Deja vu is depressing (my computer crashed again)

It was almost the same time last year that I went through this. Yes, my computer go boom again and I am once more forced to break into homes to steal computer time while the owners are away. This is sad because I can't IM or check email when I want, unless I rack up the bytes on my cell phone.

You know what else happened to me about the same time last year? Getting really sick, that's what. Last Summer I had viral meningitis and this time I am fighting off a nasty bacterial infection in my respiratory system, plus I am going in on Tuesday for a CAT scan to see about a lump in my neck. Wheeeeeeeeee!

I have been ill for almost a month now and I am starting to get really frustrated with it. I tried to show my support for my friend today at a car show that he has a couple of entries in, one of them being a superbad "under construction" entry: the 1972 Chevy Suburban that my brother sold him. It is on bags, 22's, and nitrous, with much more down the pike coming. I get there and give a once over glance of the cars and start to shake and spin. I had to go home almost the minute I arrived. I did, however, get to place my vote for his entries.

I am thinking that if this Summer follows the same pattern as the last, expect me to get into an auto accident in August and family suffering from there until November. I also wrote and recorded a ton of songs last Summer, some of which didn't suck. Maybe that will happen this Summer too.

So, here I am, sick and trying not to be caught by the fuzz, typing out this post for my pretties. You'll post bail for me, right?

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Write your own vows for this lovely couple

Since only a handful of you are interested in reading stuff here I thought I'd make it easy on you. Do you best, or worst, vows or blurbs in the comment section--things that you think they'd be saying to each other right now. Maybe an observation, non sequitur, or whatever freakin' bee you got in your bonnet.

My contribution comes in the form of a non sequitur.

Priest: "So, which one of you stinks of carrot?"

A post about a music icon that I like, neener, neener, phbbbt!

Honestly, "You're gonna miss me" by The 13th Floor Elevators has got to be one of the most spine tingling rock 'n' roll songs ever. I'm thinking that it is a toss up between this song and Them's "Gloria". Them had Van Morrison and The 13th Floor Elevators had Roky Erickson.

Now some of you may recognize this song only from the Dell computer commercials and may ask yourselves, "Who in the hell is Roky Erickson and why should I care?" Personally, I could give a shit if you don't. All I know is that I am heavily influenced by his music. His music is definitely not for everyone and his lyrics will disturb you but also can touch your heart.

I did a post about Roky on my 120dBs blog here. That will cover most of the territory that you need to know about it. One thing that I failed to mention in that post was that Roky was first placed into an mental institution in the late '60s to avoid prison time for marijuana possession. The idea was that pleading insanity would be the best thing to do. While in the institution Roky was subjected to horrific and inhumane treatments including the infamous shock therapy. Let's just say that the residual acid in his brain and being a bit outer limits from the start did not a good combo make with all of this treatment. It was in this institution that he formed his first post-Elevators band, which included a man that killed his whole family. Needless to say, this wasn't a band that went anywhere, but when Roky got out in the mid-'70s he started writing and recording music with new bands, such as The Aliens and The Explosives. Here is a live performance from the late-'70s Roky era, "A cold night for alligators", about mutated alligator men who roam the swamps for blood.

Getting on into the next decade, Roky alternated from fascination with the Prince of Darkness and believing himself to be an alien. This performance of the opening theme from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" gives you an idea of the creative madness that he was going through in this period.

Unfortunately, he eventually succumbed to drugs and schizophrenia, which nearly caused him to be lost forever. He resembled a homeless man and was in no shape to take care of himself, let alone perform. One would think that he would become just another acid casualty or cracked genius, like Peter Green of the original Fleetwood Mac or Syd Barrett of the original Pink Floyd. With family members trying to keep him out of absolute destitution of mind and money, it certainly was an unlikely scenario that he would make a comeback. Yet, he did.

Starting in the early '90s, Roky would trickle in and out of the music scene, making a recording here, a performance there, but never leaving his home of Austin, Texas, or the occasional trip to California. His early comeback performances were painful. He seemed to be like a zoo animal for hipsters to throw popcorn at. Certainly, exploitation was going on because he wasn't making hardly any money from his recordings past and present. Now he is sixty and touring with his band The Explosives. He looks great, he looks healthy in body and mind, but most of all, he performs like a motha. It blows my mind that he got his shit together. He was granted amnesty from his younger brother and now is able to do more than just take care of himself.

Here is a clip from one of his performances from his recent tour and on my You Tube sidebar dealy I have the trailer for the film biography of his life that is coming out soon to a local indie house movie shack near you.

