ER

I passed a number of patients on gurneys as I walked just to the left and behind the hospital employee. She led me to an open area which had space for about six patients. She pointed me to a spot and opened the curtain a bit where I saw the lady who I first met 14 years ago this summer.

She was conscious, but had a neck brace on. I don't know about you, but it's not a pretty sight to see a loved one in such a contraption. A couple nurses were asking her about the level of pain she was experiencing. She was throwing out numbers like 7 and 8. I noticed some bruises, or burns perhaps, on each of her hands. It was then that she was able to tell me a bit about what had happened.

She had just purchased a combo meal from Mickey D's (with a chocolate shake, no less) and was on her way home. She was stopped at an intersection. When the light turned green, she accelerated and was immediately sideswiped by an SUV (my wife was in a sedan). The airbag immediately deployed, but she was able to get over to the side of the road so that no one else could hit her. She gave a brief report to police before being sent to the hospital.

When the nurses completed their assessment, my girl was shipped off to Radiology where she was to get X-ray'd from head to toe. I spent the time reading a book called "Leaving the Saints". It's about a woman who quit being a Mormon when her definition of God exceeded that of the church, not to mention because she'd been abused as a child by her father, a prominent Latter-Day Saint.

She returned about 30 minutes later and we waited for the results of the scan. The nurse said she had something for the pain my wife was experiencing; it was something called Tordol. The RN said the potion would work faster if the needle was put into her upper thigh. She said it was gonna hurt as she stuck it in. As my girl grimaced, I said, "It'll be worth it".

A short time later, I headed for the bathroom and noticed an Asian lady spraying some aerosol into a restroom. I commented, "That's your favorite part of the job, isn't it?" She smiled. I also stopped by the gift shop for a few minutes where I got a blast from the past. They had a number of Invisible Ink books called Yes and Know.



I remember my mom buying them for me as a kid to give me something to do on road trips. I was tempted to buy one, but felt it could wait, happy enough at the memories that it brought back.

As I returned to the room where my love had been placed, I noticed that she was stationed in Acute Care as opposed to Critical Care. No wonder I hadn't heard anyone screaming; I was in the boring section. "Grey's Anatomy" wouldn't have lasted six eps if they'd focused on those in this area.

My wife's tests came back and she had no breaks. The worse injury she sustained (other than having to see my ass for at least a few years more) was a strained ligament in her right thumb. This and the burns she sustained were actually from the airbag deployment. She was fitted with some new-fangled device called an airbrace. Damn, her injuries came about from the airbag and now she was supposed to be healed by an airbrace. Well, I guess if air caused the injuries, it would only be appropriate that it be used to heal them. She was discharged about an hour later and all was well.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to the shop where her car is at to pick up some items that she might need (sunglasses, garage door opener, Backstreet Boys CD) as it's ascertained whether the car is totaled or not; most likely, it is. I had to chuckle when I saw her McDonalds's combo still sitting on the passenger seat, uneaten. I couldn't resist bringing it home and setting it on the kitchen counter. My wife asked why I did this. All I could do was smile.

The Call

I was getting ready for work yesterday afternoon when I received a call from my wife; she'd been in a car accident, the car was totaled, and she was being ambulated to the local hospital. I said I would be right there. I quickly wondered how badly she'd been injured. The fact that she was speaking was a good sign.

I notified work that I wouldn't be able to come in. I set some food out for the pets not knowing how long I'd be in hospital. Next, I brought along a book that I'd been reading just in case there was gonna be some downtime while there (a quite likely possibility).

As I prepared to leave, I realized that this would be an excellent opportunity to put my spiritual beliefs in action, specifically, that nothing happens that isn't supposed to and that all circumstances are avenues for growth. I was able to stay relatively calm as I drove into the city. I was listening to a prank call CD during the 10-minute drive. I did laugh at one point while listening.

I passed the area where she said the "accident" took place. The police were still questioning people and I saw her car parked on the side of the road with a number of owies (the "mishap" happened just 9 blocks from the hospital). I found an above-the-ground parking spot and walked to the ER as the sun brightly shone. I walked in and waited in line to speak to an ER attendant.

A few minutes later, I gave an older hospital employee my wife's name. She said that her name hadn't shown up yet. A minute later, she said that it had, but that no room had been assigned for her yet. She told me to wait a few minutes and I would be called when a room was ready. I was a tad nervous, but mostly placid knowing that what happened had happened (that's what they say on "Lost") and that there were only two ways in which to deal with the aftermath: either with fear or with love. It was just then that my bowels released.

Kidding. I headed over to a computer and thought of a website to visit while I waited. It took a good minute before I settled on Facebook. I was tempted to go to my wife's page and write "---- ---- was in a car accident", but thought better of it. I took a look at my Facebook news feed and found some relatively inconsequential statuses, so headed to my favorite movie website. Just then, the older lady said that my wife's room had been assigned and, after giving me a visitor pass, led me there.

Eating Turkey Makes You Sleepy

I browsed through a book yesterday called "Don't Swallow Your Gum! - Myths, Half-Truths, and Outright Lies About Your Body and Health". It debunks a number of common misconceptions that many people hold to be true.

One is that we only use 10 percent of our brain. If this were true, it would not be a big deal to hurt various parts of your brain. In reality, you will be affected by damaging almost any region of your noggin.

Another is that you should shit (or poop, for the more sensitive among us) at least once a day. Constipation is actually defined as having less than three movements in a week. This reminds of something amusing I witnessed at a psych ward a number of years ago. I was visiting a patient there on a regular basis and each evening, the patient would be asked if they'd had a bowel movement that day. Some of the nurses would just go up the person and say, "Did you....?" Talk about embarassing, for both parties, I gather.

Course, we all know that cold weather doesn't make one sick. Vitamin C was also debunked at being able to keep a cold at bay. Another classic is that men think about sex every seven seconds which is patently ridiculous. This would translate to thinking about sex over 57,000 times a day. That's about as many times as a person breathes while awake. Someone thinking about sex that much would be incapable of performing any other tasks.

There is also a persistent belief that eating at night makes you fat because it doesn't give you any time to burn off those calories before going to bed.



I know this isn't a truism as I eat the bulk of my calories after 9pm. I have several food items, in fact, every night just before going to bed; typically a Smart Ones pizza, a couple Oreo Cakesters, some chips, and a Nutri Grain bar.

Time Well Spent

There are those who say that life would be better if we didn't have to sleep, that those extra eight hours could be spent in much more fulfilling ways. I am not one of those people. The dreams I had last night should shed plenty of light on why this is the case.

In the first sequence, I was walking on some steps in the early evening and started talking to a lady whom I worked with about ten years ago. She began talking to a woman who I recognized from junior high and it was just then that I noticed a lady who I'd had a crush on as a 12-year old (She was now a late 30's adult). She was making her rounds for the night which consisted of skiiing over various hills to get to her work location.

Imagine my joy when she asked me to accompany her. The two of us talked as we headed to her work site. Once there, she showed me the task she'd been assigned. It involved melting ice blocks with some type of torch. She asked if I was interested in a similar vocation. I declined, but mentioned how much fun it had been to spend time together. Waking up, it really felt like we had chatted each other up and made a connection, something that's not very plausible in the real world.

On my next sojourn, I was outside the house of worship that I went to as a child. Someone asked me to come in, but I was a bit nervous. I somehow knew that it was 1986 and by that time, I was no longer involved in the organization. Just then, I said to myself, "It's not 1986, it's 1984!"



