This is a recent short hike that I went on. It is up a canyon directly above where I live. It takes less than five minutes to drive to the trail head and about twenty minutes of hiking to reach this place. So, this is a nice, quick trek that I do quite often and I thought it was about time to share it with you all. This particular spot also has petroglyphs on a rock wall left by the native tribes in the area before the settlers came. The figures are simple and faded, as you can see, and most likely represent the mule deer of these mountains. Also, as mentioned in one of the videos, one of my friends fell down a portion of a waterfall in this canyon. He was trying to climb up the rocks along side the waterfall and his foothold was covered in dried moss. His foot was slightly moist and the combination of the moist shoe and moss led him to slip and fall. The falls where he fell are more like a death slide than a straight drop and he was stopped when he hit some rocks. That is a much longer and better story than I have time to tell here, though.
I also fell off of one of the smaller falls above the lower, big waterfall when I was only eight years old. My brother about shit himself because he thought I was going off of the big one right after the first drop. But, I clung to some grass and dug in my heels until my brother could get a tree branch down to me and pull me out. The area is nice, but you really can't mess around too close to the creek because of the steepness of the walls. Anyway, this is just a little something for you all until I can live a more interesting life and blog about that.
I wish, just for once, my life could be like a movie of my choosing. Really, I think I would like my life to be a cross between It's a Wonderful Life and KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park. My life seems to have hit a big slump, is what I'm saying. So many extreme things have happened to me that my life has resembled a movie, I guess. But those movies suck and usually tank at the box office. Anyway, I'm having a moment of regret about parts of my life. When I do this to myself it isn't good. What purpose does this self bashing do? Maybe I like it. Yes, I'm sick like that.
Forget you read this post and go watch the smoking baby on Youtube. Toodles.
Although he may not exist in real life, the world needs him: The Hiccup Man. His hiccups never cease. He uses his super-megaphone to broadcast his message in major metropolises around the world. "HIC! HIC! HICCUP!! HI-COUGH!!! THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH! HICCURP!!!!!!!!"
Oh, you probably thought that he'd cure your hiccups or something like that. Yeah, that would be cool too. I guess he could just sneak up on people and scare the shit out of them and have a ready supply of paper bags. It makes sense that he cannot be cured of his hiccups because he must have some sort of tragedy that caused him to be the way he is. I think it had something to do with a warm Dr. Pepper and witnessing the murder of his parents.
There's this guy that I have the misfortune of working with. He is not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. This last week he was talking to another co-worker and told him that he was going to save a bunch of money by having his kids home schooled. He explained that he wouldn't have to buy his kids as much clothes and would save money in not having to drive them to and from school. He then explained that when the teacher that the school district sends, comes to teach his kids at home, he can work day hours because he won't have to be there anymore.
I like birds. I had a set of parakeets (collect all twelve!) when I was young. There was something about them that I understood better than dogs or cats. Well, it seemed that they understood me more. Anything that can produce interesting songs and noises catches my interest.
On Sunday, I was in a parking lot sitting in my truck. The window was rolled down and I was checking out the view of the snow pack on the mountains. Then this finch flies up to my side view mirror and is checking me out. I really thought this was neat. It stayed there for about a minute and then flew over to my bed box and was checking me out from the rear window.
Today I was fixing sprinklers and had a pigeon as a companion for three hours. This little guy would walk right up to me and peck around. It would then fly away for a bit and return to me and hang out for a bit longer. This was the routine that the pigeon kept for that period of time.
It was the celebration of my triumphant breakout from my mother's womb on Saturday. Yes, this is further proof that I am hopelessly weird. I can't say that I did anything particularly exciting for my birthday. I did find a cool new Mexican joint. I saw Iron Man 2: Electric Bugaloo. I went to my favorite vinyl shop and picked up a set of J.S. Bach's complete Brandenburg Concertos. The set is an original pressing from the early sixties--mucho grams and high fidelity. The set lists for $150 but I got it for $30. Classical music usually gets over looked and, therefore, sits on the shelf longer. You can find these gems heavily discounted--if you are into that sort of thing.