I hope you all take the time to humor me and go through all of this stuff. You don't have to like it, just get a feel for this guy and give a listen to the story.

Bleh^10

My health has taken another downturn. It seems that I've relapsed and I'm starting to question my doc's abilities to diagnose me correctly. Like I've told some people already, I feel like an old coal miner ready to bite it. I wish I had the frame of mind and energy to post something entertaining for y'all, but it just isn't going to happen.

I will post stupid jokes, though. You like those, don't you?

The stupid jokes:

Jokey #1:
A new teacher was trying to make use of her psychology
courses.  She started her class by saying, "Everyone
who thinks you're stupid, stand up!"

After a few seconds, Little Johnny stood up.  The
teacher said, "Do you think you're stupid, Little
Johnny?"

"No, ma'am, but I hate to see you standing there all
by yourself!"


Okay, try not to get too much nacho cheese on the
computer screen.  BTW, that stuff is hard on the
nostrils.

Joke #2:

A couple had two little boys, ages eight and ten, who
were excessively mischievous.

The two were always getting into trouble and their
parents could be confident that if any mischief
occurred in their town, their two young sons were
involved in some capacity. The parents were at their
wit's end as to what to do about their sons' behavior.

The parents had heard that a clergyman in town had
been successful in disciplining children in the past,
so they contacted him, and he agreed to give it his
best shot. He asked to see the boys individually, so
the eight-year-old was sent to meet with him first.
The clergyman sat the boy down and asked him sternly,
"Where is God?"

The boy made no response, so the clergyman repeated
the question in an even sterner tone, "Where is God?"

Again the boy made no attempt to answer, so the
clergyman raised his voice even more and shook his
finger in the boy's face, "WHERE IS GOD?"

At that, the boy bolted from the room, ran directly
home, and slammed himself in his closet. His older
brother followed him into the closet and said, "What
happened?"

The younger brother replied, "We are in BIG trouble
this time. God is missing and they think we did it!"


Hoo boy!  That was a good one.  I like to do things in
threes (even wash, rinse, and repeat--that is just
three steps within one process, baby)so here's the
last stinker.

Joke #3:

  A few months ago, there was an opening with the
CIA for an assassin. These highly classified positions
are hard to fill, and there's a lot of testing and
background checks involved before you can even be
considered for the position.  After sending some
applicants through the background checks, training and
testing, they narrowed the possible choices down to
two men and a woman, but only one position was
available.

  The day came for the final test to see which person
would get the extremely secretive job. The CIA men
administering the test took one of the men to a large
metal door and handed him a gun. "We must know that
you will follow our instructions whatever the
circumstances," they explained. "Inside this room, you
will find your wife sitting in a chair.  Take this gun
and kill her."  The man looked horrified and said,
"You can't be serious!  I could never shoot my wife!"
"Well," said the CIA man, "you're definitely not the
right man for this job then."

  So they brought the second man to the same door
and handed him a gun. "We must know that you will
follow instructions no matter what the circumstances,"
they explained to the second man.  "Inside you will
find your wife sitting in a chair.  Take this gun and
kill her."  The second man looked a bit shocked, but
nevertheless took the gun and went in the room. All
was quiet for about 5 minutes; then the door opened.
The man came out of the room with tears in his eyes.
"I tried to shoot her; I just couldn't pull the
trigger and shoot my wife.  I guess I'm not the right
man for the job."

  "No," the CIA man replied, "You don't have what it
takes. Take your wife and go home."

  Now they only had the woman left to test. They led
her to the same door to the same room and handed her
the same gun.   "We must be sure that you will follow
instructions no matter what the circumstances; this is
your final test.  Inside you will find your husband
sitting in a chair. Take this gun and kill him." The
woman took the gun and opened the door. Before the
door even closed all the way, the CIA men heard the
gun start firing, one shot after another for 13 shots.
Then all hell broke loose in the room. They heard
screaming, thrashing, and banging on the walls.  This
went on for several minutes; then all went quiet.

  The door opened slowly, and there stood the woman.
She wiped the sweat from her brow and said, "You guys
didn't tell me the gun was loaded with blanks.  I had
to beat the son of a bitch to death with the chair!"

Jokey #4: Okay, so I lied about there only being three jokes. I couldn't resist.

Three explorers were captured during their expedition in the Amazon by blood thirsty cannibals. The men were bound and brought before the tribe's chief. The chief, upon finding that the men understood their language, offered each man one final request before their demise.