(Yes, that is Steve Jobs pictured above)

With my conscience soothed, I entered the building and talked with a number of people I hadn't seen in quite some time.

The last stop was a house in which I was able to spend some time with my Saint Bernard, Brandy, the one who passed five years ago this summer. I got to hold her, squeeze her, whisper in her ears. It was all very real to me and, therefore, easy to understand why I woke up in such a good mood.

If I was given an extra eight hours to spend each day, it would most likely be spent in front of various rectangular devices (the TV, the internet, cell phone). Those kinds of things are a poor substitute, in my mind (pun intended), to experiencing lifelong dreams come true in my dreams.

Cool Explosions & The End of Suffering

Because of my high-school fainting spells, I had to steer clear of Biology classes in college. That didn't leave a lot of options when it came to getting my science classes in. I took a couple classes in Geology in my first year or two of college, but it was awfully dry (pun intended).

I heard through the grapevine that there was an older dude who taught Chemistry and actually made it fun (I was only able to pass Chemistry in high school because of the ridiculously generous curve Mr Johnson gave us). Word was that he was quite humorous and had really cool small explosions that he enlightened the class with. The name of the course was Chemistry Appreciation. I decided that if I got in over my head, I could just drop the class.

On the first day, I found a seat and waited for the professor to appear. Just then, there was a burst of smoke at the front of the room and he appeared amidst it. I felt like I was at Hogwarts, if it had been invented back then, that is. Oh, who am I kidding? He arrived like every other prof usually does.

The first day of classes is always interesting in that you never know if the teachers will be a joy to learn from or insufferable bores that will be a slog to make it through the quarter with (Semesters weren't adopted until a couple years after I graduated). Fred Foss had a great sense of humor and must've been in his late 60's or higher. He said that he planned to live a LONG time, that the best revenge is to outlive others. He mentioned that there were strategies one could use to help make this possible, not least of them, whiskey and a broad.



Seriously, he said that he'd not been sick in many years and one of the reasons he believed this was so is because of the high amount of vitamin C he ingested every morning. Back then, I caught a cold or flu at least a few times a year, so was more than willing to give his suggestion a try. I wound up buying a bottle of vitamin C that had 500mg tablets, significantly higher than what the FDA recommended (I believe Foss took an even higher dose).

Time passed and Mr. Foss performed many of the tricks, I mean, illusions, I mean experiments that I'd heard about. He made Chemistry more fun than I thought possible. And as the months passed, I did, indeed, get sick much less frequently: It should also be noted that I never get the flu shot.

When I hear that others are suffering with a cold or the flu, I sometimes opine that it wouldn't hurt for them to up their intake of vitamin C. It mostly falls on deaf ears. I'm not sure if they don't believe that it will work or are just of the mind that suffering is next to Godliness, but I always shake my head when I hear that there are bugs going around as they never seem to strike me.

Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned

Have you ever done something that you know you shouldn't (like looking at the reflection of your ass in the toilet bowl)? One afternoon in the early 90's, I was walking on 3rd Street in my hometown. I passed a phone booth (remember those?) and something caught my eye. I turned around and went into the booth. There was a wallet inside. I took a look around to make sure no one was watching and opened it. There was more than one hundred dollars inside!

I looked at the guy's ID. He was a twenty something college student. He must've called for a ride the night before and was so wasted that he forgot his wallet. The wheels started turning in my head. I knew I shouldn't, but decided that if I could get away with it, I would. I was most afraid that someone might be watching me, so hesitated for a minute or two. Finally, I decided to go for it. I took da moolah out of the wallet and put it into my pocket. I got an adrenaline rush and walked relatively quickly back home.

I got home and looked at the cash. This was extra money. I could do anything I wanted with it. I mostly treated myself with it, went out to eat, bought cassettes. I assume the wallet itself eventually found its way back to its owner (I just left it there). If that happened to me now, I'd turn both the money and the wallet in to the police or place an ad in the paper (remember those?). Back then, however, I was a poor, somewhat morally compromised college boy. Sometimes I miss those days.

Ambiguity

I just finished reading Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert, a tome on why it is that we tend to suck so hard at predicting what will make us happy. One of the many interesting things I read in the book had to do with events that we can't make sense of:

"If an event defies explanation, it becomes an mystery or conundrum and if there's one thing we all know about mysterious conundrums, it is that they generally refuse to stay in the back of our minds. Filmmakers and novelists often capitalize on this fact by fitting their narratives with mysterious endings, and research shows that people are, in fact, more likely to keep thinking about a movie when they can't explain what happened to the main character. And if they liked the movie, this morsel of mystery causes them to remain happy longer."

Two of my favorite movies from last year (A Serious Man & Up In The Air) had endings in which I didn't know what was to become of the main character (Up In The Air's ending was just that), but did I chastise the movie screen for this?




Nope, it only added to the allure. Another fave, 2002's Unfaithful with Richard Gere, ended with Gere in his SUV in front of a police station contemplating if he was going to turn himself in for an accidental murder or leave the state with his family.

Sometimes I try to fill in the blanks and say what I believe the character wound up doing. Other times, I just smile and say, "Hey, that's the way life is sometimes". Like the author says, these types of endings almost always cause me to think more about the film than I typically would. I'm aware that there are those who get frustrated by unresolved denouements. My advice to them is to stay the hell away from indie films and stick with the lowest-common-demoninator stuff.

Love & Joy on a Spring Evening

The time has come for me to discuss the concert I went to last month (this was where I saw the TV monitors that were placed over the urinals; I wonder if the women has these as well or if they were shit outta luck). Way back in 1993, I was friends with a cool girl named Candy; it was platonic, she had a boyfriend at the time. While visiting at her apartment one evening, she placed a cassette in the stereo she had. It was by the Indigo Girls.



Back then, I was exclusively into country music, but something about these two dames and their silly folk music appealed to me, so it wasn't long before I bought the cassette myself.

A couple months ago, I was in the break room at work and saw that the Girls were gonna be in town in late April. I was not at all familiar with their music post 2002, but after thinking about it some, decided that I'd like to see them if I could get reasonably good seats. Tickets were to go on sale Friday morning, but I was working that day. What to do?

I noticed on Ticketmaster's website that there would be a special pre-sale for radio station listeners. I headed to the station's site and got the password. The pre-sale had been going on for about an hour already, but surely the seats still open would be better than what would be available on Friday. I was able to get a seat in the 9th row on the floor. Not bad. Being Ticketmaster, there were a shitload of fees, but hey, it's better than going downtown and getting them.

A couple years after I got into the Girls, I found out they were lesbians. Some chick in a college newspaper had mentioned this. For years, I thought they were a couple until I recently found out that they have other partners, not each other.

It was so nice to be going to a concert in town, no driving to the Minneapolis area. I knew there would be a lot of women at the show, probably some lesbians as well. As I prepared to enter the concert hall, I saw my old psychiatrist, Dr. Smick; she had started prescribing me happy pills in 1993, the same year that I first got into the Indigo Girls. This is what Carl Jung would call a synchronicity. I guess it pays to be a doctor as she had front row seats. I also noticed a lady in the front row who used to be a co-worker of mine. She said one day, a couple years ago, that she'd seen the Girls in the Twin Cities the night before. She was a repeat offender.

