Tired, tired, tired.

I kept falling today so I just decided to put in all the psychedelic music I could into my CD player and lay in bed, either sleeping or staring at the wall while on painkillers. I watched the 1977 William Friedkin (the guy who did "The Exorcist") film "Sorcerer", which was a remake of an earlier French film and novel, "Le Salaire de la Peur" (The Wages of Fear). That is one trippy and suspenseful flick. The soundtrack by Tangerine Dream was perfect for my mood today.

Monday was made "golden brown" by a narcotic happy anesthesiologist. My surgery was scheduled for 6:30 AM and things got behind, so it didn't happen until 9:30 AM. In the meantime, my "Ani" figured out how to shape my mood for the delay using some opiates injected into my veins. Boy howdy, did I ever feel brown. I had one moment of extreme sweating, then it was all "bang bang, shoot shoot". We hadn't even got to the real anesthesia yet.

The operation to place my porta-catheter was successful. I was put down to a level of semi-consciousness, but I did not feel a thing. The way I look now is like I've just been shot twice in the chest, then given an alien implant. I can remember the shoving/tugging weirdness of the device being forced under my skin, yet over my muscle and bone. It really didn't bother me much, to be honest.

I went home and slept. I got up and decided to go to the Rush concert no matter what. I had GA tickets with my brother. This amphitheater has reserved seating near the stage, then a large grassy hill behind it. I just picked a soft spot in the hay away from the crowd and laid there watching the show. It was great. Rush didn't play "Working Man", "By-Tor", or "2112", but they did play their new stuff and it was really good. It was nice because I got to hear stuff that they normally don't play live. Since I see Rush every time they hit town it is nice to have a change.

Today I am happy to be coming down, but it has left me weak, as I've said. I don't know how much visiting I will get done tonight because I need my rest. I have my TIGF planned and I think I will not post until then. For now, I will try and visit you all when I feel up to it.

Oh, I want to come up with some T-shirts to sell on here. I need the money to build up my war chest again and this is one of the ways I figure I can do it without feeling a charity case. I had a good amount of savings before all of this started and will get through. However.......

You see, it hasn't only been my health this Summer: my main computer was ruined; my vehicle has required over $2,000 worth of repairs; my 20-year-old niece has divorced and has chosen many self-destructive paths since (including cops finding her passed out and beaten up behind a dumpster and now is under 90 pounds). Honestly, it has been hard all over for me and my family. I have never questioned why during all of this. I just ask, "What shall I do now?" This t-shirt stuff is part of what I want to do, even if it just is for a few people.

I am not asking for anything. This is just what I want to try. I'm also trying to sell off a couple of guitar amps, but you'd need to be local in order to not have shipping be crazy. I think I can get homes for those no problem. I have total faith that I will get through all of this. It's just that I can't stop wondering if some rich white guys, that call themselves Mortimer and Randolph, have made a one-dollar bet on me in some way. A free CD goes to the first person who can say what movie that is from.

Chemo sucks: Featuring a segment devoted to our friend, the dolphin.

It seems that the unpleasantness of chemo has finally caught up to me. My mouth is inflamed and looks red as a baboon's ass on the inside. A few canker sores my ass. I feel as though I've constantly have hot cinnamon oil burning my lips, cheeks, and gums constantly. It kept me up all night.

Also, the nausea has been real fun. The drugs work but basically render you useless. My taste for bacon and pastrami has been ruined forever--it's depressing. The good news is that root beer floats helped my stomach and fire mouth out so much that I have upgraded them to medicinal status.

Tomorrow at 6:30 AM, I go in for surgery to have my port placement done. I have had this day off for quite some time because I was going to see Rush in concert (I know this makes me a geek). I still plan on going no matter how effed up I will be. I will officially be the only person stoned at a Rush concert since 1983.

I just got done watching one of my favorite groovy films of the late '60s, "In like Flint". In part of this movie Flint is researching communications with our friend the dolphin. Apparently, the way you communicate with dolphins is by underwater turkey calling. Later in the film, Flint employs this technique to get a dolphin to help him through the lagoon fortifications of a top secret island operations run by power hungry women. I thought this was really neat. I figure that if I can harness the power of the dolphin that I could overcome any obstacle in my way. Now I just need to work on my use of silly, underwater turkey noises that supposedly make dolphins come to your aide. I can see it now...

