Too Young To Be This Old

Imagine a fire ant bite or a wasp sting.  Now imagine hundreds of them inside your leg.  Add to that the sensation of dozens of beetles crawling around inside that same leg and you’ve got a fair approximation of what I’ve been experiencing daily for the last eighteen months.

In addition to those things there’s been the occasional buckling of my knee, a weakness that causes me to drag that leg around in a zombie like fashion, and a shooting, stabbing pain through my lower back.

In an attempt to correct this, this coming Monday I’m going in for a spinal fusion.  This means a surgeon is going to place screws in my spine, join them with metal rods and cut away what’s left of the disc.  They’ll then seed the bone to cause the two vertebrae to grow together.

Of course, there’s a chance that it won’t work, that I could wind up with no change at all, or worse, that I could be paralyzed.  And, while that worries me, I’m willing to gamble and have this done because I simply can not bear this pain any longer.

I’ve been giving it a lot of thought over the past few weeks and have come to realize just how much this chronic pain has taken from me.  I avoid leaving home whenever possible, I don’t socialize at all, my thoughts are almost always about pain leaving little thought process about anything else.

As a result I’m cranky all the time and would rather sleep than do anything else.  If I’m not scheduled to work, I will sleep upward of fourteen hours in a day simply to avoid being awake and thinking about pain.  Comfort disappeared long ago.  Sitting, standing, lying, they all hurt in equal but different ways.

So, off I go in a couple of days to be sliced open and modified; damn the risk.

If it works and the pain dissipates, I’m curious as to how much of myself I’ll get back and how much I’ll have to relearn.  Sitting around doing nothing has become quite a habit after this much time and much of my personality has been subjugated by this old man that lives in my skin.

I just turned thirty-six, but it seems like I’m easily twice that.  I relate more to the very old than to people my age.  I’m a widower who can’t hear, see, or remember anything. I can’t walk for more than a few minutes without the aid of a cane.  I only like old music and old movies and I can’t stand any of these damn kids.  I wish they’d all just stay off my damn lawn.

Hardcore Fat

No, this isn’t going to be a post about fat porn as the title might suggest.  As much as I’d like to tell you about my perversions, that’s a post for some other time and place.

Instead, I’d like to direct your attention to some of the great fat men of rock.

Until recently, you didn’t see two things in rock bands: beards and fat guys.  Sure there were exceptions to this, like Jim Morrison covering both taboos shortly before his death, but generally it wasn’t something you saw much.  Beginning in the 1990′s it became acceptable to have beards and even became a rock band staple.  At least one band member had to have facial hair.  There are now literally thousands of bands consisting of hirsute young men, but it’s still relatively rare to see fat guys rocking out.

Certainly, there are the obvious examples, Meat Loaf and John Popper come to mind.  But for most people they are on a very short list and, in fact, may be the only fat rockers they can name.  So, ladies and gentlemen, let’s take a few moments to honor some of the big boys of rock.

Let’s start with one of my favorite artists, Tad Doyle from the band Tad.  This guy makes me want to gain another 200 pounds.

Another of my favorite bands contains not one, but, count ‘em, two fat guys.  They are the brothers Conner: Van and Gary Lee from Screaming Trees.

Then there’s that baddest of the bad.  D. Boon with the Minutemen.

Pere Ubu had David Thomas, and , no it’s not the Wendy’s Dave Thomas.

And, While I don’t much enjoy ska, I have to put Bad Manners and Buster “Fatty” Bloodvessel on the list.

Let’s not forget the fat redneck metal of Crowbar.

Two names one man…Frank Black, formerly Black Francis of the Pixies.

Then there’s a band so heavy that they can never all ride in an elevator together, Bowling for Soup.

Chinese Democracy

I just wasted the last 71 minutes of my life listening to the Chinese Democracy stream (located here). Masturbatory isn’t the right word, but it’s the first that comes to mind.

When I heard a bootleg of this album three years ago, I got that uneasy, embarrassed because you’re embarrassed for the person feeling that you get when your best friend drinks too much and insists on doing Def Leppard karaoke. Back then, I hoped what I was hearing was a combination of unreleased Use Your Illusion outtakes and someone’s half-assed, bedroom attempt at constructing Nine Inch Nails type tracks using leftover Axl Rose vocals. Sadly, I think I was right, only instead of the obsessive fan boy I had imagined, it was Axl Rose sitting in his bedroom making those lame attempts at being the next Trent Reznor.

Aside from all of the pseudo-pseudo-industrial posing, everything that appeared on the Use Your Illusion albums that took Guns N Roses from potentially being one of the greatest rock acts of all time to being one big joke is present. The over production, the multi-layered/harmonized vocals, the songs that go on and on pointlessly, the unfocused mixing, the bloated arrangements, it’s all there. It’s nearly, though, not quite, enough to make me think I was wrong about thinking Mike Clink was the second worst rock producer next to Bob Rock. It’s clear that Axl Rose is directly responsible for everything bad about the two Use Your Illusion albums as well as this one.

Certainly, the instrumental performances on Chinese Democracy are competent, but what else would you expect from a bunch of hired guns (and, shouldn’t that be the band’s name at this point, Hired Guns)? After all, the musicians are appearing only because of a trade. They traded their competence for the cash, or the visibility, or both. As for the vocal performance, I’m aghast at how often Rose sounds like a small animal being tortured. Seriously, have you ever seen video of animal testing? It’s the same as the audio to those films. It’s worse than Yoko Ono. Sure, Yoko Ono made the same sounds, but she was doing it on purpose. Rose thinks he is actually singing. The most glaring example of this is on Street of Dreams, which only goes to show this as the vanity project that it is. No producer, including Bob Rock, would have allowed that vocal track to see the light of day otherwise. It’s a vocal performance that is all over the place, oscillating between a crushed testicle wail and a monotone so bad as to embarrass Johnny Cash.