Overall, there were about 2 girls for every guy there. In the lobby, there was some kind of thing that one could sign up for to get a GLAAD-type publication. And, indeed, there were quite a number of gals who favored the fairer sex there. As the show progressed, a lady in front of me put her arm around the woman next to her. On my left, a young woman put her hands on the lap of the lady she'd come with. Whenever the Indigo's alluded to being gay, there was a cheer that came forth from the balcony as if to say, GirlPower!! (here's a link to illustrate what I'm talking about). This, I thought, is the way it should be, people expressing who they are and loving whomever they wish.

Who Wants To Be A Millionaire

I talked to a man last night who is of retirement age. He mentioned that he makes less than $25,000 a year. My first thought was, "Wouldn't it be nice if he had a little more money to have at his disposal in his twilight years?", but then realized that there are very few things that one truly needs to live a fulfilling life.



The person making $100,000 a year in their 60's may have a nicer bedroom set and a kick-ass TV, but I would think that, at that age, the most precious resource is time. Time to just put one's feet up, relax, maybe have a Cristal. Many of us spend a lot of time thinking of ways to maximize the amount of money we have saved for retirement, but regardless, we all have our social security money to fall back on, not to mention medicare for our health needs (U.S. residents only).

In our pre-retirement days, we seek to save as much as we can, but once we hit 65 or 67, do we still keep it up? Do we assume that we're going to make it to 85? There are many who pass mere months after they retire. How much do we want to risk leaving on the table? You gotta feel for the rich folks. There's something's wrong with a person dying with more than a million dollars to their name. They either forgot that you can't take it with you or thought they were gonna live forever.

How I Got Into Blogging

One afternoon, in the summer of 2006, I was hanging out at movie critic Harry Knowles' website Aint It Cool News. I'd been a faithful fan of his since the dawn of the millenium.



In one of his postings, he mentioned that his thoughts could also be found at a place called MySpace. Curious, I headed over there, but was a tad disheartened when I read that one must be a member in order to go to other members' sites (This may not be the case any longer).

Wanting to check HisSpace out, I answered a few questions and created MyOwnSpace (alright, I'll stop with the puns). Once a member, I read some of his material which was interesting, but certainly not earth-shaking. I then toyed with the thought of getting some mileage out of my own account, so posted some random thoughts on one of my favorite subjects, movies; in this particular instance, films that were being released that summer (you can read it here).

A day later, I wrote eight sentences about the wonders of the Sonicare toothbrush. I started a regular series in which I discussed my favorite movie of every year, starting with 1980. About a month later, I logged onto MySpace to post another probably movie-related entry and was surprised to find that my content had apparently been erased. Yikes! A few hours later, it was back, but a bit frightened by what had happened, I decided to migrate to a forum more conducive to blogging. Blogger.com more than fit the bill and I've been there ever since. My writing has certainly evolved over the years; I shudder at times to read some of my early posts.

One of the first entries to really make me aware of the therapeutic nature of writing and being able to share it with the world was called "Rollingstone", an account of a trip I took in the early aughts to the grade school I attended as a child (for the full entry, click here). Below are a couple of my favorite sections of it; the first dealing in humor, the second in pathos, two components which I continue to rely upon as we approach the halfway point of 2010.

"I walked into the old gym where I used to play M*A*S*H (dodgeball) and eat lunch from my "Empire Strikes Back" lunchbox. It was the damnest thing. The whole building seemed smaller to me. The school had shrunk over the past two decades. Yeah, right. Of course this was because when I attended the school, I was a bit shorter. Now having grown to my full height, everything seemed smaller when, in fact, it was me that had gotten bigger (in more ways than one, well, not really)."

"I headed back down the steps and left the building, a building where I had spent so many hours of my formative years. I took one last look, wistfully recalling those days that seem like a lifetime ago. I got into my car and headed back to my life in Rochester, a life that I quite enjoy, but please excuse me if sometimes I wish I could go back to where it all began, when everything was new, and happiness was going to follow me for the rest of my days."

Smarty Pants

I'm in the midst right now of reading A.J. Jacobs' book "The Know-It-All", an account of his endeavor to read the entire encyclopedia (several dozen pages of it can be viewed here). He mentions the fact that a high IQ is strongly correlated with being able to stand on one foot. I probably wouldn't be bringing this up were it not for the fact that I am able to do this.

The bummer is that there is really only one opportunity I regularly get in which to show this off; not then, you dirty devils. It occurs when one of my shoes is untied. Instead of having to bend down on the ground, like most people, I, while still standing, cross the leg whose shoe is untied across my other leg and string my moccasin up properly.



It'd be cool, if at singles mixers, there was a part at the beginning where everyone was told to stand on one foot. Ladies and gents looking for a highly intelligent lifetime partner could really cut to the chase.

Philosophical Ponderings on Local Vegetation

It's an interesting sight on my block. Some folks have perfectly manicured grass, just grass with no other vegetation. Others have a shitload of dandelions amongst the green stuff. One of my favorite childhood memories is smelling one in my backyard one afternoon.



The sun was bright and the lion was the color of that sun.

I was surprised recently to hear that dandelions are considered a weed. The next door neighbor regularly sprays for such "weeds", killing them without hesitation. It all seems a bit racist to me. Both grass and lions are living things, but only the grass is considered worthy of life? There's no question I have a little Buddhist in me, well, more than a little, hopefully.

You can imagine my distress earlier this week on learning that my wife and a friend had set out to kill the dandelions and other weeds we have in the front yard. I told her not to do this again, but that if she must, to spare the dozens that we have in the back yard (I felt like Oscar Schindler trying to save as many Jews as he possibly could, but knowing that for many others, it was much too late).

Bathroom Humor

I went to a concert in town a couple nights ago (I'll give more details on it at a later date) and was amused, when in the civic center's bathroom, to see a small TV above each urinal. It mainly showed advertisements (the kind of thing you see before movies start), but they posted the telly's too high to comfortably view them while eliminating. A man and his son were there at the same time as I and noted this. I can't stand being a captive to advertising, so lowered my head as I let loose.

I thought of how cool it would be if someone took control of the TV's and played porn on it. All those guys that already had their hands on their junk; would they be tempted to stroke it a bit? Or how about if they just played waterfalls as a way to help those who sometimes have problems getting it started?

They certainly let people who had to go number 2 in the lurch; that, by rights, is where a TV would most be appreciated. Course, that would also make it much easier for guys to go to town if someone ever did show porn on the monitors.

The Sun King

As the weather continues to warm in Minnesota, a greater percentage of people sporting tans can be found, but are they authentic?



Anyone who does a spray tan is faking it. Those who go to a tanning salon are imposters. Even people who lay out in the sun are poseurs of a kind; they're trying too hard. No, I subscribe to the view that a tan should be obtained by doing things like walking outside, playing with the dog, and mowing the lawn. In this way, I'm not trying to get a tan, it's simply a happy side effect of going out for fresh air (see Deepak Chopra's Law of Least Effort). I'm a tad concerned about getting skin cancer, but can't help but love the way a tan brings out my eyes and de-emphasizes my sizable proboscis.

Here I Go Again

Cracked.com has an article online about The 5 Most Socially Awkward Situations Everyone Deals With. I thought it might be fun to go through the list with me chiming in on the times I personally experienced them:

5. Pooping In Public - the closest I've come to this was late at night a few years ago when my wife had to use the bathroom badly at the exact same time I did (we have just one toilet in the house). I tried to wait for her to finish, but it was no good. I had to evacuate. I headed to the kitchen and squatted over the 4-foot wastebasket. Sweet release.