Me (stuck in traffic, trying to make it to a doctor's appointment): Egad, what a mess! What will I ever do now?

(One minute later)

Me: Ah-ha! I will call on the assistance of my friend, the dolphin. Bluhbloobalooobalooobabahloooooo!

Flipper Rodrigez the II: Eeeeeee! Eeeeeeeee!

Me: Gosh, look at him direct all that traffic!

So on and so forth, the end.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Calvin's Urinary Habits

It seems like he will piss on anything nowadays. Ever since he lost his job in the daily comics he's hit the equivalent of a child actor doing Celebrity Fit Club.

He's taken his penchant for pissing to extreme levels now. I've heard that he even pissed on the Archbishop Desmond Tutu's silk robe. Dodge, Chevy, Ford, Tutu? This is madness, I say! What will be next, Pat Tillman's image wrapped in an American Flag?

Who knows what's next. When will all his mischief end? All I know is that it really is a demonstration of one's product loyalty and validation of their sense of humor if you put the image of Calvin pissing on whatever it is you don't like. I happen to not like the Smith family down the street from me. Why can't I hire Calvin to go and piss on them while I take photos? Maybe it is all done in photoshop now. There is always something getting in the way of a purely visceral experience with all this technology. Anyway, maybe Calvin and Hobbes could do a porno together full of golden showers and daring wagon rides down treacherous hills--naked, of course. I wonder if Bill Waterson has run out of money yet.

The day after (with excerpt from one of my other blogs)

Yesterday's chemo went well. It was a long day. The anti-nausea drugs seemed to do their job. Part of the chemo burned my veins--kind of like a creeping wasp bite--but I dealt with it. There were people who were in there for the whole day and just going through sheer hell. I was in the infusion room, where I get my chemotherapy, for probably three and a half hours. I didn't get hit hard with fatigue until around 9 PM.

This morning it is all systems go and I am going into work to do some mighty, mighty gold bricking. I could take the day off but getting sympathy from hot secretaries is too much to pass up on.

Okay, I terminated one of my niche blogs. I started it in order to have a reasonably sanitized version of Grunt Ahoy that my 3-D crowd, mostly Mormon, would not have any loss of the Spirit when reading. That only lasted two posts in and then I started offending them, then nobody seemed to give a flying fargk after that. Shit, what's a grunt supposed to do? So, for your pleasure, I will post the best bits from that blog on here on occasion. I would feel bad if they didn't get read.

Here it is:

This line contains no relevant information.

Why didn't Arby's make a deal with "Pirates of the Caribbean" to sell merchandise? To me it was a no brainer.Aaaaaaaaarbeeeeeeeeeez!

My nephew was staying over the other day and said something amusing. He told me, in a very concerned tone of voice, "If I don't have my earplugs when I sleep I will develop mental problems." Even though it was funny as hell I ran straight out to Walgreen's and bought like six boxes of that shit. No nephew of mine is going to be mentally ruined on my watch.

Did I just say shit? Oh no he dee-int!

I'm allowed to say it once in awhile. I have a "Just say shit" punch card. I have other punch cards that aren't sandwich related, too. Maybe I can hook you up. That's three punches, in case you were counting. I'm almost tapped out for the month.

I just used up my "Oh no he dee-int!" punch card.

A short one

Go to the next post if you haven't been here for a bit. This is just a shorty, quickie, a toss in the sock. Tomorrow is a big day, my first day of chemo. I know that I will feel sick after, but I am happy that it will heal me. I am a strong man. Nothing is going to get me down. I am taking my portable DVD player with me and I will be watching two movies: "The Queen" and "In Like Flint". I thought of bringing "The Hill Trilogy", a little Spaghetti Western action there. Anyway, there will be plenty of time to sit and watch the paint dry this time because I will be taking my chemo in my arm until my line is surgically implanted.