Then there’s the stylistic break of If the World. This song is what Michael Jackson would sound like if he really tried to rock. It’s got the same over production and sterility as Jackson’s work and the vocals on this track, while not sounding exactly like Jackson, are too close for my taste. The instrumentation is not bad, even interesting in places, and may have once had potential, but whatever potential there once was has been completely undone by the nauseating King of Pop vocalizations.

A few more quick words on this and then I’m done…

The opening of Scraped is far too close to sounding like a boy band for me to be comfortable with my sexuality while listening to it.

Raid n’ the Bedouins was a much better song when Led Zeppelin recorded it as the Immigrant Song.

The point is there’s so much wrong with this album that it would take me days to list all of the flaws and at this point, I’ve already given it far more of my time than it deserves. In all seriousness, don’t waste your time with this turd. At best, all it will ever be is a joke, a stereotype, a reminder of something that could have been great but never was.

Oh, the Guilt

Over the past few weeks I’ve become an unbearable, cranky old bastard.  Most days I want the world to disappear, or I want to disappear myself.  My mood ranges from irritable to downright venomous.  I’ve been picking fights with wifey over nothing at all, but the way I feel is not her fault.  She’s just the unfortunate person who is closest to me, who cares most about me.  And, because I feel rotten about myself, I have a problem with anyone who sees worth in me.

Now, I’m not going to make excuses for my behavior.  It is wrong.  There is nothing acceptable about it; she does not deserve it.  I would like to change it, but I don’t know how.  When I act unkind toward her, it only serves to reinforce my negative self-image, which then causes me to continue my behavior.

While there are several factors that contribute to my mood, there is one factor that seems to be eating at me more than the rest, one that I keep suppressing and trying to ignore.  And, while I know that ignoring it is not going to make it any better, I don’t know how to even begin to resolve it.

Before meeting wifey, I spent four years with a girl.  One evening she went to bed, then many hours later when I decided to join her, I found that she had died in her sleep.  Without getting into the details, her death was the result of a medication she had been taking for many years.  Since that night I’ve had an overwhelming sense of guilt about her death.  Of course, everyone has told me it’s not my fault, there’s nothing I could have done, but that’s not how it feels to me.

Lately, that guilt has been gnawing at me all the time.  It is almost always in my head.  I don’t know why it has surfaced now.  Maybe I forced myself to stop talking about it and to try to act normal too soon after it happened.  Maybe I bottled up my emotions and tried to forget about them only to have them fester and become toxic.  Whatever the reason, I wish it would go away, but I don’t know how to make that happen.  Right now, I don’t want to discuss it with anyone even though that would probably help.  All I want to do is push it down inside again and forget about it.

My Aching Back Part 4

In an attempt to fix my back, I had an epidural cortisone injection last week.  For the first few days after the procedure, the pain was much worse than it had been in weeks, but after a few days of decreasing intensity, the pain finally seems to be subsiding.  I’m able to move around fairly normally and the pain in my legs has faded to a point where I don’t really notice it.  It’s gone from a horrible constant burning sensation to a mild occasional cramping sensation.  And, while there is still some pain in my back and upper butt, it’s tolerable.

For the first time in a very long time I am able to stand straight without discomfort.  Now, though, I’m going to need to relearn how to walk.  For years, I’ve had bad posture and a horrible gait from back pain and now that the pain isn’t constant, I can tell that those things affect the muscles in the rest of my back, causing them to ache.  In a couple of weeks I go back to the doctor, then, hopefully, I will be entering physical therapy to help correct what needs to be corrected.

For now, I’m still taking Percocet and Cymbalta for pain relief, but there are times when I would rather have the pain than the side effects from the drugs.  Aside from the general lethargy that I have all the time and the many extra hours of sleep, I have gas and constipation constantly, my stomach aches most of the day and if I’m taking the medications as I’m supposed to, I have a complete inability to achieve orgasm.  There’s also the fact that I feel stupid when I’m taking these drugs.  I’m obviously not functioning at the same level that I do when I’m not on them which has led to some serious inconveniences over the past few weeks.

While I’m happy to be this far along, I’d be happier still to be completely pain free without the drugs.  Hopefully, that day is coming.  All I want is to feel normal again.

Another Year Gone

As of yesterday I’m thirty-five years old.  My birthday marked the passing of yet another year that brought me absolutely no closer to any of my goals.  Sure, I’ve got the basics of a script, a script that I could actually film, but then I had that five years ago.  For some reason, I only ever seem to get to this point… a partially completed script that still needs a lot of work.  I know some of it is laziness and some of it is self-sabotage.

There are moments when I am able to overcome the laziness and actually prepare myself to sit down and work, but when I start reading over what I’ve written, I convince myself that the words are no good, they will never be good, and there’s no point in even trying.  But then, there are other times when I sit down, look over what I’ve written and I am surprised by how good it all looks.  Of course, those moments only ever seem to come when I’m wallowing in my own laziness and nothing gets done then either.

So, now it’s time to make a decision.  Either I’m going to allow another year to pass, or I’m going to be well on my way to having my script filmed by this time next year.  Right now that means writing.  And, not the sporadic, half-assed writing I’ve made a habit.  It has to be a daily habit.  The idea is to have as much material as possible to work with when it comes time to film.

For the moment, I don’t think I should start filming anything.  Rather, I will wait until I am back in Texas at the end of next year.  Filming in Boulder, or even Denver seems to me that it will be filled with obstacles.  However, in Texas I’ll have the benefit of there being no art scene.  A benefit because people will see helping on a project as something of a novelty.  In my mind it will be easier to convince people to go along with filming or volunteering their time or property because it’s not something they’ve been asked to do before. There’s also the added benefit of knowing a lot more people there than I know here.  From experience, the more people you know, the more likely it is that you are going to happen across what you need and I’d rather step back into a network that already exists than spend a lot of time developing one here when I will be leaving in a year anyway.  But, that’s a bit of an aside.  The point is, I need to have as much prepared material as possible when I get there so all I have to do is begin the process of organizing people to get the filming done.

