Massive Cardiac Suckage

 

More news on the cardiac front for me. For those unlucky enough to stumble upon this post for the first time back on August 1^st 2018 my heart suddenly went into ventricular tachycardia launching me into a cardiac adventure that didn't end until December of that same year. Unfortunately, I didn't come away free and clean. Turns out I possess a genetic defect that prevents my heart cells from producing, or correctly producing, a protein vital for proper function.

Four cardiac ablations, two different types of pacemakers, and a whole spectrum of different medicines later I have fought this condition to a standstill. That is until February of 2020 when I started being plagued with atrial fibrillation, or A-Fib for short.

Now A-Fib isn't as dangerous as tachycardia, and as one of my doctors likes to tell me people actually “live” with it to the degree it's effecting me. But A-Fib sucks high balls, especially since I live in a place that is hot and humid for a larger portion of the year as compared to being cool and pleasant. Besides sucking the energy to do any activity from my body, A-Fib would also send it into full-fledged flop sweats. So much that a few people actually stopped me in the hallways or my work and ask if I was okay.

Well, back in April I had a simple procedure called a cardioversion where my Columbia-based doctor shocked my defective heart out of A-Fib. It worked, at the time, and I felt great and went about my business. That is until the middle of July went my goddamned heart casually went back into A-Fib. Being deep into the summer at the time, at first I just thought the heat and humidity were taking its toll. That is until the first of August when the dipshit asshole- and I truly mean that- scheduler for my cardiologist in Columbia called to tell me that the doctor really wanted to see me “as soon as possible” but that his first available appointment wasn't until the end of that month.

“Huh...wait, what?” I said only thinking that my appointment with that specific doctor wasn't supposed to happen until the middle of October. The scheduler, being a dipshit asshole quickly cut the call leaving me wondering what the hell was going on. So I called back the next day with the intention of getting an appointment with the cardiologist's physician assistant or nurse practitioner, someone who I'm on better terms with than the Columbia cardiologist.

No, the scheduler went full prissy asshole acting like my request was done just to shit in his morning cornflakes. Still feeling like shit and wanting some answers before the end of August I make another phone call to the Advanced Heart Failure Clinic, a separate practice in the same location, and still got nowhere.

So instead I called the cardiologist down in Charleston and got an appointment just a week later. The Charleston cardiologist didn't waste time and promptly ordered another cardioversion that day upon seeing me. It was quite the surprise actually since I expected him to just kick the can down the road.

I was A-Fib free until September 8^th went my heart again casually went back into it. Now I'm looking at a cardiac ablation, my fifth, scheduled for November 3^rd here in Columbia. I'd rather have it with the Charleston cardiologist but it's easier on my family to have it here and from all my best information ablations of A-Fib are for more simple than the ones for ventricular tachycardia.

So if anyone out there was wondering what happened to me I simply didn't have the energy to try and dazzle you with my brilliance, or more accurately baffle you with my bullshit.

I'm still going to work during the week and performing the absolutely minimum in outside chores. That latter part isn't affected by the A-Fib, I just don't give much of a rip about the yard work.

As for the November 3^rd ablation, hopefully the Columbia-based cardiologist will nail down the bad spots in my heart the first time. He screwed up on the first ablation back in August 2018 and his three others didn't relieve me of the tachycardia. It took the Charleston cardiologist to nail down the life threatening spot on my heart.

Unfortunately, my genetic condition means my heart will continue to be a dick for the rest of my life. Meaning I will continue to live under the threat of things like A-Fib and tachycardia as well as Cardiomyopathy. At least I have health insurance and access to several top notch doctors down in Charleston.

Yes, a heart transplant is a possibility but I don't want to think about that until I absolutely must.

The Stupidity of the Carolina Squat

 For me anything that falls under the umbrella of “popular culture” is something I usually try and ignore. Whatever popular culture once was it is now overwhelmingly a banal wasteland paradoxically overflowing with lackluster personalities and social influencers who while not quite parasites on the butt of society certainly offer nothing of value to it.

Case in point has to be the Kardashians and anyone else associated with their popularity. There was a time when I thought they would fade into the static of American life like numerous others who found fame but couldn't justify it. Now, I have this strange idea that they will be remembered for hundreds of years in the future as a new type of demigods. I've got to admit, not bad for a family whose first dose of fame came from a “leaked” sex tape.

Despite my best efforts to ignore popular culture, aspects of it do penetrate my defenses making me take notice. That happened a few weeks back while I was stopped at a red light.

One of those massive monster trucks pulled up beside me. The funny thing though was that it was obvious that the front end was pointed up at a near forty-five degree angle. Like the back end of the truck was carrying a massive load weighing down the suspension. No, that wasn't the case. When the light turned green the driver of the truck hauled ass leaving me behind in all his truck exhaust glory.

Given the angle of the truck I could easily see the bed was empty of cargo. I didn't think much more of the truck until I saw another configured the same way a day or two later, then again not a couple of days later. By that point it was obvious these truck were not suffering from some sort of mechanical failure but were being alter to that configuration on purpose.