Oh, and by the way, I have secured my progeny. I am now paying rent for their little cabin up in Siberia. I am hoping that I can now claim "dependents" on my income tax this year. Is it too early to set up a college fund for my "kids"?

As you were.

Tag, I'm it!

I don't play tag that often. My way of blogging gets a bit thrown off by doing memes and games like this. However, when some of my most favorite pixel pals decides to give me a slap on the ass, I respond with a happy face, albeit a bit blush. Such a pal has tagged me. That pal is Sun Follower.

Well, I've got Christmas cards from her, so I know she really exists. I'm not so sure about all you other people. You still might be figments of my overactive imagination--an imagination that I fuel with Pixie Sticks and cough syrup. It's my anti-drug. Not surprisingly, I tend to wake up naked in the Zoo covered in animal blood every so often. I know the caretaker there. She kind of covers for me.

On with the shoe!

The rulz:

"Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog," Are you popping a stiff one and/or ovary yet? Good.

1. I pick up pennies off of the ground no matter where I am or how disgusting they may be. If a dog ate a penny and crapped it out, I'd be obsessing about the shiny copper piece stuck in the hairy, corn infested butt sausage all day long. My freakin' luck is at stake, fer crying out loud!

2. Once I get behind the wheel of a car I turn into Evil Goofy. If you haven't seen that Driver's Education video, produced by Disney, then too bad. I'm not explaining it for you.

3. I can grow an awesome beard so long as it doesn't require side burns. What in the hell is wrong with me that I can't grow some damn mutton chops?

4. I spent the afternoon and evening of last Saturday with a fellow blogger, a Grunt regular. Guess who it was.

5. I tend to give into superstitious behavior when I really want something bad. Somehow, the rituals that I go through during this time tend to calm me down and I feel in control of a situation that I might have no real control of. In other words, despite having a Bachelor's of Science in Psychology, I don't do shit about this problem. You know what, I don't care either.

6. I have had dreams where I've done Princess Leia's hair. I'm not talking about styling her hair here, but it does involve some hair dressing. Move over Paul Newman!

7. I am always nervously tapping my feet, hands, you name it. I chew anything plastic as well. I straightened out all the business cards today at a receptionist's desk. It's alright. I mean, I only do it for a hobby.

8. Here's a fact about me: I am nice, very nice, but only to a point. Today a tech dude at work overheard a conversation that I was having with a girl about my current health woes and how during all of this my truck is in need of some repairs. Here's what "Mr. Tact" Eugene Axehandleass butt in and said, "The reason your truck sucks is because it's a Dodge, eheheheheheheheh!" Well, I decided that I wasn't going to be nice today; no, not to him. I proceeded to enlighten him thusly, "I drive a Chevy and thanks for ruining my conversation with my friend here." Actually, that would have been the nice way. What really happened was I told him to "go home, douche bag!"

Okay, here's who I tag:
Kayla, because she just had a birthday.
Queu_t, because she is my most dedicated lurker ever.
Serena Joy, because she visits me on occasion and I want her to keep visiting me. But now that I've gone and tagged her she might be sore with me. Please don't go, Serena!
Crystal, because she is about to go on vacation and this will piss her off.
Logo, because she likes to pull my leg and boss me around. I totally let her too.
Clearlykels, because she is ridiculous and humors me by responding so nicely to the odd emails that I've sent her here and there. Oh, and she has a tattoo.
Celeste, because she takes pictures of stuff that pleases my eye. My eyes like to be pleased. Also, did I mention that she kicks ass?
Cora, because her and her husband really have been good friends to me beyond blogging.

If you feel left out it's just because it is late and I only had to do eight. I also picked all girls, and would have love to pick some more, because tag is more fun when you get to chase girls around. It just is.

Okay, go ahead and do it if you feel left out.

Post Toasties

Zebras are stylish, with their striped coats and all. I wonder if the hyenas secretly feel insecure about this.

I've been drinking a special tea that looks and tastes like pond scum. It is wonderful for my immune system, but it is what I imagined felching would be like. Maybe I should try drinking it out of a....or maybe not. Jeez, I cannot believe I almost went there.