The chief said to the first captive, "Before we skin you, then boil your flesh, you may have one last request."

The first captive replied, "I would really like to see the photograph of my wife and kids one last time before I die, if you could just reach into my bag and get that for me."

The chief obliged.

The chief then turned to the second captive and made him the same offer as the first. The second captive replied, "I would like to have one last cigarette. My smokes are in my front pocket, if you could just get those for me and give me a light."

The chief obliged.

The chief then walked up to the last captive and extended the same offer given to his partners. The third man decided to question the chief, asking, "What will my flesh be used for, and my skin?"

The chief answered, a bit mystified, "Why, I will feed my village on your flesh and we will then build a grand canoe out of your skin so that I may have a vessel worthy of me. So, what is your final request?"

After a few moments of quick thinking, the third captive offers the chief his final request, "I want my lucky fork with me when I die."

The chief replies, "You want a what?"

Cunningly, "Yes...my lucky fork. It's there in my back pack. Please, get it for me."

Chief, curiously, replies, "Get his 'lucky fork'."

The natives search through his backpack and eventually find this lucky fork that the man spoke of. The chief then took possession of the fork and presented the captive his final request. The captive grabbed the fork then held it before his eyes, the sunlight gleaming off of the metal, raised the fork and began stabbing himself all over his body, shouting, "Fork your forking canoe! Fork your forking canoooooooooe!!!"


Ha! That was horrible.

Not Fade Away (Dedicated to y'all)

I'm gonna tell you how it's gonna be
You're gonna give your love to me
I wanna love you night and day
You know my love not fade away
Well, you know my love not fade away

My love bigger than a cadillac
I try to show it and you drive me back
Your love for me got to be real
For you to know just how I feel
A love for real not fade away

I'm gonna tell you how it's gonna be
You're gonna give your love to me
A love to last more than one day
A love that's love - not fade away
A well, love that's love - not fade away

~Buddy Holly

(I think I had to make up for suggesting that I'd quit)

Hello there ladies and gentlemen

Just because I post doesn't mean I have anything to say.

At some point we are all going to stop blogging.

When are you going to quit?

When you get a significant other?

When you no longer need to escape from work, that significant other, or family?

When no one drops by anymore?

When you run out of things to say?

When it isn't any fun anymore?

When both your hands have to be amputated and the voice activated typing dealy can't keep up with all the foul language?

Is it "dealy" or "dealie"?

When your mother takes your computer away?

Because the prison you are captive to stops allowing internet access, so you go back to making raisin wine in the toilet?

Are you afraid to lose people who have crossed the pixel divide as friends if you quit?

Slept with too many of your fan base and it bites you in the ass?

Because your body dysmorphism becomes too great an obstacle and you won't give in to reader's requests to see what you look like, so you quit instead?

Because there is too much blood?

When you are too sick?

When you die???

At some point I will stop blogging, but not right now.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): The "Choose Life" T-Shirt

I think George Michael was straight before putting on this now infamous t-shirt. That's right, his whole life was changed from that moment forward. One moment he is dreaming of starting a family with little Susan Johnson back in home town to holding leap frog contests in rest stop bathrooms.

Moral of the story: Beware the power of the TIGF "Choose Life" t-shirt.

Randomitis featuring a part of my "script"

First off: I'm doing better. I go into the doc's tomorrow to get the lowdown. I think I will get off with a slap on the wrist.

I'm thinking of a number between one and one hundred, and it isn't 11 15/16ths. I eat pancakes there. Roman baby!

I have an idea for a seven-coarse burrito. You start at one end and get the jalapeno poppers then through the meal to the finale: fried ice cream, or whatever shit floats yer ovaries. Hey, I'm just trying to get laid here!

Toothpaste needs to change. I'm thinking that it needs to trick me into thinking that I have a shot at the girl working at the bank, you know, while I brush--kind of like re-programming for those of us who need encouragement. Better yet, I should just go around stalking people, grab them, and then brush their teeth until they love me. Bwahahahahahaha! That will work.

Excerpt from the Summer blockbuster, "The Nightbrusher":

The Nightbrusher (gleefully): "Mama give us the pearly whites?"

Victim #2 (under duress and frothing): "Aaaaaaah, s-stop it, (struggles to talk from mouth trauma between strokes) you fu-urkg-ucking freak!"

The Nightbrusher (perturbed): "What? Colgate not good enough for you? I'm not fucking Daddy Warbucks, you ungrateful bitch. Oh, I've got your Rembrant right here, baby!!!"

Victim #2 (horrified) : "Oh god no! NO!!!"