Eventually, I learned that these trucks with the front end pointed up, or the rear end modified to be lower was called the “Carolina Squat.”

Curiosity got the better of me and I did a little internet sleuthing. This trend originated in California and was used on the Baja desert racing circuit where it was called the “California Lean” or “Cali Lean.” Lowering the back end had a practical purpose in the sandy terrain and hilly landscape. When contestants hit a jump at high speed, the rear end would hit the ground first helping to avoid a crash. However this modification has no practical purpose when the vehicle stay strictly on highways and streets.

Leave it to the unrepentant ignorant rednecks of the American South to grab onto this trend in an attempt to impress someone. It was bad enough when years ago they started raising the wheel-bases of their trucks to the point small step ladders were needed to climb up into the cab. Throw in chrome rims that can run into the thousands of dollars alone and the American South once again can be thought of as a backwards bunch of idiots desperately attempting to overcome some perceived shortfall in manhood.

The shortfalls of the Carolina Squat include a total loss in towing capability, a dangerous reduction in proper handling along with simply being unable to see the road. Mainly because the truck's headlights will be pointed up and not down at the road ahead.

Leave it to Southerners to lead the charge into another level of stupidity.

One of Those Weeks

Last Friday about this time I was mentally preparing myself for the rough week that I knew was coming. It started Saturday with my wife and I driving separate cars up to Clemson University to bring our daughter home. The semester was over, she had passed all her exams and came away with a GPA well over 3.80. I was/am proud of her as any dad can be.

Once we arrived at the collection of Soviet-era looking building that pass as student dormitories, the crazy shit slammed into a giant high speed fan. Just imagine the night the Titanic got much too personal with a random iceberg and you have something approaching the craziness of several hundred upper middle class parents all struggling to load up their kids' crap and go home. Throw in way too many cars, trucks, SUVs, and even a couple of mid-sized U-haul moving vans in an area never meant to have a quarter of that number and you could begin to understand the confusion and frustration.

Strangely enough, everyone seemed in a friendly and lighthearted mood. No arguments or fights, just way too many people in an area that the campus authorities had setup with multiple barriers to impend anyone getting too close to the buildings. We're talking 9/11 era safety features to prevent anyone from driving hypothetical car bombs up to the buildings front entrances.

Luckily, my wife and I had arrived a little earlier than our scheduled pickup time, so getting our daughter's stuff loaded was actually not as bad as I feared. Just when we were pulling out the next wave of parents started flowing into dorm parking lot. Still though, the drive back down to Columbia was exhausting and I pretty much gave up on all activity the minute I walked back into the house and saw the living room couch.

The next day was yard work, and even with a nifty new John Deere riding lawnmower I still had to pull out the trusty push mower and the irritating weed whacker to tame smaller, overgrown areas. Where was my rising Clemson University sophomore daughter? She had skipped out with her two college friends for an early Sunday brunch leaving me high and dry. I didn't say much to her about abandoning good old dad because she really buckled down and studied for her exams.

But wait folks, there was still a good bit of flying shit for the rest of the week as well.

Back at my work, I took a buddy's on-call for this week because he was hurt. And it was a moderately bad week involving a great deal of hospital equipment and circumstances I never had to deal with before. That was just Monday morning and early afternoon. The real fun began around five o'clock in the afternoon.

As massive squall line of storms swept through my area and as I was trying to post something that day. Somewhere around four O'clock I heard what that I'd have to describe as a combination of a thick limb breaking and outright explosion. It happened after a massive and prolonged gust of wind that had me listening for the telltale sound of the proverbial locomotive plowing through my subdivision.

 

We totally lost one tree in the backyard with it falling over into the neighbor's backyard crushing the fence. Making matters worse, where that tree fell is the usual location of that guy's super fancy bass boat. Luckily, the neighbor moved his boat sometime before so I didn't have to deal with my insurance guy. But I did talk to the neighbor about going halves on the fence repair since he had attached his small segment of fence to mine without asking permission. No he said, they're broke but will gladly give us tons of moral support for our trouble.

In the front yard the old and brittle river birch growing right at the neighborhood intersection lost a lot of decent-sized limbs. Limbs big and numerous enough to completely stop traffic from coming in and going out of the neighborhood. While it was still raining I ran out into the street and cleaned up the fallen limbs tossing them in my front yard. Looking on the bright side of things, my wife has finally agreed to have that river birch removed. After every storm over the last several years, I had informed her that if one of the big limbs or even a part of the trunk had fallen into the street there was no way I could clear it. And Heaven forbid had a big limb or part of the trunk hit a car that was stopped at the intersection. 

 The tree guys are coming in a couple of days to give us an estimate for removal. We're talking a couple of thousand dollars, at least.

Given the situation at work on Monday and my impromptu tree cleaning that day I passed out the second my head hit the bed that night. The rest of the work week was quite busy with me breaking new records in the number of total steps each day. I still have to cover for my buddy this weekend and will not be off call until Monday morning. Here's hoping nothing weird happens as this week slowly dies.