Am I the only one that dreams up sexy back stories and love affairs between the Tapatio picante sauce man and the Cholula lady? I think that this should be the subject of a future post. I can't stop thinking how great their offspring would taste on my chorizo con huevos. Did I mention that my brother is Mexican? I still think it was the irrigation man and not the neighbor's pool boy.

Oh, to be out at sea peeing off the side of a boat onto a smiling dolphin. It's been one of those days, sorry. Well, maybe not bad, per se. It's probably more accurate to say that I'd be peeing on a somewhat emotionless sea creature of random choosing. There, I hope that one is less upsetting for you.

I have found that new pillows need a period of time to break in. What you do to get it to the desired state is totally your own business, perverts.

In the wild, ants can be a good source of protein. However, one must note that they are to be taken orally and not up the urethra. Oh, and please don't shove that termite infested stick up your ass either. Fetch...what am I, your mother?

When shaking a black person's hand it is important to note that not all black persons like doing "jive" handshakes. That black person's name is Sydney Poitier. He is a "black" actor, just in case you still need help perpetuating the differences in humankind. I am rooting for the Inuit next Oscars. The Inuit are like Mexicans, except colder.

The End?

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Blazing Saddles (featuring health update)

I honestly don't know what it is about this movie that makes it TIGF!!! This is, of course, TIGF in a good way. We all know that TIGF is capable of swinging any way at any given time. A day's sexual orientation is a tad different. On TIGF we celebrate the good, bad, and the trashy. Ok, enough of the tutorial. You new Gruntonians will catch on soon enough.

One of my sisters told me that the one common denominator with all the gay men she has known was that they all loved the movie Blazing Saddles. When she told me this I said that it was one of my favorite movies ever. After this she proceeded to inquire about my sexual orientation further. Apparently, I passed her test: I came out hetero--not that there's anything wrong with that.

A-har-har!

So, what does it mean that I like the odd Cher tune and own a copy of Blazing Saddles on DVD? Oh baby, you just shut yo mouth; it's just TIGF!!!


(Grunt Health Update):

Okay, my doctor proclaimed me a Stage 2B Hodgkin's Lymphoma. There are four stages total for this type of cancer. This is relieving because it means that I am just under having been in an advanced stage. My chances of recovery are outstanding. However, we are still waiting for the bone marrow biopsy pathology report to come through. That will change my prognosis if it comes out positive for cancer. The chances of that happening are 5%.

I found out some good things about my general health as well. I had a pulmonary function test and I came out 125% of normal. My blood pressure is 112/78. So, despite having a life threatening disease, I am extremely healthy. A bit of an irony there, I suppose, but it will make my fight easier.

My chemo starts Wednesday. I had two chemo plans to choose from: Stanford Five, and the AB-VD. The Stanford Five involves five chemicals given intravenously once a week for three months. It would render me unable to work. The AB-VD involves four chemicals given intravenously once every other week for six months. I would be able to work a modified schedule with this treatment plan. I opted for the AB-VD plan, so I am looking to the end of January, 2008 as my finish line. The doctors are still deciding whether I need radiation treatment as well.

The risks of these treatments is sterility. Therefore, I am getting some of my boys frozen as an insurance policy. Isn't all of this just so fun?

I have one minor surgical procedure left. I am getting one of those lines put into my neck/shoulder area so that the pain of needles and damaging my veins will be eliminated. I can't remember the name of device, but it is the one that sits under the skin and does not hang out of my body. This also reduces the pain involved with the chemo entering the body and reduces the treatment time considerably. My insurance probably will give me a hard time about this one. Fuckers.

I am already having issues with my damned insurance company. The fuckers sent me an "adjusted" deductible for my CAT scan. Well, let's see, the CAT Scan cost a little over $800. I paid a $500 deductible then 10% of the total cost of the scan. I just got a bill for $160. This is the adjustment that my insurance company felt was necessary to keep their profits high and my stress level as well. Fuckers. Fuckers. Fuckers. Lets' do the math, folks! Hmmn...500+81+160=741. The insurance company essentially paid $69. Supposedly, that deductible now covers all the other major tests that I've had and the insurance company will pay 90%. We'll see. I still have two biopsies, a PET scan, x-rays, and a pulmonary function test, that while authorized by the insurance company, payment is not guaranteed. Fuckers^10.

