extension of your circulatory system, with in-tubes and out-tubes placed into your arms and between these a giant centrifuge which spins your blood round and harvests off the excess stem cells you've been making all week before sending the rest back into you.
Here's me hooked up. I was like this for seven hours. I watched a lot of Mad Men. Now whenever I think of Don Draper I get a dull ache in my right arm.
So it was easier than the old days, but even so it wasn't quite as easy as I let myself believe it would be. Either I reacted badly or am a complete wuss, but the injections kicked the shit out of me. The lower back pain (basically in the pelvis, where there's the most marrow, all working overtime) was all-consuming. It's weird though, without the usual mystery of unexplained suffering or the more familiar self-loathing induced by self-inflicted suffering and the knowledge that it would all be over in a few days, the agony wasn't so agonizing. I couldn't really do much: couldn't work, couldn't read, couldn't walk, couldn't talk, but it was kind of okay (most of those things I don't do much anyway). Afterwards for ages I felt as if I'd just come back from holiday. It was like a holiday to the land of sickness, and as a tourist it was kind of interesting. Really made me glad to be back in the land of the alive and well though.
It all started about five years ago when I signed up for the register of the Anthony Nolan trust at the Bristol University freshers fair. They had a stall nestled in between the Circus Skills Society and the Pottery Society (both of which I also joined).
And just as with juggling and pottery, nothing happened. Then one day, I got a call. Someone, somewhere had leukaemia (probably) and would die (possibly) unless a stranger like me would help them, for I was a match (you don't know the details). It's hard to say no really: once you've done the donation they give you a complimentary memory stick.
And so, after a draining catalogue of blood tests and blood re-tests, I did the donation. Marrow donation now is not like the old days though, or even like it was just a few years ago when you lay on your front and a surgeon went into your back with a pneumatic drill. The new, easier way is to have five days of injections of stem-cell stimulating hormones and then on the fifth day to go in to hospital and get hooked up to a machine for an ominous sounding harvest. The machine is an apheresis machine, essentially an extension of your circulatory system, with in-tubes and out-tubes placed into your arms and between these a giant centrifuge which spins your blood round and harvests off the excess stem cells you've been making all week before sending the rest back into you.
Here's me hooked up. I was like this for seven hours. I watched a lot of Mad Men. Now whenever I think of Don Draper I get a dull ache in my right arm.
So it was easier than the old days, but even so it wasn't quite as easy as I let myself believe it would be. Either I reacted badly or am a complete wuss, but the injections kicked the shit out of me. The lower back pain (basically in the pelvis, where there's the most marrow, all working overtime) was all-consuming. It's weird though, without the usual mystery of unexplained suffering or the more familiar self-loathing induced by self-inflicted suffering and the knowledge that it would all be over in a few days, the agony wasn't so agonizing. I couldn't really do much: couldn't work, couldn't read, couldn't walk, couldn't talk, but it was kind of okay (most of those things I don't do much anyway). Afterwards for ages I felt as if I'd just come back from holiday. It was like a holiday to the land of sickness, and as a tourist it was kind of interesting. Really made me glad to be back in the land of the alive and well though.
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