What that means is that I need to not only finish the script I’ve got, but to develop a couple of more along with as many short ideas as I can concieve.  So, here’s my new goal… Before moving back to Texas next year, I will have three completed feature length scripts and at least half a dozen short scripts.  The features will be the one I’m currently working on, a western and the third I haven’t decided on yet.  The shorts will utilize everything I know I have access to there.  Any location, person, or prop that I know I can get will go into a short of some sort.

In short, I will spend the next year developing ideas and then I will begin executing them once I’m back in Amarillo.  At least, that’s the plan to make myself into a working filmmaker.

My Aching Back Part 3

Two-and-a-half weeks ago, I went to the doctor.  The steroid that I was given worked amazingly well, but that was only for a few days.  When I switched to the non-steroidal anti-inflammatory, my back pain began to gradually return.  For the past couple of days, the pain has been near what it was when I first went to the doctor.  Again, it’s been giving me trouble with sleeping, nausea, crankiness, depression… All of the usual suspects.

Unfortunately, the crankiness/grouchiness that has accompanied the return of the pain has caused some friction between my fiancee, her kid and myself.  While she understands, her kid does not always and sometimes my moodiness bothers him.  It’s not something I enjoy and I wish I were more in control of myself.  Though, today’s doctor’s visit my help that.  Leaving the office today, I had a prescription for Percocet because the Vicodin wasn’t effective and I had a two week sample pack of Cymbalta, an anti-depressant that has also been approved for the treatment of pain.

Right now, I’m out and about, but before I left the house I took my fist dose of Cymbalta.  I can definitely feel the effect.  My perception is a little distorted.  Time seems to be dragging out.  Colors are a little more vibrant than usual, my ability to concentrate seems fractured, and I have a slight stomach ache.  My back is still very painful, but this drug is supposed to be a gradual fix.  That’s the reason for the two week test run.  According to the doctor, some people don’t need any other treatment.  However, I am going to have a cortizone shot in a couple of weeks to see if that will knock out the pain.  It would be nice if that worked, though the doctor told me, if it is effective at all, the effect could last from three weeks to six months.  It’s certainly not a permanent fix, but at this point, three weeks of being pain free sounds like heaven to me.

The Once Frigid Male

For years I was asexual.  Sex was something that I did not desire.  In my mind, not only was it a weird activity, it was also a disgusting activity.  I mean, who would want to get all sweaty and messy with some other person’s bodily fluid?  Yuck.

Of course, this caused no end to problems in relationships.  Viewing sex as an unpleasant but necessary part of maintaining a relationship, I would engage in it only when it would start to become a problem.  This meant I would avoid it as long as possible, often actively avoiding my girlfriend when I knew she wanted sex. When she wanted that, I would suddenly be too busy to be around.  Then, when it could no longer be avoided, I would do it grudgingly, wanting it done so that we could get back to our regular relationship.  Many times this led to girls seeking sex elsewhere, but that didn’t bother me.  As long as they were getting it somewhere else, I didn’t have to do it and provided they were still coming home to me, I didn’t care.  What I wanted was companionship, someone to spend my time with, someone to socialize with, someone to do everything with, just not that.

My attitude toward sex often generated arguments.  Occasionally, it would be overtly about sex.  I would be accused of getting it somewhere else (usually this happened because she was getting it somewhere else and was feeling guilty), or I would be accused of finding her unattractive, or flawed in some other way.  But more often, the argument would be about something else with sex being the subtext.  Over time, several relationships ended because of this.  Either they found someone else, or they decided the frustration was too much to handle.

Despite the problems it caused, I never wanted to change.  In my mind, the problem was not with me.  Having no sex drive myself, it was difficult to understand why sex was such a big deal to everyone.  My view was that it was a lot like drugs; a lot of people do it because they’re not supposed to be doing it.  It was an act that was for procreation, and, while an orgasm certainly felt good, it simply wasn’t good enough to justify the seeming obsession most people had with it.

It wasn’t until recently that this changed for me.

When I first met my fiancee, one of the things I told her was that I wasn’t much interested in sex.  I wanted to make it clear from the beginning that it was something she shouldn’t expect often.  But, since I’ve been with her, things have changed a bit.  Maybe it’s that I trust her as I trust myself.  Maybe it’s that she never made me feel like it was a big deal.  Maybe it’s that I can be completely open and honest with her like I’ve never been able to be with anyone else.  I can’t say exactly what it is that’s brought about the change in me, but I absolutely love sex with her and I think about it much more than I have in the past.  Though, I think I think about it in a way that is different from a lot of men.  Rather than being something that I want with anyone who will give it, I want it only with her.  It is the intimacy, the closeness, the sense of being connected, being one with her that makes it enjoyable, not simply the orgasm.

At times, this change strikes me as being very strange.  It’s weird liking something that I actively avoided for so long.  However, despite this strangeness, I’m happy to have a relationship where sex is not a source of problems.  Rather, for the first time, I feel like we have a relationship that is whole.  I don’t know how I got here, but as long as I’m with her I have no intention of going back.

The Worst

She said, “I’m the world’s worst procrastinator.”

“So, you’re getting a lot done,” I said.

Talk Radio

Talk Radio *****

For me, Oliver Stone seems to be a sort of idiot savant.   Either I love him (U Turn, The Doors) or I hate him (Natural Born Killers, Nixon, JFK).  When he fails, he fails miserably and produces unwatchable dreck, but, when he succeeds it’s amazing.