Insurance companies are always there for you when you don't need them. But hey, what are you going to do, USA? It must be real nice to be on the receiving end of this racket. All of you foreign nations: let us fix your country and take care of your people--look how we take care of our own!

Somewhere, a CEO just popped a boner.

(Update on update: I straightened things out with my insurance company and all these deductibles are going toward a $1,000 out of pocket maximum. Supposedly, any other major diagnostic, procedure, or IV medicine will be covered 100% after that maximum is met--for this contract year. I am still keeping my eye on them, though.)

Slowly coming to

Hey everybody! (Hey, doctor Nik!)

I will do a combined TIGF/Update post for tomorrow, but today is just an announcement that I am taking it easy for now and won't be getting around to see all of you just yet. I will, though, so don't think I've gone all diva on y'all.

I do want to say that the new well wishers and readers have really given me a boost. I used to be a mighty blogger, involved in expanding readership and such. I then settled for my little niche and my regulars kept me company enough. Looks like I'm now going to have to put some more logs on the fire. It will be good times.

As for my faithful, you guys are the best!

I drink milk for strong bones!

Today was my first day at the H. Cancer Institute. I used an abbreviation because I don't want people searching for that place to get lost here. Anyway, I had to go for a bone marrow biopsy so the doctors can see if my cancer has spread into my bones.

Well, my level of anxiety was high upon entering this place. This is the first time during this ordeal that I have been around a lot of seriously ill people. These little realizations keep coming and this time it was that, yes, I am one of these really sick people. I didn't get used to it today but I imagine that it won't be too long before I will accept it and feel somewhat at ease.

Anyone that has had a bone marrow biopsy will know what I'm talking about when I say that it is an experience that is painful at times, really uncomfortable, and while not horrific it is not something that you'd want to repeat experience of. That is just an unnatural sensation: having your bone drilled into while you are conscious. You can feel the vibrations throughout your bones as the doctor slowly drills through it.

The most pain I felt was the shot to deaden the bone. The other pain was more of "What in the hell just happened there" kind of pressure and anticipation of things going really wrong. It was painful but nothing compared to having a nerve get clamped by an over zealous doctor taking a lymph node out of you.

The bone marrow doctor dude took three samples of the serum in my marrow and the fun part: a core sample. Why was it so fun? Well, he bent both of the huge core needles trying to get a sample from my right hip (the flat spot where your back meets the top of your butt cheek). The doc has to screw in this big needle that is a tad larger than a knitting needle in circumference right into the marrow to get the core sample. To get the core sample out the doc then has to manipulate the needle by forcing it around until the sample breaks free. The doctor can then pull out the needle and retrieve the core sample. Easy right?

Well, this doctor did not take into account my superman like bones. He bent the hell out of the first needle and lost the core sample. He was amazed and told me that while he's heard of this happening it is really rare and then mostly due to poor technique by the doc. This was the first time it had ever happened to him. He did in fact say that my bones were the strongest that he's ever had to deal with, other than trying to get through calcified crap. The second go around was just lovely. The doc was determined not to lose this core sample this time and I was praying to not have to go through the torture again. He really bent the hell out of this needle but this time the doc finally got the sample.

He showed me the needles afterward and explained that most bone will give way before the needle will. When he asked me in jest about how I got such strong bones I just told him I just drank my milk was all. That and never having worked a job that didn't involve hard labor. He confirmed these two points matter of factly after all the joking was over.

So, if you want to have strong bones, go ahead and drink some milk and become a beast of burden. Your bones will be strong as hell, your muscles sore, and all your joints will be ruined. Just think how beautiful they will look all bleached and on display in an anatomy lab.

I finally found a way to get into Harvard, ma--C-Boy out!

My spirit animal is a bull moose (pay attention to the linkys--they are the best part!)

I don't rightly know how in the hell I came to that conclusion, but I did. Who knows anything about anything? My neighbor George does and we are all sick of it. He better watch his back.