4. Ill-Timed Erections - I remember being in 7th grade Geography class one afternoon and getting a chubby for no reason. I shuddered to think what I'd do if the teacher asked me to pick out a country on the map up front while this was happening...feign a charley horse?



3. Accidental Pissings - I don't have a recollection of this happening to me.

2. Being Propositioned By Another Man - in college, one evening at the computer lab, I met a guy and his girlfriend. A week later, he contacted me and asked if I wanted to get together. I said, “Sure” and we went to a pizza joint. We talked a great deal, got to know each other better. He said sometimes he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be with his girlfriend for the long haul. I said this was normal. He gradually brought up the subject of being attracted to males at times. After our dinner, we headed to my place for a short time. We talked some more and he stated that he’d like to experiment with a man one day to see if that was his actual preference. He strongly implied that he’d like me to be the one, but I said I was hetero and that was that.

(excerpted from a prior post which can be found here)

1. Parental Sexuality - One afternoon, me and a couple of my siblings were lying on the steps that led up to my parents bedroom. They were engaged in something that sounded...interesting. I got the money shot I was looking for when my dad came out of the bedroom, stiff as a board and with a smile on his face, and headed to the bathroom. He had no idea.

Laugh It Up, Fuzzball

There are some days in which I don't laugh at all, so it felt great to get two big ones yesterday afternoon. The first was from a book I'm reading called "The Guinea Pig Diaries". In one of its chapters, a journalist is helping his attractive nanny find a worthy mate online. They get a number of "interesting" replies to her ad, most notably one that opens with this:

"When I was a child, I witnessed a clown jump to his death from a seven-story building. It was the only time a clown has made me laugh."

Shortly thereafter, I read an article about an outburst Tiger Woods had on the golf course last weekend. The piece didn't say exactly what he said, so I headed over to YouTube and this is what I found:



I found it a bit ironic that he said "Goddammit!" as Buddhists (he is a practicing Buddhist) don't necessarily believe in God; they have no creation myth. He might as well have said "Jesse-James-Dammit!" Lord knows he wouldn't be the first.

BTW, the title of this post is a reference to a comment Han Solo made to Chewbacca in "The Empire Strikes Back".

Three Decades Ago

This week, the cover story in Entertainment Weekly is about the 30th anniversary of "The Empire Strikes Back", the second tale in the Star Wars saga.

I was 9 years old that summer and not at all familiar with the Star Wars movies; my parents didn't take us to the original in 1977. Around about that time, however, we went to "The Bad News Bears", but my father, not liking the crude language, walked us out and then talked to the manager about the lack of movies suitable for young children.

It was thanks to a fellow Jehovah's Witness that I would up being witness to one of the most transformative movies of my life. His name was Jim Dembraski and one evening, he was visiting with my dad and the conversation turned to a movie that had quite impressed him. He believed that I, and my father, for that matter, would very much enjoy going to the film. As he described the movie, I looked at my dad and said that it sounded like something worth checking out.

By this time, "Empire" was in about its 7th week of release; back then, movies played much longer than they typically do now. It felt great to be going to a movie with just my mom and dad; keep in mind that I was the oldest of five. My mother sat on my left, my dad on my right.

I don't need to tell you that the movie floored me, millions of others experienced the same that summer. Visions of other worlds (a snow planet, a city in the clouds), Yoda philosophizing on a jungle planet, heroes (Luke, Leia, Han, Chewie, R2, 3PO) that were out of this world, an inspiring operatic music score, the evil Darth Vader who had no qualms about killing his own men, the fight against an oppressive empire, not to mention brilliant (for their time) special effects. It really was totally unlike anything I had ever seen before.

I can remember at one point when Luke was being trained by Yoda, I asked my father what the time was. The light came on on his watch and it showed 8:20. I was a bit surprised that the movie didn't have a clear-cut ending, that it ended in a cliffhanger, but that didn't take away the joy I experienced during those two hours.

I sought to collect everything I could that would remind me of the movie. JCPenney had packs of Empire trading cards for 25 cents. I bought a few packs with my allowance and watched my collection grow. One evening, just before going to bed, knowing that my mom was going to Penneys that night, I gave her 50 cents and asked her to get me two packs. One of the happiest memories of my childhood was waking up the next morning and seeing 4 packs next to my bed;



My mom said that was all that was left in the box at the store and in case they didn't have any more boxes, she wanted me to have the last 4 packs. A number of years ago, I bought 4 unopened packs of the series from eBay and have one displayed on the wall next to our entertainment center. When gazing up at it, I can't help but feel some of the childhood joy I was so fortunately privy to back then.

Some of you might get a chuckle out of this audio recording from 1983: it's me quizzing one of my brothers about the Star Wars saga.

November 2, 1999 - Journal entry

On Friday, I went to Winona to see Arthur and he did not disappoint. We ate at Taco John's where I saw one of my college professors, Donald Salyards. I had two econ classes with him. His favorite saying was, "And here's the kicker..." He wore a personalized apron that said "Dr Don" on it when he was at the chalkboard so as not to get his clothes dirty. I also saw Alvin Smothers; my brothers used to know him.

In the early 90's, one of my younger siblings was outside and saw Alvin on his bike. He knew that Alvin had, shall we see, sexually explicit videos and was interested in having a peek. He barked down the street, "Do some business!!" a number of times. Good fortune smiled upon him as he was able to obtain a vid from Mr. Smothers and watched it...and then watched it again.

One afternoon, he brought the TV into his bedroom to show the vid to a couple of friends in complete privacy (all were pre-pubescent). I listened behind the door and chuckled as one of the friends, partway into the vid, said "Look at her nipples".

After a few months, he destroyed the tape. I think he felt guilty about having it. Like the One Ring, it was corrupting his very soul.

On a related note, Arthur asked me to take him to the adult book and video store that opened in Winona about two weeks ago. I wasn't surprised to see that the videos far outnumbered the books. I told him about the private booths in the back; I had read about them in the paper. I gave him a dollar so that he had five bucks to watch a half hour of any video he wanted.

He chose an "orgy" tape where 20 women waited in line to have sex with one big man. It made me wonder how many women I'd be able to make it through, probably just one. I stepped outside as he went to town. I returned 20 minutes later to see his face beet red. He didn't want to tell his wife about the indiscretion, but was compelled to do so when, much to his chagrin, she wanted to have sex shortly after I dropped him off.

Home

While in the midst of reading Jon Krakauer's classic "Into Thin Air" (about an ill-fated trip to Mount Everest), I'm reminded of how much I appreciate being at home. It was good going to Florida for my honeymoon more than a decade ago, seeing Las Vegas for the first time in 2005, and meeting my favorite author in Oregon at the end of 2008, but I'm at my most peaceful and relaxed when lying in the bedroom peeling my banana (obligatory acknowledgement of my recent, some would say outrageous, last post).

It must be a grand thing, to be able to truly feel at home out in the world. Me, I'd rather have my favorite foods and the shitter just a few feet away. For entertainment, there's the telly, my home computer, and the latest books I've borrowed from the library. For love, there's the dog and cat. For other things, there's the lady of the house.

Too much time at home can lead to a sort of ennui, however. I felt this a bit in January when I had some time off of work. You would think I'd enjoy being able to sleep in, not having to get up early to rush off to work, but after a time, the days start to run together and an overabundance of navel gazing is bound to occur. Also, there's the feeling that one is not really making a difference in the world, not really reaching out to others in a meaningful enough way.