One of his greatest successes is Talk Radio. Originally a play penned by the film’s star, Eric Bogosian, and based loosely on murdered Denver talk radio host Alan Berg, the film centers on talk radio host Barry Champlain.  Champlain is brash and opinionated.  He is rude to callers, abusive to his staff, defiant of his boss and seems to want to sabotage himself, both professionally and privately.  He is wholly unlikeable with his only redeeming quality being his idealism.  And it is this that shows the genius of Bogosian’s writing.

It is a difficult enough task to take a likable character and present him in a way that audiences find engaging, but here, Bogosian does the near impossible; he takes a character who is grossly reprehensible and makes him not simply engaging, but engrossing.  From the first scene, it is easy to see things from the character’s point of view and to want him to prevail.

The film opens mid-broadcast.  Champlain is in the middle of his nightly rant against his callers and a lot of hatred is exchanged.  As he works, his boss, played by Alec Baldwin in one of his best performances, watches along with a representative from a corporate station that wants to take the show to a national audience.  Uncomfortable with being observed and unhappy with being kept in the dark about the show’s possible syndication, Barry is understandably paranoid.  And, it is this paranoia, a paranoia that runs oppressively throughout the film, that lends itself well to Oliver Stone’s directing style.

For Stone, paranoia is a familiar theme and here he is expert at drawing the audience into the character’s state of mind.  There is never a sense that the character’s reactions are disproportionate to what is happening around him.  Certainly, some of it may be unfounded, but one of Stone’s strengths is that he never reveals enough information to cause the audience to become dismissive.  By giving the audience no more information than the character has, it is easy to identify with the character and to see why he behaves the way he does.

Despite being twenty years old, the story holds up well.  Rather than being topical, as one might suspect a film about talk radio to be, Bogosian dug deep to find cultural themes that are as relevant today as when they were first written.  In addition to being sound thematically, there is nothing in it’s style or dialogue that would give it’s age away.

Along with the great writing and direction, the cast is exceptional.  Michael Wincott makes one of his best screen appearances as Kent, an obnoxious metal head, as well as providing the voice of several callers.  Then there’s John C. McGinley as Barry’s engineer, Stu.  Park Overall also lends her voice to several callers.  And, for those familiar with the demise of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen, or the personal life of Jean-Michel Basquiat, it is interesting to note Rockets Redglare provides the voice of the threatening redneck.

See this movie.

My rating: Five of Five

Bone Tired

Exhaustion has set in.  After a mostly sleepless night and a day of cleaning house, I’m ready to drop.  Right now my back aches, but it doesn’t seem as bad as it was last night, so hopefully, I’ll simply pass out at bed time.  But, before that can happen, I have to look at job postings.  I’ve looked at a few already and under normal circumstances I could easily have my pick, but because of my back I’m a bit skittish about taking on a job where one of the requirements is that I be able to lift sixty pounds.  At this point, though, it’s either that or find a temp agency that will actually put me to work instead of forcing me to take endless typing tests.  Whatever the case, I will sort it out a little later when my head is clearer.  Right now, wifey is home, we both need some attention and we need to sort out what to do about dinner.  So, I’ll let you know what happened.

Kind of Blue

I’m feeling disconnected, not quite part of my own life.  I’ve felt this way for a couple of days now.  Maybe it’s the returning pain.  Maybe it’s doing nothing, not even housework.  I don’t know.  All I want to do is lay around and eat.

I hate feeling this way, not because of how I feel, but because of how I act.  It turns me into a jerk.  For two days I have neglected the single most important person in my life and have made her feel as if the disconnected feeling is her fault.  I love her completely and she does not deserve this.

So, now that she’s returned to work and we won’t have a moment alone together for days, I’ll try to pull myself out of this, though, without any sleep I don’t know how easy that will be today.

Another Sleepless Night

Due to a spasming, cramped, aching back and a burning sensation in my legs, sleep has been cancelled for tonight.  This is not the first time that I’ve been exhausted and unable to sleep because my back was hurting.  It has happened a few times since I injured my back in May, but this is possibly the most frustrating instance because I’ve been feeling so much better over the past week.

On Tuesday I will be having an MRI and, hopefully, this will be fixed soon.  The steroid that I was given last week worked amazingly well and gave me several nearly pain free days, but since they have been gone, and I’ve switched to a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory, the pain has gradually returned.  Granted, it’s not nearly back to the level that it was prior to taking the steroid, but it does increase daily despite the current anti-inflammatory.

In addition to the gradual daily increase in pain, last night I slept in a twisted position and woke up today in a lot more pain than I should have had.  For the first time in a week, it’s been difficult to move about.  If this continues and there is no permanent fix for it, I don’t know how long I will be able to handle it.  Being in constant pain is depressing and I feel like I can’t have the life I want and do the things I want to do while I’m in this condition.

At this point, I’m willing to do nearly anything to be permanently rid of this pain.  I feel like my life is on hold and can’t resume until it is gone; and it is that thought along with the pain that has been keeping me awake tonight.  I have no focus, no concentration, no motivation, and no energy.  I simply want to have the ability do the things I desire to do.  It doesn’t seem like much to ask, but that day feels so far away.

Nowhere Fast

It’s been two weeks since I first went to the temp agency and I still haven’t worked a day.  Initially, they wanted me to answer phones somewhere, but apparently, my typing speed isn’t high enough for me to do that, despite the fact that I did that exact job for the past four years.  Since having me retake the typing test, I haven’t heard a word back from them.  I’ve sent a couple of emails because my contact told me not to call and to email instead, but she’s not responding.  At this point, I’m ready to say I’m done with it before it ever got started.  Tomorrow, while wifey is at work, I’m going to hit all the job hunting websites and dump as many resumes as possible.