I had a rough night last night, and we all know what that means to a man who just came out as a bedosexual last year. I have got to find out how to not shake like an unbalanced washing machine during the night without looking like little Randy Parker from "A Christmas Story". I bought a great new pillow, knit cap, and dug out my Newcastle United "Magpies" scarf--it takes me right back to those crazy gallows gate nights. I just lay back and sing "The fog on the Tyne is all mine all mine..." until I fall asleep with dreams of a pastel Whitley Bay.

Now that's enough of the linky linky, I believe. If I do anymore I just might sprain my html ligament. It's the same ligament used for one-handed typing, you know. We all can relate to that sort of need.

Back to the moose: So, I spent my first day of "vacation" today up in the mountains. Mind you, I've had to adjust what my vacation is, due to obvious reasons. Anyway, my sister and I drove up to a lake to chill out and take in some Motha Nacho. Seriously, that is Mother Nature's street name. Okay, I just made that one up today. Anyway, It was there that I came within a dozen feet of my spirit animal. Read the title again. There, that wasn't so hard, now was it?

Why the moose? Shit, I don't know. Usually, these animals are mean as a gonorrhea drip and twice as unpleasant if you happen to breathe on them the wrong way. Moose kill more people than grizzly bears or mountain lions. Think of that next time you are thinking of putting a pine cone on one's head and taking a picture of it (Yellowstone Boy Scout Camp, 1989). They are a bit solitary and I don't know if that is a good thing for me right now, but they are strong.

What it was, I believe, was the twenty minutes of sitting on a rock right next to it while it was eating. I coughed and it would then grumble back. He gave me that look like, "I fuckin' kill ya, boyo! But, you ain't a'troublin' me none. Go ahead an' sit on that rock." So, I am not a moose, but that is the kind of animal that I want to channel spiritually.

Well, maybe it wasn't the moose. It could have been that squirrel with the huge nuts.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): When PETA and Benetton join forces

It certainly is ridiculous, but it is more than that: This is TIGF!!! You know what? I dig it. I'm thinking that all they need to really make this photo super TIGF is a ferret playing a djembe drum while wearing an African dashiki and a kufi on it's head. Ah, the united colors of TIGF!!!

I hope that I'm not alone on this one.

Killing time again: featuring a brief public statement.

My cable is out and I am really not happy about that.

What did the elephant say to the naked man? How in the hell do you breathe out of that thing?

Anybody own a bad motor scooter? (Check out the Montrose video w/Sammy Hagar on the sidebar).

Today I felt pretty good despite my health. I have cancer, Hodgkin's Lymphoma to be exact. I just found out on Monday. I've been rather poorly for almost two months. Thought I'd slip that one in instead of making a big deal out of it here. I debated whether I should announce that here this soon. I will find out next week what stage it is in and begin my treatment. I will do a proper post on this later when I have more information regarding my disease. I didn't want to let the remainder of you hang any longer.

I've got to write this paragraph to conceal the prior one. I figure that casual visitors will just blow past the other paragraph. More to come.

Anyway, I am just happy to be here, alive, and just a jaunt through hell back to well.

Randomorama

Why is it that you can feel some people more when they are gone than when they are around you?

Which level of Dante's hell do they shove Brillo pads up into your asshole and light them on fire?

If you say "new direction" long and hard enough, something funny starts to happen.

Which level of Dante's hell does Mark Twain have to start writing children's books? Cook books by Milton, anyone?

I will not stand for such suffering. Here, let me bend over.

The farmer said to the milk maid, "Nice tits!"

So, did they ever find out if Elliott Smith was stabbed by his girlfriend? That would be a hell of a way to kill yourself. By the way, "Between the Bars" is now playing on my I-Tunes.

Pablo Picasso should've done one more painting.

Antarctica is the white supremest of all the continents of the world. Don't let the cute penguins fool you.

Llamas bring joy to a little boy named Billy; which, unfortunately, will result in him developing a rather disturbing sexual phillia. These are the unseen and adverse effects of animal therapy.

Overheard in a rest home: "But, their fur is so silky soft!"