Talking to people online is a joy, but after a while, one begins to wonder if there really are people at the other end, if one is not just imagining that there are sentient beings behind all those words and emoticons. The human touch is a grand thing in the scheme of life, but it is totally unutilized while online though many work to bridge this gap by cybering or in the common parlance, "Spreading the Mayo".

In sum, we all wish to get close to others and it has become my preference to go back and forth, spending some time in solitude and then a period in which I conversate with others, connecting with them, reassuring them, if necessary, that all problems are transitory before heading back to my cave.

Jerking My Johnson

In late 2006, my beloved and I were finally getting serious about having a child. Unable to get her in the family way by normal means, we sought the help of a fertologist. When the gyno found no problems with her equipment, the attention was turned to my own. I didn't look at this as too unusual as two of my siblings had also gotten such help.

Thus an appointment was made in which I would spill my semen. This would be done at the (somewhat) world-renowned Mayo Clinic. A friend suggested that I bring a video as a masturbatory aid, but I had no such thing nor would I buy one for the occasion. Since people do this kind of thing all the time and Mayo is known as one of the best in most all the things they do, I looked forward to using whatever they provided.

I wonder now how those who belong to religions that forbid masturbating get around doing this kind of thing. I guess the desire to multiply trumps such precepts. Course, they could have their wife do it for them, but there's still the issue of the "spilled seed", a no-no in olden days.

Anyway, this lady showed me to my porn booth, I mean, my pleasure room and I started disrobing. I looked around for a rag, but there were none to be found. That's fine, I thought. I've long since moved beyond them. I noticed a TV and VCR/DVD combo up on the wall. There was one DVD in there, but it was a Sports Illustrated swimsuit video. What the fuck?! What do they think I am, 12 years old? No visible tits, ass, vag, rip off!! I'm not sure why Mayo had to be so fucking prudish on this, but whatever, they're not going to get the best of me.

I took the rest of my clothes off and it was going to be up to my imagination to get the deed done. It should be noted that until my mid-20's, I only ever masturbated on my stomach. That's the way I learned it as a kid and I never strayed until I had a girlfriend. I didn't even know it was possible to do it on one's back.

I can remember one evening when I was about 9 or 10 coming home with my family from getting groceries and having the extreme urge to rub one out. I laid on the couch (fully clothed) and started going to work. A minute later, my dad saw me and said in a rather alarmed voice, "What are you doing?" I got up and said, "Nothin". Another time, I did it (clothed again) on my parents bed (the extra space it offered was choice). My mom walked in just a few seconds after I finished. That was a close one.



One evening, afflicted with a bad cold, and sitting at the Kingdom Hall (Jehovah Witnesses' meeting place), I promised myself that I wouldn't do it again (JW's frowned on such things) if I got better. Did I hold to that promise? No, God shouldn't have given me such desires if he didn't want me to do it.

Going back to 2006, it took some time, but I was able to shoot my load after about 12 to 15 minutes. It wasn't easy, but what worthwhile thing is? I'd also like to note that I've never used any kind of lotion when taming the beast. Lotion is for wussies.

Mayo did their analysis and came to the conclusion that my sperm was fine though a bit slow. Why were they slow? Was it my laid-back demeanor or do the sperm actually affect my mood, making me feel that being chill is where it's at? Regardless, if I ever have to give another sample, I will be sure to bring along something that will make me jack it that much faster and more effectively: the 1983 Sears catalog.



I know it's not very explicit, but them 80's girls were HAWT.

Take Time

Sara Maitland's "A Book of Silence" makes note of something that Thoreau mentioned in one of his works, that a man's true wealth can be measured by how much free time he has. What kind of a life is it to spend most of the time working or occupied in other various forms of drudgery (cleaning, mowing the yard, washing one's undercarriage)? Sara says that many times when she is thinking of purchasing something, she'll ask herself, "Am I willing to work X number of hours so that I can afford to buy this?" On most occasions, she'll say no.

Like Thoreau, working 40 hours a week has never really appealed to me; I feel the upper 20's and lower 30's are more appropriate. Working less gives me more time to relax, not that I can't be in a relaxed state while on the job, but it's sometimes difficult, most notably because of the restrictions involved in wearing briefs. And what's the point of having so many nerve endings in the feet when they're all but deadened by wearing shoes? And don't even get me started on wearing ties. I discussed my gripe with those accursed things here.

Here are some more of my favorite quotes by the author of "Walden":



Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other's eyes for an instant?

Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.

If we will be quiet and ready enough, we shall find compensation in every disappointment.

It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see.

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.

Most of the luxuries and many of the so-called comforts of life are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.

Our life is frittered away by detail... simplify, simplify.

You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.

Charter Part III

Charter Part I
Charter Part II

Damn, it's been more than two years since I last posted about good ol' Charter Communications (our local cable company). One aspect I didn't mention previously was a cool guy I worked with named Soune. He was of Asian descent and I consider myself lucky to have worked with him. We cracked each other up quite a bit.

One of the first things we did when a customer called in was to say, "For security purposes, could I get the last 4 digits of your social?" Many people would have to run through their first 5 digits before getting to the final 4. I used to say stuff to him like, "If I give you 20 bucks, will you give me the last 4 digits of your social?"

We were expected to make sales as often as possible. Soune's game was to get people to sign up for internet (a good moneymaker). He would open the conversation by asking the customer if they owned a PC. Many would say, "What's a PC?"

I ended up leaving because too much of an emphasis was placed on making sales. You could get demerits for not making enough of them. When I gave my notice, I said the primary reason was because I could theoretically be fired for not making enough sales. My supervisor said this wasn't true, but that's the way they made it seem.

I would've loved to see the director of the call center's face when he saw my reason for departure. You just can't treat people like that and expect them to be happy.

Drugs, Alcohol, & Other Fun Stuff

Last week, I was reading comedian Lewis Black's memoir "Me of Little Faith". He shared a number of experiences he had while growing up in the 60's. Needless to say, there were the obligatory drug stories, many of which colored how he feels about the world to this day. One of the main things he felt while under the power of illicit substances was that we are all connected to everyone and everything (the monster "Avatar" proposes the same). Now I believe this to be the case, though I don't typically experience it directly.

Many people will write off the things they feel while on drugs because, well, because they were on drugs, but I'm of the mind that they are capable of opening us up to deeper truths which makes it strange that the government makes depressants like alcohol legal, but not less potentially destructive substances like marijuana. I've never tried the stuff myself, but I can certainly see the appeal.

Of course, there are other ways that one can feel this oneness, meditation in particular, but I'm so lazy that I'd rather do it laying down instead of sitting up which leads in most cases to drifting off to sleep as opposed to achieving ultimate spiritual creaminess. Black's not much different, stating that he'd rather masturbate than meditate, that both lead to the same conclusion, anyway.

Holy Shit

Last Tuesday was the best of days and the worst of days. Things got off to a great start with a sizable bowel movement, but just before I had to take my wife to an appointment, I noticed that blood had been in my stool. I quickly headed to the internet and found that it could be a number of things: an anal fissure, hemorroids, colon cancer.

I told my wife about it as we drove to her appointment. She said to keep an eye on it, that she hoped it wasn't colon cancer (a first cousin of mine who is in his early 30's was diagnosed with that a few years ago). My love is no stranger to stool blood herself as she has GERD. I passed my time at the library while she was being seen. Curiousity got the better of me while there, so I headed to the cancer section and found a book about the colon variety of it. Standing there, reading the symptoms, I started to get a bit woozy; I once fainted in science class when a teacher was giving a detailed description of something (You can read it about here).