The Nightbrusher (grinning): "Say ah!"

Think I should shop that script around?

Phew x 2!

I smell rank. I haven't showered today and have just been laying around sleeping due to my health. I had a friend visit and he brought his wife. It was a bit embarrassing to be in my state to have company, but they understood. I have been real lonely lately. I just want it all to be over.

I need some cheering up, y'all. Amuse me with your comments. It's the least you could do for ol' Cap'n Grunty.

TIGF!!!(That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Imma puff for my puffer

I'm so TIGF over my new puffers (that's right, two) that I just suck on them until I reach bliss.

So, the doc listened to my concerns and he did better. I was happy. He said my lungs sounded horrible. Right now I'm being treated for bronchitis, but the blood work will determine just what it is I actually have. It just hurts to breathe properly. I bet there is someone smoking a cigarette and laughing their ass off at me right now.

Anyway, I'm off to go "down" on my inhaler. Laters!

P.S. I changed my You Tube sidebar dealie to Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer". I love that song.

Broke down and beaten...yet, creative.

Going to the doctor's tomorrow. I'm fasting right now so I can get a blood test. I have been coming home from work this week and starting to tremor and feel chill--it's freaking hot and I feel cold! I really don't know what in the hell has been wrong with me, but if my doctor doesn't spend at least ten minutes with me I'm changing doctors. Whatever he has got going on, it seems like he is just in and out and kind of tunes out what you are talking about. I'm going to let him know my concerns about my care.

It's funny how my creativity works. I get inspired from certain positive sources, which I like, but that is rare. I seem to get most of my inspiration from my own suffering. I either get my heart stomped or general hard times and it's all a big hoe down in my brain with music, writing, and shit. So, not one to let the window pass, I am writing and composing some new songs. This stuff keeps me alive. It simply amazes me that people really love the stuff that I do. I'm not used to that.

I had hidden this part of my life for a long time and was embarrassed to share it with anybody. The reason why I was afraid was that the music I set out to create was like my idols: big swinging dick rockers, head music, or surly renegades. What eventually came out was just this expression of frustration (heartbreak), tenderness, and off kilter sensibility and humor. I really thought I'd be labeled a pussy by my friends, I really did. You know, in a lot of ways they are unaccepting of my best music. I think this may be because it conflicts with the image that they have of me. I don't perform for them or let them listen anymore because of it. My newer friends totally embrace it. What does this say about the people that I have called my friends for many years?

I'm done with mass mailings of cd's. I did one mass batch and it was alright, but I just don't have the time to do that anymore. I'm willing to do a few here and there. If you are interested, just email me with your request. I'll see what I can do.

Dream Girl

There is this girl that I talk to quite often. It is only when I dream that I get to spend time with her. The things that we talk about, the way she looks and behaves, it's familiar...she's my soul mate. The problem is that when I wake up I have no recollection of what she looks like. I can remember how great it was sitting there and talking to her. That feeling of pure love and security, it's achingly wonderful. What is all this about? I wish I knew. I hope that if this dream girl actually represents a real person in this world that I get to actually be with her. I'd really be sad if I messed it up somehow.

I go through phases of believing in dreams. Mostly, I don't read a whole lot into them. This one, however, stays with me and is a continuing dream. I don't think they are repeats. I believe we talk about a lot of different stuff. I had a date with her last night and I woke up today a bit broken hearted that it all had to end. I want this in real life, but I'm starting to believe that this sort of thing only exists in the subconscious realm. *Sigh*

400th post

I'd like to thank God, my family, and the neighbor's dog who tells me to do things, bad things.

I'll just have you know that I did not smoke any crack today. Boy, I feel good!

Shame on you for eating the last cookie. That was for your sick little brother. What's wrong with you?

I once got out a bowl to make toast (I posted about it awhile back). Today I got out a plate to have a cereal.

Really, that last Sopranos episode sucked donkey balls. What kind of ending was that anyway?

Have you ever seen someone whose eyes look like that of a Greek statue?

I'm waterproof. Well, to be technical, I am water resistant.

Right now at this moment in time I am not feeling sexy. Ooh, there just for a second I felt dangerously sexy. Aw, now it's just back to normal.

Favorite lyric at the moment, courtesy of the group Sparks, from album Hello Young Lovers, song "Chicks dig metaphors": "Chicks dig, dig, d-i-g, dig, dig metaphors. Use them wisely, use them well, and you will never know the hell of loneliness."