Swimming with Sharks

Swimming with Sharks *****

“You are nothing.  If you were in my toilet I wouldn’t bother flushing it.  My bathmat means more to me than you.”- Kevin Spacey as Buddy Ackerman

1994′s Swimming with Sharks is one of my all time favorite films.  It stars Kevin Spacey as Buddy Ackerman, the world’s worst boss, and Frank Whaley as Guy, his milquetoast of an assistant.

The story centers on Buddy’s abuse of Guy and Guy’s reaction to it.  From day one at his new job, Guy endures Buddy’s endless abuse.  No matter what he does, Guy can not appease Buddy until, as stated by Benicio del Toro in a minor role, he learns to anticipate Buddy’s every need, but even then he still gets screwed by Buddy in other ways.  This continues until Guy decides to take revenge and breaks into Buddy’s house to hold him hostage.

It’s a weird combination of humor and drama.  At times, it’s got an absurd humor.  For instance, while holding him hostage, Guy intentionally gives Buddy paper cuts.  At other times, it’s heart breaking, like when Buddy details the death of his wife.  But, comedy or drama, it’s always interesting.

The writing is great.  Everything ties together and there aren’t any wasted scenes.  The subplot involving Guy’s relationship with a producer (played by Michelle Forbes) serves the primary plot line, driving it, rather than being an annoying cutaway from it.  Each character’s arc is fully formed and executed.  And, there’s enough plot twists to keep you engaged.

See this movie.

My rating: Five of Five

On a Clear Panhandle Night

On Friday night we drove to Texas, wifey, her kid and me.  We arrived late Friday night/early Saturday morning after an eight hour drive.  When we walked into my parents’ house, everyone was asleep.  After waking the kids just enough to say hello and to tell them to go back to sleep, we went to bed.  So, it wasn’t until the next morning when the whole family met her.

On Saturday we woke around eleven in the morning, local time.  Her kid had already been awake for hours and had been playing with my kids.  Thankfully, they got along great.  After introducing my new wife-to-be to my parents and kids, we decided to take the kids, all of the kids, mine, hers, and my sister’s, out to see some of the silliness that is around Amarillo.  The first stop was to be the Cadillac Ranch with a pass by Stanley Marsh 3′s property so she could take a picture of the “Actual Size” sign he’s got out there.  While sitting on the shoulder of Amarillo Boulevard when she was taking said picture, I decided to make a detour to see the Helium Monument that’s located just outside the Discovery Center in Medi-Park.  This turned out to be one of the best parts of the day, and trip.

Once we pulled into the parking lot and unloaded all six kids, we took pictures of them standing in front of and climbing on the monument.  After a few minutes, boredom set in, as it always does when you’re looking at some goofy monument that has no real meaning.  So, I suggested we walk down to the water that sits all around the park.  Everyone agreed that this was a good idea.

As we walked, it was great to hear all of the kids talking and laughing with each other.  They kept making comments and jokes that bordered on inappropriate, but I didn’t feel much like bringing everyone down in order to police it, so I let it go.  When we reached the water’s edge, the kids immediately started throwing rocks into the water.  They did this for awhile before I decided we should walk to the other side of the park where I remembered there being playground equipment.  Along the way, we encountered a large group of ducks and took pictures of one weird looking red headed duck that looked like a cross between a duck and a turkey.  This prompted discussion of turducken and what order the birds are placed together.  While we argued the point and walked, we finally came to the road that traverses the park where everyone ran across, looking for the promised playground equipment, but there was none.  Instead, it had been replaced by a covered picnic area.

Rather than turning around, we continued on around the park, once again stopping at the water’s edge for the kids to observe a couple of dead fish.  While they did that, I remembered the concrete overflow that was on the back side of the park and decided we should walk over to look at it as it was one of my favorite parts of the park as a teenager. I mean, what kid doesn’t love dangerous looking concrete structures that you can climb and hang on?

At the overflow, the kids got soaked while running through the flowing water.  But, that was okay because everyone was having a good time.  After completing the circuit of the park, my kids’ half-sister needed to use the bathroom.  My little wifey volunteered to stay with the other kids while my daughter and I took her to the restroom.  For us, the trip to the bathroom was uneventful, but for her the awkwardness hit full force.

While we were away, my sister’s daughter started in on how much she misses my dead girlfriend, even though she only knew her for a week.  When wifey told me this, I knew exactly who had said it and I couldn’t help laughing about how awkward that must have been.  Fortunately for me, she had a good sense of humor about the situation.

After leaving the park, we were off to the Cadillac Ranch.  For those of you who don’t know, the Cadillac Ranch is another of Stanley Marsh’s (along with the Ant Farm) art projects.  It’s ten Cadillacs buried nose down on in the middle of a pasture.  The cars all have inch thick layers of paint from graffiti, to which we had every intention of adding.  When we arrived, I gave each kid a can of spray paint and let them go nuts.  Half an hour later, they were all covered in paint and marker and were wanting to leave.

While there, I left a few markings of my own and gave a frightening man who claimed to be a carny a can of spray paint so he could leave his mark as well.  He was with an equally frightening woman.  They both looked like they could have stepped out of a Jerry Springer episode.  Both were missing teeth, wearing filthy thrift store rejects, and looked like they hadn’t encountered running water in over a decade.  Later, wifey made fun of me for acting like I couldn’t hear what they were saying in the middle of the conversation.  Yes, it was rude, but I didn’t want to spend an hour trapped talking to them about how the carny business is and how the cars got to be buried there.

Leaving, the kids were all tired and wanted to return to my parents’ house, but I had one more stop to make.  It was at another of Stanley Marsh’s art projects, Ozymandias.  The piece takes it’s name from a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley about two legs of a long lost statue that are found in the desert.