I realized that I best sit down for a while, so headed over to a seat and slumped down a bit. I then looked into checking out some books that wouldn't make me lightheaded. One was Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer. It's about the beginnings of a distinctly American religion, Mormonisn.



It's interesting how Joseph Smith, the religion's founder, proposed that we all could receive revelations from God. However, he came to realize that this might not be a good thing as what happens when his revelations differed from others? What if mine says that he's a charlatan? He had to change things up a bit because of this. And that, my friends, is the main problem with religion. You are to trust in someone else's revelations over your own. If your experience is different than church leadership's, yours must be thrown out.

But back to my experience last Tuesday. As I sat in the car, waiting for my wife to finish up, I thought that maybe this blood would end up being the death of me, that I wouldn't be able to take care of my Pomeranian for the rest of her life, that I might have to leave this mortal coil before Sarah Palin gains even more power than she already has. Should I have gotten checked out earlier for cancer as my mom had once suggested?

That evening at work, I wondered if my next BM would be red. Interestingly, thinking this really kept me in the moment, really made me concentrate on what I was doing just then. I wasn't concerned about getting my taxes done or going on vacation this summer. I was just concentrating on the next day or two, the next time I dropped some friends off at the pool.

Later that week, I did make a shit. There was no sign of red and hasn't been since. It would seem that the monster I passed led to a bit of a fissure that did no lasting damage. Nonetheless, I look forward to having my first colonoscopy in the near future. The age of 40 looms and will come to me in the penultimate month of this year.

1998-2010

For the past 12 years, my favorite meal to eat at home has been the Healthy Choice Supreme French Bread Pizza.



In the late 90's, I'd come home for lunch, put it in the microwave, and while heading towards the TV, would throw a couple pepperoni pieces at the first dog I ever had, Zoe. This continued with Zoe 2 who came along in 2004 (her predecessor passed in 2000).

I typically have one of the pizzas every evening. There are some nights when I don't have one, but those are the exceptions to the rule. I figure I've eaten thousands of them, which means I've spent thousands of dollars on them.

In the latter part of last year, the pizzas, for some reason, were no longer available at Wal-Mart. That left Hy-Vee as the only place I could buy them (Target stopped stocking them a number of years ago). Then last month, an employee at Hy-Vee told me that the factory was going to stop making them. I bought a large number of them when I got this news, but knew the time had come to find a new favorite.

Two days ago, I went to Hy-Vee in seach of a replacement. "You'll find something", I told myself. Lean Cuisine used to make pizzas such as the Healthy Choice type, but the taste was rubbish. I did notice a new brand called Eating Right (made exclusively by Hy-Vee). They had pizzas in a square shape as opposed to oval, but the calorie and fat content was similar. They were also a bit more expensive than HC ($2.49 compared to $1.99). I decided that it was the closest to what I'd become accustomed to.

That evening, I was actually excited about giving them a try and they did not disappoint. I look forward to stocking up on them this evening. In my freezer, I still have 4 packages of the original HC's. I'll save them for special occasions over the next few months (the date on the packages have already passed). I will eat them slowly and mindfully, knowing that nothing on this earth is forever.

Fun Facts About Yours Truly

My birth weight was 7 pounds, 10 ounces

I lived in Greece for my first three years

Foods I didn't like as an infant: Barley, Veal, Spinach

At 28 months, I was saying things like "Daddy poo-poo fart" and "I don't want it"

The first movie I went to was "Dumbo"

One of my favorite songs as a toddler was the O'Jays' "Love Train"

As a 5-year old, I enjoyed playing Yahtzee, Old Maid, and Candy Land

At the age of 7, I got lost at Milwaukee's County Stadium, even though I knew exactly where my family was sitting (for the juicy details, go here)

Sleep

I woke up this morning in an extremely good mood. I dreamt that I had a conversation with a woman who I went to grade school with. It was very friendly and she wound up giving me a kiss on the cheek. Since I now had her trust, I confessed to something I did to her mother as a child (You can read about it here).

I also dreamt that I was given a lucrative job offer which involved entering statistics into a database and then having those entries printed in a nationwide newspaper. As I woke, a song I'd not heard in years was on my mind, Trisha Yearwood's "One Love".

Most mornings are like this for me; I don't have to get up early for my job. There are some who wish they could live without sleep, to be fully conscious twenty-four hours a day. I'm not one of them. Whatever hurts I experienced during the day are, in most cases, healed by morning. Any divisions, real or imagined, that may have showed up hours earlier have dissipated. This is why it's hard for me to fathom those who hold grudges for years. So much energy wasted and you're ultimately just hurting yourself.

It's not easy to stay in this meditative state upon waking. Once in the shower, thoughts come up and the rush of good feelings I'm experiencing post-sleep can quickly disappear. Because of this, it's important for one to be out of their mind as much as possible, even when making the sex. As I sit typing this, having taken a shower about 90 minutes ago, listening to some of my favorite songs on YouTube, with the sun shining in and the cat resting on a chair next to me, I am, without question, out of my mind. May it be the same with you.

Lordy Lordy

Next week, my beloved turns the Big 4-0; she's about 9 months older than me which means that I was conceived around the time she was born. It's nice being similar ages as we both grew up with the same music and TV shows. Course pretty much everybody born in the 70's grew up with the Brady Bunch, but still. Right now, she's watching season four of the early 70's program, "Emergency!" It was a forerunner to shows like "ER" and "Third Watch". I bought her season 5 for her birthday.

As we grow older, I wonder how long we'll live, what conditions we'll be afflicted with, what crosses we'll have to bear. It's pretty incredible when you think about it, that everybody dies. To the young, death seems a lifetime away, but eventually those lazy summers and cold winters turn into decades and you're well into middle age.

I read an article in TIME magazine recently about the Top 5 causes of death for each age group. For my age range (35-44), they are accidents, cancer, heart disease, suicide, and homicide. Ten years from now, when I am in my late 40's, the Top 5 things I could die from are cancer, heart disease, accidents, liver disease, and suicide. A person over 65's Top 5 is heart disease, cancer, stroke, respiratory diseases, and accidents a very distant fifth.

Whether I die from heart disease, cancer, or somebody twisting my balls off in a vice, it's gonna happen someday. Until then, there's not much I can do other than try to enjoy life and stay away from Industrial Arts classrooms.

How I Met My Wife

In July of 1996 (now a college graduate), I was single and not sure where to go next. Like many, I had trouble meeting people (read: eligible women). My mom suggested trying the personals. There was a public access show on TV that twice a day ran ads for singles searching for other singles. So I called their number, placed an ad, and gave my mom's phone number as a contact (I didn't have my own phone at the time).

A week later, I saw my ad on the telly. They had put my info in and titled it, "Sweet Sounds on the Radio". I checked every few days to see if I had any messages. One afternoon, I went to my mom's and noticed that I had a message. I played it back. The woman sounded nice. She left a pager number for me to call her back at. I tried the number and, after some confusion on how to do it, left a numeric page.

She called me back about 10 minutes later and explained that she was an orderly at the Gundersen Lutheran hospital in LaCrosse. Like me, she had also graduated from Winona State two months prior. We talked for a short while (she had to get back to work) and exchanged phone numbers.