I did get a lot of happy birthday wishes from my facebook buddies. I guess that counts for something. The depression was mitigated, at least. I bring about a lot of my own loneliness. This is behavior that I picked up from my dad. The times when I need people the most is when I typically run and hide. It doesn't make much sense. I get this sensory overload and as hard as being solitary can be at times, it can be calming too. I think I made this sound bad. I'm just trying to do an honest post here. Well, I'm not always like this, just so you know. Spending time in my dark cave and shouting at the walls is only fun for so long.
Here's something that happened to me last Friday. I was coming home from work and I pull into the duplex driveway, whereupon I am met by my neighbor's alcoholic son. He looked like he was in dire need of some help, so I rolled my window to see what could possibly be the matter. That's when he shoves something brown and wet into my mouth, shouting, "What's wrong, too much salt?" I got rather angry with the guy and asked him what in the hell he thought he was doing. He then accused me of giving him a dirty look and called me a son of a bitch. He then apologized and then asked, "Maybe it was too much vinegar." If you are still wondering what the brown thing was, it was a mushroom. Yes, my life is one long funland adventure ride.
Don't ask me how I managed to kill a rat with a lawn mower, but I did, and without knowing it. I tried to mow the lawn right before the sun went down. About halfway through it started getting dark and I had to rely on my spider senses to finish the job. I had my Ipod set on stun, so I could barely hear the mower. Well, I get out today to head out to work and look down on the lawn to see a big ol' rat laying on the lawn all chewed up. True and gruesome to boot.
Check out the latest incarnation of my Black guitar. I had to ditch the Squire neck (shown below the guitar) because it just didn't fit my hand well enough and the back bow would never allow the setup of lighter gauge strings. I picked up the all maple neck that you see in the picture from a company that does Fender licensed replacement necks. While it did require full fret level, crown and dress, setup, and a nut install (hee-hee), it feels right and is super solid. Maple fret boards are brighter sounding, but are much faster in feel--slick. Plus, I like the plain headstock without any logos. I'm the same way with my t-shirts.
I'm having a retro crush on this lady lately:Of those who know a bit about Grace Slick know that she, unfortunately, went bat-shit crazy and turned into a scary old lady. But this is a retro crush, people. I personally like the original version of "Somebody To Love" from her first group, The Great! Society, a hair better than Jefferson Airplane's. They're both great, but the original had a slower tempo that had a bit more swing to it. It kind of reminds me of Shocking Blue's song "Venus"--the one that was covered by Bananarama.
I once learned from aCheech and Chong record that it might be possible to see God if you play Black Sabbath at 78 speed. Someone on Youtube was gracious to do something else with this old gem from Focus. I think it might summon the demon Santa Claus.
It's official! I am now a great uncle. But, I have come to this post unprepared. I have no pics to post. Anyhooter, his name is Corvin and is about the cutest little man I've ever seen. Details to come.
There was this coach that I had in junior high named Coach Downs. I feel bad that I don't remember his first name. I often wonder about this guy. What were his dreams outside of physical education? Did he ever want to be a famous writer, actor, politician, or, maybe, a singer? I can see him doing an album of Perry Como, Johnny Mathis, Tony Orlando, and Andy Williams covers, simply titled, "A Touch of Downs". He would have his hopes dashed when people fail to understand the witty athletic word play in the title--most of the public assume that he is just mildly retarded. The cruel irony is that he unwittingly becomes a celebrity out of pity because of his "condition", then soon after exposed by Oprah to be an imposter and not a 6'11" singing retard. Yes, these are the inner thoughts of a genius.
There's this Asian restaurant out in West Valley called Wa Me. Without fail, I succumb to my inner dork and shout "Ya You!" There is also an Asian supermarket near this place called Tay Do. I always imagine Buckweat as the greeter there.