I had a Siamese twin once. He was imaginary, my shrink told me. Well, if he was imaginary then why did it hurt so bad to get rid of him?

Clocks are ticking and ticks are clocking. That was just fun to say, phbbbbbbt!

I dig sitting in my room with certain articles of comfortable clothing on, lights off, and strumming my guitar while just singing random words.

I wore socks today because the mood was in need of socks. Normally, you just wear socks because that is what the man tells you to do. Not me! I live from moment to moment, man.

Dust settles on the window seal, coating a dead fly in an ashy powder. I dare you to snort it.

Ray Gun Amber, thanks for asking me what I had for lunch back in high school. It seems to be one of the few good memories that I have of that time in my life. Remember when our algebra teacher drug me out of my desk and threw me against the lockers outside the classroom because he thought I was chewing tobacco in class? That moment always brings Pink Floyd to mind. I hated it all. You'd think that if I hated it so much I would have done just well enough to not have to go to night school. On the other hand, I did learn how to sling a butterfly knife and use nunchucks there. Night school rocks!

It is getting late and I must go to sleep. This 400th post is just another post. If I were writing my novel instead of this blog, I could be finished by now. I hope y'all are happy. Aw, c'mon, I love ya!

I'm playin' Scary's Punchline game an' you can play too!

Why does the easter bunny hide his eggs?

Update: Here is the link to Scary Monster's post that describes the game: The Punchline Game. The punchline to the joke posted above is in the comment section of Scary Monster's post--it's my second comment.

P.S. I updated the You Tube clip on my sidebar. It's Gilbert O'Sullivan in his early "schoolboy" days before he made it big with his poodle hair and cardigans. I do like "Alone again, naturally" from his poodle years, but I must go with this gem, "Nothing Rhymed". I lament the production arrangements of the string section that seemed to accompany a lot of good songs like this one. I like strings when done less schmaltzy, but with this song especially, I would love it if it were just Gilbert and his piano. In my own music I borrow the core of songs like this, of Nick Drake, and Harry Nilsson. It is funny because you should hear what I sometimes listen to versus what I write and compose. Check out the band Dissection if you think I'm just a big wuss. On second thought, it's probably best that you don't. Just ask Vera about it.

TIGF (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Pink Pearl Erasers

Ah yeah, there's nothing like a good rubber, as the English would say. Pink Pearl is the one that got me through my school days and I owe many thanks to my pink little friend--the eraser, ahahahahahahahaha! Seriously, I'm not that small.

My little pal "Pinky" helped me rub one off during one of the most colossal tests in high school: The ACT (SAT to you others). This is a transcript taken from the hidden surveillance system in the testing center, squarely focused on the biggest threat in the room for cheating: me!

Me: "Ah shucks! Why, I can't seem to figure out what 'An Eldorado is to an aardvark'. 'As a frankfurter is to a Catholic School Girl'? Maybe I should just put down 'B' again. Yep, there we go, filling in that 'B' circle baby. It's totally 'As a masochist is to a tether ball post.' Yep!"

My little friend Pinky: "Like OMG!!! That is so wrong, hon. Oh heavens, where do I even start? Here, use me to take care of that No. 2 atrocity. Oh lord, you are pressing way too hard. Lighter and with more flair in your wrist, sugar sack. Hahaha, I am so your bitch right now it's not even funny! OMG, look at the way that girl is looking at us right now--she's totally getting off on us. Ooooh, stop it! Ok, ok, I'm almost there. Oh my! Oh my! Ahhhhhhhhh!!! Ooooh, look at the mess I left on the paper. You are either going to have to blow it or wipe it off, tee hee!"

Ah yes, that is exactly what happened.

Just some stuff that fascinates me a great deal

The documentary "Harlan County USA" is one film that I am totally enthralled with every time I see it. Films about real people, with real people, and real events unfolding as filming is in progress, it doesn't get any better than that. I am utterly fascinated with the struggles of the coal miners, both their job and trying to unionize. So much bloodshed and oppression has gone on, yet you never really hear much about it anymore. We just flip on our light switch and go about our business like everything is just fine.

"Matewan" is another film, not a documentary, that deals with this subject. It is one of my favorite films. It goes into great detail about the start of all the bloodshed that went through the coal belt in the '30s, where the power companies that ran the coal mines hired gun thugs to terrorize the miners and their families.

My grandfather Vern (read about him here and a bit more here) worked the coal mines starting at an age where kids today would not even be thinking about sprouting short hairs. He was a part of a coal miner strike where they were trying to unionize. The miners, including my grandfather, had brought their guns and lined both sides of the canyon entrance to the mine to try and block scabs from getting through. The town sheriff came up to break things up and was shot dead by one of the miners. It got out of hand after that.