Marsh’s set of legs are adorned with painted socks and sit on a piece of private property located at I-27 and Sundown Lane.  On this day, there was a bull in the pasture with the legs, so we took a few pictures from the safety of the car.  Though, when it seemed like the pictures weren’t coming out well, I decided to venture out.  As I came around the side of the car, the bull charged me from behind barbed wire.  For a moment, I was afraid he would bust right through and I readied myself to run around the car if needed, but he stopped short of the fence and allowed me to wander around, though I did keep my distance.

On the way home, we snapped more pictures of Stanley Marsh’s street signs.  Once we were back at my parents’ house, we ate dinner, then spent the next six hours playing a game of Trivial Pursuit that seemed like it would never end.  I had forced the game as a way of socializing because I didn’t want our evening with my parents to turn into a four hour stretch of television watching as it often does at their house.  So, instead, my sister, her husband, mom, dad, wifey and me played the never-ending-game.  Even though the game wouldn not end, it was worth it to have the time with my family.

The best line of the night came from my sister after I was complaining about something that I do not recall now.  She said, “All I hear when you complain is, ‘my vagina hurts.’”  Of course, I’ve heard that before, but there was something about that particular conversation that struck me as funny.

After the game, my mom called me aside to tell me how much she and my dad like my fiancee.  Not that it mattered, but it was nice to hear.  They wanted to let me know that I seemed very happy with her (which I am) and that they were happy to know I had someone taking care of me.

The next day we loaded up and made the long trip back to Boulder.  Overall, it was a very good trip and after seeing wifey interact with my family, I love her more than I did when we left.  But then, that happens to me all the time.  She says or does something that makes me love her more than I did the minute before.  It gets to be overwhelming sometimes, but I would never trade it for anything.

The Long Drive

Today we drive back to Colorado after a weekend in Texas (more on that later).  It’s been fun, but I’m already dreading the drive.  Seven to eight hours of road time after a fairly exhaustive couple of days is not exactly my idea of fun.  Aside from the boredom of the drive, it gives me a back ache.  Not that it’s been bad this time, but it definitely does affect the way I feel.  So, many hours from now, I’ll be back to repot on the whole trip and how much this drive home hurt.

My Aching Back Part 2

After waking at 9:30 for a 9:30 appointment and the ensuing rush to get to the doctor’s office, we were told by the receptionist that she wasn’t certain we would be seen today.  While she checked, we rushed through the pre-appointment paperwork that we were supposed to be fifteen minutes early to fill out.  Seven minutes after arriving, we were led to a room where we were told the Physician’s Assistant would see me, but it would be rushed as he already had others to see.

A few minutes later, a man in his mid-to-late forties, Paul, the Physician’s Assistant (and my favorite medical professional so far), came in and started asking me questions.  He did a few tests and then told me he wanted an MRI and some x-rays done.  Then he led me off to a room to be x-rayed.

In the x-ray room, an older woman took four shots of my lower back.  All together the whole process took about fifteen minutes and she instantly had the x-rays on her computer.  Moments later, we were back in the examination room with the images on a wall-mounted computer screen.

Paul then returned and looked at the images.  He said everything looked good, but he couldn’t tell if I had a bulge from the x-rays; that’s what the MRI is for.  He then gave me prescriptions for pain killers, steroids and anti-inflammatories.  During this, a woman came to the door and said something that I didn’t catch and he then told us that that was the code for him to move on to the next patient.  This, however, didn’t prevent him from spending another ten minutes there to make sure I understood what the medication was for and to ask if I had any questions.  When I told him I understood everything, he apologized for being rushed and speaking fast (a quality I actually like) then told us to make an appointment for my MRI.  Though, he did manage find half-a-dozen ways of nicely calling me fat before he left.

Forty-five minutes after arriving, we had my MRI appointment and were on our way.  Immediately, we went to get my prescriptions filled.  They cost fifty dollars, but from what I can tell so far, they were worth every cent.  For the first time in days I’m not nauseous from pain and I’m feeling better than I have in weeks.  Supposedly, the steroids will take a few days to do what they do, but Paul said I’d probably feel completely different once they start to work.  They’re supposed to take down the inflammation and cause the pain to subside.  Once those have done their job, I switch to an anti-inflammatory that will help to maintain that condition.

After this morning’s experience I was left feeling positive and really hopeful about getting this corrected.  This is the first time since that first pop in my back fifteen years ago that I have felt like I might be pain free someday.

Of course, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my wifey.  Without her there to encourage me and to set things in motion, I never would have seen anyone about it.  I would have just accepted that I was going to be in pain forever and tried to ignore it, an attitude that comes from being afraid of doctors.  Honestly, I think I’ve never had a good experience with anyone in the medical field and that is the source of my fear.  But, I think with her help that will change.  I don’t know if she’s doing it on purpose, but as a nursing student, she is definitely showing me the better side of that world.

Bad Boy Bubby

Having rated nearly four thousand movies on my Netflix account (yeah, I know I have no life), I’ve decided I should share some comments on a few.  Periodically, I’ll post thoughts on films I’ve seen.  This is the first.

BAD BOY BUBBY *****

This 1999 Australian film follows the misadventures of Bubby, a thirty-something man who’s never experienced life outside of his mother’s squalid apartment.  It seems she’s told him for his entire life that the air outside is poisoned and leaving the apartment means certain death.

I saw this movie a few years ago and it’s been one of my favorites since.  However, when recommending this one, I always give a warning.  The first act is disturbing.  There is abuse, both physical and mental, there is incest, there is animal torture, there is despair, filth, pain, and a lot of other unpleasantness, but it is necessary.  To have Bubby take the journey he does, this opening has to happen.  He has to start in that ugly place, or it just wouldn’t work.

Something I’ve always found appealing in both books and movies is the unreliable narrator.  And, Bubby is definitely unreliable; he is defective in that he is amoral.  He’s never learned right or wrong and what happens simply happens.  From his perspective it’s not good or bad.  It just is.  This leads to some interesting and humorous situations, but as I’ve stated, it requires you to sit through that horrifying first act, but it is well worth it.