Peter O'Toole, in the film The Ruling Class, said something to the effect that when he prayed he eventually realized that he was God because he was, in fact, talking to himself. If you like loony movies, that one is required watching.
I've been getting into some strange folk music from the late '60s-early '70s. I thought that I'd share a bit with you. This song is dedicated to Vera.
I wonder what kind of painting my blog friend Julie S. could interpret from this song.
My dad turned 80 on Easter. I gave him a book for his present. The book is titled, "How We Die". Fortunately, he got the joke.
If I were a mad scientist I would like to genetically engineer a few things just for my own personal amusement. I think it would be pretty far out to mix a cat with a rabbit--a "cabbit", if you will. It would have the body and legs of a rabbit with the head, fur, and claws of a cat. The other animal would be a chimpanzee sporting a dog's head, personality, and coat. I think that many women would no longer desire to have offspring if such an abomination were to be conceived. Just think if your Labrador could come up to you and grab your hand while eating a jerky treat like a chimp would eat a banana? I think your ovaries would explode. The weird part for men would be that this creature would not only sniff your crotch or butt as a greeting, but would be holding your testicles or spreading your cheeks as it did so. Creepy.
Face it: Nutella is really just a fancy name for "chocolate nut butter".
That is all for now.
BTW, I had my two-year cancer free milestone today. It was made official with a rather extensive set of tests and exams. I barfed after having lunch because my anxiety level was so high. Lamb curry, Diet Coke, and tiramisu does not taste as good coming out as it does going in. Lunch was between my PET/CT scan, labs, and my physical exam with my oncologist. So, I was still in the dark at that point about my results. I wouldn't have been so wound up if my health didn't get off to a bad start this year with the bout of pneumonia that dogged me for so long. The symptoms were so similar in some ways that I had to really fight hard to keep my sanity in check. So, this big milestone was greeted with trepidation on my part, not knowing for sure if I had relapsed. I didn't: the scans were great and my overall health was good. I do need to work on a few things and my doctor is aware of the amount of physical and emotional strain that I've been through with my grief, so I was given a nice bit of counseling from her. I promised to cry "uncle" if things got too hard for me this time around. Maybe I can start having a life. I think I am allowed.
This is a momentous post. Too bad I don't have much to say. I was even having these really profound thoughts today. This is why I shouldn't blog when I am really tired.
If you all want to watch a really funny and extremely weird Japanese film from the late seventies, seeHausu (House).
I get no respect from the new lady tenants. They like to have their friends park in my spot. They give me these looks like I'm some kind of weirdo untouchable. And to think that I fixed their washer machine. Screw them! I'm going to unleash a raccoon in their place and hope that it gives them rabies. I'm then going to tell my neighbor's alcoholic 55-year-old son (of whom I'm quite fond of) that they want to play catch with him--he's quite obsessed with baseball, being quite the athlete in his day. The first time that he yells at them for being "too good for him" they'll promptly move out.
I'm convinced that it is me in many cases and not other people. Why else would they have happy lives and I am still just a "curiosity"?
Some days I want to live in the hills, away from people. This thought doesn't last very long because there are still plenty of people that I wouldn't want to be without in my life. I don't care how difficult and unappealing to the masses I become, I'm not ever going "full hermit". I just wish there was a permit that I could get to allow me to legally throw shit at people that annoy me.
It's easier to be left alone, now that my youth and good looks are gone. Seriously, I've done some comparisons to what I looked like three years ago and now. It is depressing. My reward for fighting so valiantly through these recent trials is to look like an overweight hobbit which suffers from gigantism. From now on I am confident that I will no longer be taken for serious consideration as a sexual object or for jury duty. I will now have to open myself up to the fetish community and start wearing flowing robes for comfort purposes.