My grandfather gave us a couple of the guns he used to have on him during that time. They are too old and worn out for any safe use now. I'm glad my grandfather decided not to join in the violence that day, and in fact, he recalled that most of the men he knew didn't try to hurt anyone that day. It was just a crazy situation and many ethnic groups were involved. Communication problems between Greeks, Italians, Irish, Welsh, and many other seemed to only exasperate the problem. Thank goodness that things didn't get way out of control.

If you get the chance, put these two films on your DVD (which ever one you have) waiting list. If this stuff interests you it will be worth your time.

My brief stint working at Taco Crime (about a week ago)

I've mentioned my love for tacos many a time on this here blog. Take that metaphorically or literally...hell, I just take it. Anyway, I was visiting a friend of mine a couple of cities away from mine and was checking out the progress of the "Banana Wagon" (1972 Chevy Suburban)--the truck he bought off my brother. Well, he has that thing slammed into the weeds on bags and 22's, now featuring NOS!!! There will be small block Chevy shrapnel to go around this Summer for sure. We got hungry after all our wrenching and headed off for tacos.

Taco "Crime" is next to an auto parts store where we were heading, so we lowered our standards and went there. At least it wasn't Taco "Hell" low. First thing I see when I get out of the car is a big freakin' muskrat about the size of a beaver (insert Paris Hilton joke here). It gave me that "wha the fuh you looggin' at?" look and then came at me--encouraging, very encouraging. After stomping my foot a few times, the rodent got the message and ran off into the river. I thought that was going to be the thing that would be the highlight of my day. I was wrong.

So, here I am ordering my damn heart attack wrapped in tortilla form. The dude who takes my order walks out of the store and drives away. I don't think I pissed him off. Did you piss him off? Anyway, suffice to say, the rest of the crew looked a bit semi-gloss in the brain department. I could tell my food wasn't going to get made.

After about ten minutes of waiting for a freakin' soft taco and Mexi-fries, I shouted back to their grill area to make my g-damn food. I think the dude that bailed was their manager. I know what goes into the soft taco because I eat the damn thing often. I literally had to tell them what to do: put fries down and what the orders were from waiting people. I have worked those jobs in the past, so I know what kinds of things needed to be done. It would have been pretty fun/hilarious if I were not hungry and not doing it gratis. The best part is coming.

I get my food, wrapped, but no tray or to go sack. I explained to them that I wanted it to go and the girl just sat there looking at me. I said again, "You know, in a sack?" Get this, she goes all the way back to the stock room and gets a sack for me and just lays it on the counter. I bagged my own groceries, er, food. There wasn't a Mexican to be found. I would have at least had some kind of signs of life, if there were. Communication isn't always the best with illegals, but at least they work hard and try for the most part. Tweaked out teens need to be sent to some kind of meth-kid ranch to roam around freely and without pissing me off.

I should have just drove around until I found a taco cart or roach coach.

Hobbled, still holding

Friends, I have been dealing with really bad physical pain lately. It got to the point where I seriously found my state of mind being profoundly affected by it. I am going to be taking it easy.

I am trying out some orthopedic insoles that might correct some problems that I have been having with my hips and lower back. Giving up a physical job might be what I need to do for my long-term health. I have been this kind of handy man for so long that I really feel out of place anywhere else. But, I need to find out something else to do that won't have me on my feet all day, being in odd positions for long periods, and lifting heavy objects. There goes my dream of being Oprah's private gigolo.

I was tempted to do a lot of things that would not have really helped me out in getting rid of this pain. I would have been relieved of pain in the short term, but ultimately paying a higher price. I can see the why some fall into the trap of abusing prescription painkillers, other than pure recreation.

I really think that I can take some measures to get through this without resorting to painkillers because I still feel that my body is young and not damaged enough so far. The insoles and back brace for starters--corrective measures. I need to stretch more often, something that I used to do when I was a skier. I need to take breaks and time off. I need time to heal instead of always sacking it up just to keep my rep intact. I really don't feel like the people who take advantage of my dedication would be there for me if I were to be out of work due to a disability. Really, fuck them with a flagpole. They just seem to like the fact that I make their lives easier.

Oh, go ahead and tell me I'm wrong about the last part. You know you want to ruin a perfectly good rant.

I don't think this will effect my blogging too much. So, you are not getting rid of me that easy. Bwahahahahaha!