Beyond the story, Nicholas Hope, in his first feature role, does a great job as Bubby and carries the film on his own.  The cinematography, by Ian Jones, finds beauty in the disturbing subject matter.  And, Rolf de Heer does an incredible job of keeping things focused and on track in his dual role as director and producer.

See this movie.

My rating: Five of Five

My Aching Back

About fifteen years ago I was working as a stockman at a retail chain.  One day, after unloading four trucks, I went home, sat down and felt a pop in my lower back.  After that I couldn’t move.  The pain was excruciating.  So, I went to my doctor the next day.  He said it was a pulled muscle and if I gave it some rest it would be better in a few days.  He was partially right.  After several weeks the pain subsided, but since then I’ve had recurring lower back pain.  For years, it would ache for a few days then it would stop aching for a few.  It was something I could tolerate and I had come to accept this as part of life until a few months ago.

In May my car stalled on the highway between Denver and Boulder and I had to walk about seven miles into Boulder.  The next day, I couldn’t move to get out of bed.  The pain was unbearable and at the urging of my girlfriend, I went to the emergency room.  There the doctor poked at my back, did a few other tests and told me he thought I had ruptured a disc.  He then gave me some pain medication and muscle relaxers and told me I needed to see a specialist.

I never saw the specialist because I couldn’t afford it.  With no insurance, I decided it would be best to try to tolerate the pain.  Now, for the past four months, I’ve been in fairly severe pain every day.  It is often difficult to walk, my ability to sleep has been disrupted, the burning sensation in my legs never goes away and the pain in my back is worse than it’s ever been.  Of course, I try not to complain about it.  Focusing on it only makes it seem worse, so instead, I try to pretend it doesn’t hurt, that nothing is wrong with me and my life is normal.  Though, my wife-to-be can always tell when it’s really bothering me.

And, it is because of her that I will be going to the doctor tomorrow.  Actually, the doctor is booked until the end of October, so I will be seeing the physician’s assistant who will determine if it is bad enough for me to be placed ahead of others to see the doctor.  Hopefully, I will get something for the pain; not that I want to be medicated, but it would be nice to take the edge off and be able to get a full night of sleep.  And, I hope something can be done to fix this that doesn’t require surgery.  I’ve never heard of anyone getting better and having less pain after back surgery.  To have this amont of pain, or more, for the rest of my life is something I’m not sure I could handle.

The Spider and the Fly

As a child, I loved rolling myself into a blanket.  The constricted sensation that it brought was somehow exhilarating.  I could spend hours, immobile, in my warm, self-made womb.  It was only after very long periods of time that the hot, sickening feeling of anxiety and panic would set in, forcing me to unravel myself and gulp down large quantities of cool air that made me feel fresh and alive once again.

Later, as a teenager, the enjoyment that I received from that activity became sexualized.  I would lay in bed with the covers pulled tightly around me, pinned neatly under my naked body, the warm, dizzy, suffocating sensation giving me an erection that, with my hands pinned beneath me, I could do nothing about.  For as long as I could bear, I would lay there, my cocoon growing warmer and warmer until finally I was drenched in sweat.  With the old, familiar panic beginning to creep up, I would free myself and find some release.

During my early adulthood, I gave this up, but would often find myself fantasizing about being wrapped in plastic.  It was something that never went beyond being a simple fantasy.  Sometimes I would try to work out the logistics of doing this to myself, but no matter how well I thought it out, I was never sure about being able to free myself once the deed was done, so I never took action.  Occasionally, I would entertain the idea of asking someone to wrap me up, but being from a conservative Texas town, such “deviant” behavior is not something that would have been welcomed by any of the girls I dated.  Nor, would I have trusted any of them enough to place myself in such a vulnerable position.  Instead, I decided to forget about it and place it on the list of things that would be great to do but would never actually happen.

A few weeks ago, however, I told my fiancee that I wanted her to wrap me in plastic.  After all, I trust her as I trust myself and, not being from that flat spot in Texas, she has no automatic bias against such behavior.  Unsurprisingly, and to my elation, she said she would.  So, last week, she took a roll of cling wrap and slowly wrapped my naked body in several layers of plastic.

The whole experience was better than had I ever hoped.  As she slowly rolled out the layers, leaving me immobilized, she seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself.  With each pass, she was smiling more and gaining excitement.  By the time the entire roll was encasing me, we were both a bit giddy.  Then came time for me to move to a horizontal position.  This required some careful maneuvering for both of us.  While I could move my feet slightly, there was the very real possibility that I would fall during the move and there would be no choice to cut me free to get me up off the floor.  Slowly, I inched my way to the bed and she helped me onto my back.  Once I was there, she laid against me, her body heat causing me to sweat and stick to the inside of my casing.  This was surprisingly relaxing with the only discomfort coming from my erection being restricted by my wrappings.

After pressing against me and talking for awhile, she decided to cut my erection free.  Having no ability to move on my own, she was free to do with me as she pleased; and, with each action she took, I became sweatier and less able to move.  The pleasure mixed with the frustration of being trapped was one of the best feelings I’ve ever experienced.  Eventually, though, the feeling of panic and anxiety began to creep in and I had to ask her to cut me free before I started to hyperventilate.

This, like so many others with her, was one of the best sexual experiences of my life.  Certainly, we will be doing it again.  But, even greater than the experience itself, is having someone that I can trust to do this with.  I love being vulnerable with her and I love being able to be free with her.  That’s something I’ve never experienced with anyone.  And, that’s one of the many, many reasons I’m making her my wife.

I Do Declare

So, I have an appointment with a temp agency tomorrow.  As much as I dread having to work a job, we need the money.  My fiancee has been great about letting me not work for a month, but I can sense some building tension because of it.