After you are done with either laughing at me or pitying me, I am going to start getting myself in shape for hiking season. I've located my old Nordic Track skier in the storage unit of the damned and I have already ordered and received the necessary parts to fix it. I'm hoping to at least achieve a level of fitness that will get the old crazy woman at the bus stop to start noticing me.
I believe the term I have used in the past is "flupee" for how I have been feeling lately. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go catch a raccoon.
There are things that I am quitting. Most of you probably think that it is this blog. It isn't, although a mercy killing has crossed my mind on occasion. No, not blogging, but I don't feel as prolific as I once did in this area. I can live with this.
I was put on medications the summer after my cancer treatments ended. I was going through severe anxiety and depression because of my doctor's feeling that the cancer had come back. The medications served their purpose. I felt better. I also noticed that other negative aspects of my emotional reality had gone away or had been lessened to a manageable degree. This was great. After awhile, though, I have noticed that some very brilliant parts of me are now burnt of a more hazy luster. My desires and ambitions seem lost. My genius bogged in the peat of chemical regulation. I'm quitting the drugs and seeing what happens next.
A project of mine caught fire in my room today. It is a vacuum tube hi-fi that I started building for my brother a few years ago. It has been tucked away in my closet for some time and I thought it was about time to finish it. Well, I can say this: it isn't working, but it sure is exciting to turn on. I told my brother that I had installed pyrotechnics in the amplifier for the sole purpose of playing our KISS records. He didn't buy it. Oh well, it is still salvageable. I will need to post pictures of it when I get it working.
Hot dogs and baloney, or bologna for the more sophisticated sandwich aficionado, are the same damn thing! The only difference is that one accidentally got flattened under some meat packer's boot and violà , baloney. I'm talking conspiracy here, folks, possibly of Oscar Mayer proportions. At the very least, we are at a Hormel level meat alert. These same corporations, or "Big Meat" as I call them, also think that they can pass off baloney that got peppercorns stuck in it as salami. Oh, the humanity! Hey, one other thing, why can't you peel off that damn red thing around my lunch meat? Sometimes I am too lazy to do it myself and I've ingested the ring on occasion. Was this the real cause of my cancer? I say, probably, with a chance of hardly, but "yes" all the same. It makes me feel better to think so. I still can't quit you. Stay gold and meaty for me, my loves.
On to other things.....
I am such a good, good boy. I did my taxes while I have been off of work with the nue moan yah! As for the pneumonia, I am better. I don't know how much better I need to be, but I am doing pretty damn fine. Work awaits: The Grunt needs his monkey job. Besides, if I am not there who will my boss watch work?
If I am going to be able to read entire novels again, I need to hire a helper monkey to poke me with a stick every time I start to drift off.
If you are a server/waiter and want to get bigger tips take this tip from me: limp.
Are you aware of the so-called reptilian alien master-race that has infiltrated the highest levels of society? Me neither, until I have had the time to waste on Youtube this past while. My advice to those who are in fear of these shape-shifting creatures: Befriend Eskimos and join the Polar Bear club. Remember, reptiles are cold-blooded and probably would not be involved in these social circles. If they did, just look for the person with the most coats on. Bingo! There's your reptile.
This has been your weekly blog post. This is Theodore Grunt the III signing off. Thanks for your continued support.
I just received this photo of my sister Bonnie and her boyfriend Jack from him. This was taken when she was healthy and happy at a charity event. This was the life that I envisioned my sister having again after rehab. Of course, as you have all read on several occasions, the outcome was not as we had hoped.
The reason for this post is not that I feel I need to keep living in this tragedy. I write this post because it helps me grieve. It helps me to see that my sister was happy and beautiful and not a horrific addict or corpse. It is also important, I feel, to show that addiction can take down anybody and is not a respecter of persons.