We called each other several times over the next week, gradually getting to know each other. Turns out we only lived about 8 blocks from each other. We couldn't meet that first weekend because she had prior plans to see a friend in the Cities and go to a play ("Fiddler on the Roof") with her. We made tentative plans to meet at the Golden China restaurant (even though I didn't like Chinese) in Winona on Saturday, July 27th.

However, on Wednesday the 24th, I called her and asked about getting together that evening. She wasn't so sure, but did agree. We decided to meet at the Winona Information Center on Huff Street right next to Lake Winona. She told me what kind of car she would be driving, what she looked like, etc. so that I would know when I saw her. I got off the phone and rode my mountain bike to Huff.

I got there a bit early and sat down on a bench just outside of the Center. I was nervous, but definitely excited. I saw a car enter the parking lot like the one she described, a 93 Dodge Colt (which she continued to drive until late 2007). She got out of her car. I saw her. She saw me. She had a big smile on her face. She had these big Coke-bottle type glasses on her face, so it was hard to really see what she looked like. She sat down and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. We proceeded to walk around the smaller of Winona's 2 lakes.



She asked me lots of questions and when I would answer, she would say, "Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh". After our circuit around the lake, I was unsure what (if anything) we should do next. She suggested we go to the Acoustic Cafe. So she drove there while I biked. I had a lemonade while she had some type of sandwich. We continued to talk and afterwards outside, I gave her a hug. I wasn't sure what was to come with this young lady I had just met, but that meeting more than a decade ago turned out to be a major turning point in my life.

More Timeless Wisdom

Confucius say, a kiss is just shopping upstairs for downstairs merchandise.
Confucius say, killing two birds with one stone often ends with hate mail from the humane society.
Confucius say, to make a long story short, don't tell it.
Confucius say, a Platonic Relationship develops after two good friends get tired of screwing each other.
Confucius say, a politician is one who shakes your hand before elections and your confidence after.
Confucius say, a cigarette is a pinch of tobacco, wrapped in paper, fire at one end, fool at the other.
Confucius say, to get an Irishman to climb on the roof, tell him that the drinks are on the house.
Confucius say, the only thing divorce proves is whose mother was right in the first place.
Confucius say, a prostitute with a degree in psychology will blow your mind.
Confucius say, a tight dress is like a barbed fence. It protects the premises without restricting the view.
Confucius say, sex is the only activity where you start at the top and work your way to the bottom, while getting a rise.
Confucius say, marriage is like taking a bath... after you've been in it for a while, it isn't so hot.
Confucius say, man who look to stale cookie for advice probably make good busboy. Ask waitress for application.
Confucius say, girl who go on fishing trip with 6 men, come back with red snapper.
Confucius say, when TV repairman got married, the reception was excellent.
Confucius say, always yield to temptation, it may not pass your way again.
Confucius say, mother nature's best aphrodisiac is still a naked woman.
Confucius say, man who sink into woman's arms soon have arms in woman's sink.
Confucius say, basketball player who marry midget lady will be nuts over her.
Confucius say, an enemy is sometimes nothing more than a friend who got wise to you.
Confucius say, if you can't be content with what you have received, be thankful for what you have escaped.
Confucius say, when a man steals your wife, there is no better revenge than to let him keep her.

Happy Pills 2

After I couldn't deal with the side effects of the first two antidepressants I was put on, Dr. Smick put me on Paxil. Again, I was hopeful, but somewhat doubtful that it would work. I had read that some people do not respond to medication at all. That would suck, to be depressed indefinitely. Actually, in such cases, they would pursue something like Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT).

I continued to work on reversing my negative thoughts. I spent time with friends and was able to continue working in the kitchen at Sammy's Pizza. A coworker said he heard that I was experiencing depression and told me that he had gone through the same thing. He said that it was a real "bitch". He was able to get over it, however. It was around this time that he asked a lady that worked the morning shift if she would like to go out with him. She accepted and they eventually were married.

But, anyway, back to my shit. I was also put on Trazodone. During this time, it took me quite a long time to get to sleep. I would just keep thinking about things and not be able to drift off very easily. I remember the first evening I took Trazadone. About 20 minutes after ingesting it, I started to get really tired. I wanted to think about things as I usually do, but I was just too damn tired. I could definitely get used to this.

After a couple more weeks, I did start to feel the effects of the wonder drug, Paxil. It's hard to describe, but it really gave me a kick. I did things that I was way too depressed to do before like the dishes and cleaning the house. I became, what I liked to call, "blazingly optimistic". I wanted to experience life again. Laying in bed was no longer an option. I had been reborn. My Christian friend, Dean, was a bit dubious. He would've preferred that I got better the old-fashioned way, through suffering, through prayer,



without the meds. But he wasn't the boss of me. I did as I pleased and was well rewarded.

During the height of my depression, I had gone to the movie "Mrs Doubtfire" with my mom and her girls, but left about a half hour in because I was just too depressed to laugh (or maybe the movie just wasn't funny). I mosied on over to a screening room that was playing "A Perfect World", a ponderous movie starring Clint and Kevin.



One of the main characters was shot. It definitely suited my state of mind at the time. A few months later, now cured, I returned to "Doubtfire" and was able to get a few chuckles out of it (I still don't think it's super funny, though many people think it's the shit, including my wife).

I started going to my counseling appointments in a really good mood, almost too good a mood. My support network was quite happy to see that I had recovered. I eventually stopped going to CIA (Christians in Action). There were just too many things I wanted to explore now, such as going to the sinful Aquarius club in Rochester and slow dancing with a hot mama. Still being a virgin, I looked forward to "getting my freak on". Yes, indeed, my tropical depression had passed and I believe that I am a stronger person now due to the experience. Once you've been to hell, you really appreciate all the other realms. More than a dozen years later, all is well.

An Ounce Of You-Know-What

Two relatively young relatives of mine have cancer. Since the disease is typically thought of as something that strikes older folks, getting it at a younger age is usually viewed as tragic, something that shouldn't be happening. It will be a grand day if/when a cure is found.

In the meantime, what can one do to avoid being afflicted? If you want to limit your chances of a heart attack, get your cholesterol down and hit the treadmill while watching "Lost". Strike that, it's hard enough trying to make sense of the show while paying full attention to what's transpiring on screen. Last night's season premiere was fantastic. It dealt with a favorite subject of mine: alternate realities. It was something to see those who had spent so much time together on the island not know each other after they got off the plane which crashed in another reality, all the relationships that would never be.



Getting back to the thrust of this post, I was suprised to read a report today which says that 40 percent of cancers are preventable. Now, of course, one has a much better chance of avoiding lung cancer by not smoking, but being able to find ways to prevent breast and colon cancer from occuring? I'm in, well, at least for the colon portion.

For those who wish to reduce the likelihood of their getting the Big-C (sorry, Fay) and increase the likelihood of having a long life in this particular reality, here's what the report suggests: stop smoking (if you do), limit your alcohol consumption, avoid too much sun, and maintain a healthy weight through diet and exercise. It's almost too simple.

Happy Pills

I had to chuckle this afternoon when I brought in the mail after doing some snow shoveling. The cover of the latest Newsweek had the headline, "Antidepressants Don't Work". Just over three years ago, I wrote about my experience with the buggers. For those who weren't with me back then, here's the first part:

In the late spring of 1993, I was finally coming out of my shell and making friends. The man who started this was a chap named Dean. He was a member of CIA. No, not that one, you dirty devil. Christians In Action. We both attended Winona State at the time and were business majors. I lived off-campus in a house on East 3rd. He lived at Lourdes (how appropriate for a Christian) Hall.