Where you go with that one might take you into a bad place.

I am finished for the night.

Good Eberling!

Well

Keep tuned my friends. I am waiting to get more information first before I go public.

As for whether I'd be Superman or a billionaire. Well, I'm all about x-ray vision and hitting on cute journalists. Plus, I'd already have my own fortress of solitude. Oh, and super friends! Really, though, I have a part of me that likes rescuing people, so yeah, that's a total turn on for me. Plus, I think Superman's farts must have special powers too, so I'd like to find out what those would be.

I guess both Superman and a billionaire wear capes, at least I think billionaires wear them.

One simple question...

Which would you rather be: Superman(woman) or a billionaire? Why?

I'm not going to answer just yet, so as not to influence your responses.

Oh yeah, I've been healing up well and getting lots of rest. Things will work out, I'm positive. I want to say that having all of you comment here and show your support to me has really had a positive effect on me during this time.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Pain, anxiety, and my unruly meatwad now in exile

Hola, gruntonians! It's your pal Grunty. I am in ridiculous pain right now. Why? Because, on Wednesday I had a lymph node the size of a golf ball removed from my neck/shoulder area. They had to go in deep to get the sucker out.

I got to eat popcorn while I watched the show. I was only given local anesthesia, so I was treated to all the fun sounds and sensations that one gets with that sort of thing. I had nerves get hit four times during the surgery and one time my leg shot straight up from the pain. I will find out next week if I am infested with the evil C word--well, if I have lymphoma. It will seem for a time that everybody's talking at me about this and it will be a bit of a pain to explain it everytime to each person.

Fear not. Don't cry for me, Gruntonia. No need to jump off of a cliff for my sake. Whatever happens happens. If it turns out to be nothing, then I will dance a dance of joy and celebration. If it is lymphoma, then I will put on my game face, go through the treatment, and kick this son of a bitches ass! Somewhere along the way I plan on getting felt up by a nurse or two.

I must tell you, a very strange thing happened when they pulled out the lymph node. I could've sworn I heard a voice say something when the doctor started cutting out the node, (with a Brooklyn streetwise tone): "Hey, I'm mutating here! I'm mutating heeeeere!" Then I heard the doc swear that this thing gave him the fangul. It was from there that we decided to name the little guy Ratso.
Ratso is now entertaining conning some medical lab technician out of twenty bucks so he can make it down to Miami, 'cause he said, "I ain't going to no Bellvue!" Where's Joe Buck when you need him?

Talk amongst yourselves. Oh, and yes, the TIGF is there if you follow the links.

Dream #465870

I went to bed running a fever. I knew that if I could remember what I dreamed it would be a pretty far out thing to share with y'all. Well, this is definitely a case of "I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night". Here we go.

The part that I remember was vivid. I was driving down the road and I saw a mother having problems pushing her baby in a stroller. I pulled over and got out to help her. When I got there I asked her what the problem was. She said, "My baby isn't working and I don't know what to do."

I looked around the stroller, then at the baby. I don't know what in the hell brought on the next series of events, but whatever. I told her that the baby's choke wasn't on and then I reached in and turned the little guy's belly button over to "choke". I then said, "Go ahead, try it!" The mother then reached in and pulled on a rip cord and the baby started right up. She thanked me and the baby was all vibrating and making a noise like a lawn mower. It all seemed normal while I was dreaming it.

I guess this means that I am good with kids.

I'm stocking up on marshmallows

Well, unless you have just fallen off the turnip truck, you'd know that Cap'n Grunt makes his home in the arid state of Utah. Right now the total square mile area that is on fire in this state is about the size of the state of New York. The air quality has a smokey quality to it and I can barely see the freaking big-ass mountain range that I live on. No fires are near where I live, but the lower 2/3rds of the state are turning into Kingsford briquettes as we speak.

In case any of you readers have the desire, there is a shortage of wilderness fire fighters. So, there's your call for adventure, high risk, and low pay. Oh, and I hear the ham sandwiches are to die for.