The final death certificate was released for Bonnie. This waiting to find out how she died and why had a great deal to do with my heavy grief. I have felt enormous responsibility for the events because a brother is supposed to be there for his sister. I wasn't there at the very point that she needed me the most. Of course, this feeling has nothing to do with the constraints of reality, but it is the feeling that I have had to deal with nonetheless.
A mixed intoxication of Zanax and alcohol caused my sister's death. It helps to know this because I was worried that she might of suffered while she passed. I also worried that she committed suicide. It shouldn't matter because of the duress she was under, but it helps me to know that she wasn't intent on leaving me behind. The biggest help of knowing is that this was something that could have happened even if she was staying with family. My sister had a habit of mixing alcohol and her prescriptions. Whether it was to get more loaded or just carelessness, it doesn't matter; it happened. I couldn't have stopped this from happening. The simple fact is that she probably had no idea that she was dying and simply drifted away.
Bonnie had a hard life. It wasn't easy growing up in my family. All of us kids have had our own ways of medicating. Some of us overcame it and some of us still try to fill that hole. I am starting to see, that despite her disease, she really was a role model for me. She took the risks that she felt were going to lead her to a happy life. It doesn't matter that she fell during her journey--she fought the whole way. Knowing this is healing.
I am no longer funny. Funny looking, maybe, but not hi-larry-us. I do have my off the cuff moments still, but I cannot craft much of the funny anymore. It's not that my outlook has become bleak after surviving cancer, trying to help my sister in her strive for sobriety, losing her, and all the other seriously hard stuff that surrounded it all. My reality has shifted in a way that I cannot explain.
I have accepted much of what has happened; although, I do find it inconceivable at times that my sister is dead. I have this weird sensation, that spelled out, sounds rather pessimistic on the face: There's not much in this world that really matters. The weird part about it is that this feeling is rather liberating. Now, only if this feeling came with a pension fund.
I'm probably talking out of my ass here, but I figure that being able to talk out of my ass in any language is pretty remarkable, fuck!
Wow, my life has been a bowl of cherries! Yeah, that "cold" that I got three weeks ago has been officially diagnosed by my doc as pneumonia. I was starting to wonder why my lungs were getting all stiff and hurty. Actually, the whole experience resembled the symptoms of my lymphoma and it made me feel a tad paranoid. Anyway, I am feeling better since getting some much needed antibiotics and rest. I hope to be finally done with this crap soon.
There's this lady who can't get herself a man because she is very ugly. She decides to consult a fortune teller to see what the future holds for her and see if there is any hope that she will get a man. The fortune teller sees something and proceeds to tell the woman that she will have many men in her next life, as she will be quite beautiful. Somewhat distraught by this prospect, she is determined to end her lonely life and get on with her next incarnation. So, she finds a bridge spanning a big river and jumps off. Without realizing, she falls safely onto a pile of bananas on boat. Still dazed by the fall she excitedly shouts, "One at a time boys! One at a time!"
I swear that I am going to sell off some of my musical gear. I don't like the fact that all signs are pointing to me becoming a hoarder, if I don't act fast. I always say that I am going to get rid of stuff and then I look into those puppy dog eyes of my gadgets and let them stay. Please, God, help me.
My Netflix queue is sending me a bunch of foreign films. I know that I was the one who put them on the queue in the first place and that I could change the queue. But I feel like it is my duty to carry out the viewing of my queue as it has been initially organized. It is fate, I feel, that made me choose this queue. However, I am getting weary of reading movies now. On the plus side, I can act like a film snob, having viewed most of Ingmar Bergman's films. Yeah, that will get me laid.
Also, as mentioned in one of the videos, one of my friends fell down a portion of a waterfall in this canyon. He was trying to climb up the rocks along side the waterfall and his foothold was covered in dried moss. His foot was slightly moist and the combination of the moist shoe and moss led him to slip and fall. The falls where he fell are more like a death slide than a straight drop and he was stopped when he hit some rocks. That is a much longer and better story than I have time to tell here, though.