It was a very old building with a lot of character. From time to time, I would get lost in their halls. There was much to do there, however. We played frisbee outside, walked around the neighborhood, and I once even ate at their cafeteria, which reminded me of a monastery (not surprisingly, it once was). I also got to know a friend of Dean's named Candy and spent some time with her as well. I had friends now, but still wasn't happy. How could this be? I gradually became more and more depressed.

It's hard to describe depression to someone who hasn't experienced it. It's not something that you can "snap out of". It's like telling someone with diabetes to "get over it". No matter what I did, no matter where I went, I was in emotional agony. All I wanted to do was stay in bed, in a fetal position, no less. If I couldn't be happy, what point was there in living? Dean encouraged me to pray which I did, but I still couldn't seem to get out of the shitter. I talked to my mom about what was going on. She suggested I see a counselor. I agreed. After all, this was something I could no longer handle on my own.

I was seen at the local mental health center. They were located in downtown Winona, just a couple blocks from the mighty Mississip. I saw a nice lady there and talked about many things. My childhood, my time in college, the passing of my grandmother just a few months before. She encouraged me to get counseling regularly and that it probably wouldn't hurt to go on an antidepressant. In order to do this, I would need to see a psychiatrist. I was referred to Dr. Smick. She worked at Parkview Behavioral Health Systems (located just adjacent to the hospital). She did my intake and said there were several meds available for depression. She decided to put me on a more old-school one called Desipramine.

Smick told me it would take several weeks for me to feel the full effects. I didn't feel like waiting, but if it could improve my mood, I guess I could hold out. I started the meds, but there were problems right away. One of the main side effects of desipramine is difficulty urinating. That was something I tried to deal with, but couldn't. So a week or so later, I was put on a more recently discovered antidep, Zoloft. I lived right across the street from Goltz Pharmacy, so had no problem getting my fix, I mean, pills. My friends knew I was getting professional help and were quite supportive. I called my mom most every day to let her know how I was doing. She had recently separated from her 2nd husband and was sharing custody of their twin girls, who were just 5 years old at the time. I went to Winona's book store and found a book that helped me deal with the negative thinking that had begun to consume me.

The Zoloft was better than the Desipramine, but not by much. I seemed to constantly have headaches while on it. Smick had told me to be patient, that one of the meds should be able to give me the kick I needed, but, thus far, it just felt like I was treading water.

Timeless Wisdom

Any regular reader of this weblog knows that I am a fan of Eastern philosophy. It offers a more complete picture of how to deal with life than just relying on the Western bits. In that vein, here are some quotes from a man who lived in China twenty-five hundred years ago, Confucius.



I posted a version of this almost three years ago, but have since added twenty new ones for those who have read it before (this means you, Rocket):

Confucius say, he who hesitates is probably right.
Confucius say, war not determine who right, war determine who left.
Confucius say, virginity like bubble. One prick - all gone.
Confucius say, baseball wrong, man with four balls not able to walk.
Confucius say, man who fight with wife all day, get no piece at night.
Confucius say, it takes many nails to build crib, one screw to fill it.
Confucius say, passionate kiss like spider web, soon lead to undoing of fly.
Confucius say, man with hand in pocket feel cocky all day long.
Confucius say, squirrel who runs up woman's leg not find nuts.
Confucius say, man with tight trousers is pressing his luck.
Confucius say, do not drink and park, accidents cause people.
Confucius say, man who run through airport turnstile backward going to Bangkok.
Confucius say, man who live in glass house, should change in basement.
Confucius say, man who fart in church, sit in own pew.
Confucius say, man who masturbate, only screwing himself.
Confucius say, man with hand in pocket all day not crazy, just feeling nuts.
Confucius say, man who have last laugh, not get joke.
Confucius say, early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy...but a social loser.
Confucius say, a Rubix cube is like a penis, the longer you play with it, the harder it gets.
Confucius say, a woman can humiliate any man by simply saying "Hold my purse."
Confucius say, the useless skin around a penis is called "a man".
Confucius say, a vagina is like a very small hotel. One must leave his bag outside.
Confucius say, man who mix Viagra and Ex-Lax doesn't know if he's coming or going.
Confucius say, a smile is like tight underwear...it makes your cheeks go up.
Confucius say, marriage is like a bank account. You put it in, you take it out, you lose interest.
Confucius say, at a nudist wedding, you don't have to ask - you can see who the best man is.
Confucius say, men are like spray paint, one squeeze and they're all over you.
Confucius say, gynecologist and pizza delivery man are very much alike...both get to smell the goods, but neither one can eat it.
Confucius say, Viagra is like Disneyland...a one hour wait for a 2-minute ride.
Confucius say, woman who fall in love with elevator operator, usually get the shaft.
Confucius say, blondes have more fun because they are easier to amuse.
Confucius say, whether or not sex is better than pot, depends on the pusher.
Confucius say, blowing into a blonde's ear is called Data transfer.
Confucius say, men are like cement...after getting laid, they take a long time to get hard.
Confucius say, oral sex makes one's day, but anal sex makes one's hole weak.
Confucius say, dog may be man's best friend, but pussy not far behind.
Confucius say, Christmas trees are like priests...their balls are just for decoration.

McNasty

Yesterday afternoon, while my wife was at an AAA meeting, I stuck my nose into the library's used book store. I only had about ten minutes to look around as they were about to close. One interesting work I saw there was John McEnroe's biography, "You Cannot Be Serious". I chuckled when I read the book's title; I remember many years ago seeing a clip of him saying those four words to a line judge.



I wanted to get the book, but $8 is higher than I wanted to go.

Still having a half hour to kill, I went into the library proper. I hadn't checked out a book in years. If there's a book I really want, I'll just buy it; I don't like the idea of having to return it after a few weeks. Nonetheless, I wouldn't mind reading the McEnroe book for free if they had it there.

I headed to the sports section, then to the tennis section, then to the biography tennis section. Whew. They did have a copy, but I didn't have my card. I asked a male librarian if it was possible for me to check out books with just my ID. He said it was and I found one other bio I was interested in reading: Maureen McCormick's "Here's The Story".

Interesting fact: Both Mc and I were born at the Air Force Base in Wiesbaden, Germany.

On my way out, I saw a kid playing a video game at a computer station. I wanted to tell him he wasn't supposed to be doing that, but it was his own personal laptop. You wanna know what kind of games I played on my lap as a child in the early 80's? Check it out:

Think Fast

Continuing my observations of Eckhart Tolle's newest book, he writes that "most people are so distracted by their thoughts, so identified with the voices in their heads" that they'll do virtually anything to get away from them. Some such activities include drug-induced highs, sensory overstimulation such as excessively loud music, thrills or dangerous activities, or an obsession with sex.

I think one of the reasons I like movies so much is because they get me out of my head. In fact, I get a bit PO'd when they don't. A couple weeks ago, I went to "The Lovely Bones" and was distracted about 20 minutes into it by thoughts of errands I needed to run. While a part of me was obsessing, another was saying, "Shut up. I'm trying to watch a movie."

In my recent post on pleasures, Randy commented that "I need to veg out at the end of the day and will watch lousy sitcoms so that I don't have to think". Now there's a guy who understands why he does what he does. Could it be that we enjoy the things we do, not necessarily because of what they give us, but what they give us a break from?