Like I’ve been telling her, I need to declare myself a filmmaker and start acting like it.  Lately, I’ve not been doing anything to reach the goal of completing my film and it really bothers me, but I just can’t seem to find the motivation.  I think staying at home all the time makes me lazy.  At least when I’ve got a job I hate there’s enough friction from that to motivate me to get out.  So, with the prospect of temping sitting in front of me, I’m going to sit down tonight with wifey and review my story notes in an attempt to get my head back into the story.  A good chunk of it has been written, but I know, not only does it need to be finished, it also needs to be polished.

I also really need to begin working on finding people in this area who are interested in filmmaking.  It won’t be long before I need to start putting people together and I’d like to know who I’m going to be working with before it reaches that point.  At some point, I was considering taking an acting class to meet some actors, but I’ll have to see if my work schedule will allow that.  Right now, I know only one person here who would be willing to work on my film.  He’s a camera operator who owns a good camera and would be willing to work cheap.  But, I need more than that.  At a minimum I’ll need someone to record sound as well as actors.  Of course, I could do it mariachi style and be my own crew, but if we’re going to be shooting video to look like film, I think I need to be able to delegate to a small crew so I can focus on the look and performances.  The bottom line is the finished film needs to look like I’m at least competent.  We’ve watched so many bad, cheap, shot-on-video movies lately that I have a fear of making exactly that and that’s something I can’t bear.

So, right now, I’m making the declaration…I’m a filmmaker.  And, I will act like it from this moment forward.

Cat Fight

It starts with a low howl that develops quickly into hissing and spitting until one of them starts to run and it becomes an all-out clawing, scratching, biting fight.  This is followed by me chasing them around with a spray bottle full of water trying to make them stop.

When I met my future wife, she had been fostering kittens for the Humane Society for a couple of years.  The way it works is we take in a litter of kittens and keep them until they weigh enough to be neutered or spayed and then placed for adoption.  The goal is to acclimatize them to human interaction while they gain enough weight to survive surgery.

A few weeks ago, we took in a litter that was still nursing, so the mother cat came along with them.  Since then, the mother has taken to fighting with the other cats who live here.  Currently, the other cats hide in the bedroom to avoid her.  This has gone so far that the other cats seem to have lost weight from not eating to avoid her.  Tomorrow, though, that all changes when momma goes back to the Humane Society.  She’s recently stopped feeding her litter and has no use here.  I’m sure our cats will be as happy as I am to see her go.

Narcissism

Is it narcissistic if the thing I like most about my fiancee is that she is like me?

It’s true.  I have never met anyone who is as much like me as she is.  When I am with her it is like being alone, only better.  I never have to pretend to be something I’m not with her.  There’s a freedom to be who I am with her that I’ve never had before.  Someone once told me that the person you should be with is the person who you have to give up the least of yourself to be with.  With her, not only do I not have to give up any of myself, but there seems to be more to me when she’s around.  She adds to me rather than taking away.  There are times when she will be doing or saying something and it causes me to think to myself, “If I were a girl, I would be her. “

What’s most striking about this to both of us is how we are so similar, but came from environments that were dissimilar.  Somehow, we each took very different input and came out with the same world view.  Regardless of how we got here, being with someone who shares my view on nearly everything is simply one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had.

The Wait

It is hot.  I am sweating.  I have done nothing but sit on the couch for the last hour, drinking soda and watching season one of The Office on our Netflix Roku box.  The house needs to be cleaned, but I’m saving that for later.  Right now, I’m just trying to make it to midnight when I get to see my wife-to-be during her meal break at work.

Lately, she has been working a good amount of overnight shifts during which I stay at home and pace around while I wait to see her again.  As with most nights when she is working, I am going to meet her for her midnight lunch, then I will come home and clean house and try not to think about how many hours must pass before I see her again.

I don’t know why I have so much anxiety about being away from her.  I have never been this way about anyone else.  In fact, if it were anyone else I would welcome the time apart, but, with her, I feel like I am going to lose my mind when she is not here.  There is no reason for me to feel this way.  I know she’s only at work and I will be seeing her soon, but I can’t help myself.  I want to spend every possible second with her.  She is everything I want and need.

Caution

A few days ago I stopped at a convenience store to use the restroom.  This sign was on the restroom door.  It made me worry about entering, but my aching bladder made me enter regardless.  Aside from heavy graffitti, the place was clean.  Cleaner than most public restrooms, which made me wonder where the danger was.

Floundering

“I have no money, no resources, no hopes.  I am the happiest man alive.”

- Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

In the few weeks since I was last employed, I have done nothing to find a job.  I am almost completely out of money and am completely dependent upon my fiancee for all of my needs.  Of course, she tells me it’s okay for me to take as much time as I need before finding a new job, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling a bit of disgust for myself everytime she has to pay for something.  Though, this disgust alone is not enough to force me into hunting for employment.  The fact is, I like being at home all the time playing house husband.  I clean, I cook on occasion, I take care of the cats, and I do all I can to make her happy.  When she’s away at work or class, I’m at home taking care of the house and having separation anxiety until she returns.

To be honest, I have been happier since I quit working than I have been in a good long time.  That job went on far longer than it should have and now that it’s gone, I love the freedom that being broke offers.  Compared to that job, being unemployeed and broke seems like a no-stress situation.  It feels like my life is starting fresh and I’m finally free of everything infuriating or frustrating in my life.

While I have been enjoying my time off, I do realize that I need to find a job.  After some discussion, it appears I will probably be temping again for the first time in years.  I plan on putting myself on for all forms of work, everything from manual labor to office work, to keep things interesting.  By this time next week, I should be well on my way to being just another temp again.  If nothing else, it should be good source material for the screenwriting I’m supposed to be doing.