The biggest fire in our state has only 109 fire fighters working it. This fire has consumed an area larger than the Salt Lake Valley. Of those who know how big this area is, can you imagine what only 109 people could do in an area this big, this rugged, and on fire could do?

Needless to say that someone (me) who has had an infected respiratory system is not enjoying the current air quality. I will just deal with it and try to stay indoors.

I am just waiting for some dipshit to light the mountains where I live on fire. It seems to happen every year. Some brainless kid will go up in the dry brush and decide that it is a great place to lay down some cover with "smoke grenades" while playing paint ball. There was a kid just a couple of years ago that did this with smoke bombs. Lit a whole mountain on fire. Guess what? His parents got a six-figure bill for the fire fighting expenses. It actually cost much more than that to fight the fire.

It gets even better. A homeless man burned a stretch of three mountain sides right behind where I live. He just wanted a place to stay during the holidays and figured that starting a small fire would only put him in jail for about 8 months. Oh, he got a place to stay alright: a fuck me up the ass state prison, not a cozy county jail. I still have to look at blackened forests whenever I go up my favorite local canyon. A bunch of dumb asses is what these people are that start these fires. However, living here you know that natural fires just happen.

On the plus side: FUCKIN' S'MORES DUDE!!!

P.S. I finally did something with one of my neglected step blogs. Go to "Grunty's Blogs" on the sidebar, or whatever in the hell it says, and check out "I'm Bill Gates, Bitch!" I know I'm ripping off Dave Chappelle a bit there, so cram it.

Shameless baby photos of Little Gruntie

Check me out in the first frame (left). I was already reading at an eigth grade level. I believe I was reading "Catcher in the Rye". The coming of age adventures of Holden Caufield and his hunter's cap had me riveted. Plus, I got to learn a bunch of swear words that were really bad in the '50s.

In the second frame I'm just jazzed as shit about my freaky yellow teddy bear. It's good to have friends. However, that was one nasty breakup between the both of us. I ended up having to leave him for an Evel Knievel doll and toy motorcycle. That didn't last long because Han Solo really had the right stuff.

In this last photo I was calling all the hot girl babies I could, trying to get as many naked baby photo sessions with them as possible and play a little doctor. Somewhere along the way my family's strict religious beliefs messed all that natural born playa I had in me. I'm slowly recovering.

For fun, in addition to whatever comments you'd like to make, try your hand at making a caption for each of the photos above. It will cheer a guy up who's about to go under the knife.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): I love technology

Strap me down. This schematic for a digital theremin device gets me so hot. I want to play with my NAND gate until my VCO oscillates uncontrollably. I want to overload my quad operational amplifiers until they distort from being way too over driven (some geek will then point out that there are no quad op-amps in this schematic--douche bags). I want to tweak the pitch until it squeals in ecstasy, whooooooo-wheeeeeeee-whooooooo!

What gets you all techno TIGF hot?

Heavy Petting

I was in a line at a restaurant today looking at all of the different people waiting to order their food. I was looking at this elderly man and to me he looked like a fluffy dog. The thought came across my mind that, if I could, I'd pat him on the head until he started smiling and panting. Nothing sexual, I just wanted to say, "Who's a good boy?" and then balance a Milk Bone on his nose. Am I the only one here that has had this kind of thought?

Let's face it: some people look more like animals than proper human beings. That's nothing new. However, there are some people that take on the form of fluffy, loveable pets. Yes, I am weird, but you already knew that. Yet, you still keep on coming here--blame yourselves for all of this enabling.

I was pretty amused by my thought until I realized that one had to still respect normal human rights and laws. You just can't go around petting people and making them chase sticks, yet somehow we think it is hilarious to do that to animals. Even more disturbing is that the thought of a person, seeming to be a pet, being at one time a kitten or puppy. This got me thinking about what kind of sick things we do to kittens and puppies, feeling them up and such. Where are the laws protecting them from perverts who want to cuddle them all over? Are we all just inter-special pedophiles?

I think I carried this thread a bit too far. Is it still not too late to forget that this ever happened?

Here's to a new day (a fave clip from "Easy Rider")

Try it. It's fun!

Njeeek! Njeeek! Njeeek!

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!