The final icing on the cake this week was the dishwasher. Last Sunday it gave up the ghost, stopping in the middle of a cleaning cycle. The tiny LED screen on the door threw up an error message saying the drain pump was the issue.

No problem, a couple of YouTube videos later I have my head in the dishwasher cleaning the filter screen. Since that didn't solve anything the next item on the trouble shooting agenda had me giving it a mechanical colonoscopy around the impeller of the drain pump. Sure enough the impeller was frozen with me not finding anything causing the jam.

Enter the professional appliance technician who had to make three separate visits this week to fix the dishwasher each time. Third service call appears to have been the charm with the dishwasher purring along even now as I type out this less than glamours collection of verbal offal.

Yeah, washing dishes is literally one of those “First World Problems” privileged and spoiled Americans whine about but I've hated that chore all my life. So as I sit at the kitchen table reflecting on the past week I take solace in the idea that my entire family, wife, son, his girlfriend, and my daughter will be going to Disney World this December. It's still a long time away but thankfully 2021 seems to be flowing far smoother than 2020.

I just hope I get to hug Goofy. I'll probably cry if I do. It doesn't take much to make me happy at my current stage of life. 

 

 

***Just as I was preparing to post, the dishwasher shut down again and started displaying the same error code. Oh well, at least it's Friday night.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Toothache

 

Got hit with a toothache this morning and I've given up on trying to post anything this weekend. Going to take a long nap and hope my dentist doesn't find anything really bad tomorrow.

 Adding to my misery, my wife has control of the the television and has been watching the Hallmark Channel all day. This could be Hell.  

A Short Post From Crappy Suburbia

 

 

 As usual for me, August brings nothing but endless yard work and long, hot humid days with me dreaming of cooler weather. That was the case last weekend since my daughter and I decided to do the mowing and trimming on Saturday. By the time we were finished the only thing I wanted to do was get cleaned up and vegetate on the couch for the rest of the day.

I've done this blogging long enough to fully understand that a weary and overheated Beach Bum does not create audacious fiction nor insightful essays. However, I still wanted to post something so here is some new Jimmy Buffett. 

Have a good week and send me ideas on how I can get my wife to let me go to the coast next Saturday. Understand this, any ideas offered I will consider. I will not held back by moral or ethical concerns. I need a sandy beach, ocean waves, and a salty breeze.      

Overrated Human Intelligence

One of my repeated topics for my mental offal is how I have seriously doubts as to whether human beings are an intelligent species. In fact one of my earliest blogging buddies took considerable umbrage to my proposal that while a few humans show true intellect or innovation, most Homo sapiens seem content to spend their entire lives going to work, eating, sleeping, and engaging in some form of lowbrow entertainment.

I fully realize that our civilization is not geared to pushing its people to make the most of themselves. Many smart and talented individuals are forever condemned to menial, low paying jobs because they didn't get a proper education to prepare them for college, or simply cannot afford it. Even if a person graduates from college, the job they often end up with is anything but enjoyable or fulfilling. They spend their days stuck in a cubicle dealing with various forms of stress, long hours, and stagnate wages. And we all know the ingrained prejudices of our society cripple many from ever escaping poverty and ignorance.

But where I begin to think humans are just glorified, hairless primates is that many of us do not have the barest inclination to better ourselves. We refuse to do anything but shove empty calories in our mouths while watching hours of low-quality crap on the television or computer. Sure, I have my guilty pleasures like a Three Stooges marathon or some bullshit action movie with explosions and ladies clad in tight spandex. Where I separate myself from the modern Hoi polloi (rednecks or dregs of society) is that I actively investigate multiple sources of new information, which involves the radical act these days of keeping an open mind. Most of all I read everything I can get my hands on, even items that do not support my preconceived notions or beliefs.

The actor Jim Carrey is not a role model for me. While I have enjoyed many of his movies, I understand he holds anti-vaccine views I find incredibly backward and dangerous. But when I saw this quote, I realized he stated my thoughts far more succinctly than I have in all my years of blogging. The vast majority of people I interact with are little more than automatons when it comes to understanding the world. These individuals perform a single function extremely well but when it comes to the topics of basic history, politics, science, or even elementary geography it would be easier to get blood from a granite stone than an informed opinion from them. Their lack of understanding of the world defies description, and yes many subscribe to some of the most outrageous conspiracy theories.

What I find darkly funny is how there is a movement to promote technical trades with the idea that a college education is not worth the cost. I understand the point, but we already have a situation where many people cannot find the United States on the map, recognize a picture of the current vice president, or answer simple questions on history. I can't imagine how our democracy could even begin to function with a population even more ignorant of civics and history.

I know it's futile to even write this but if humans want a purpose to life the easiest one to suggest is that we spend at least a little of our time seeking to better ourselves in some way. Seeking a deeper understanding of the universe is simply too much to ask for the vast majority of people. Their desire to blow off the steam from a frustrating job is understandable, but we should have more respect for ourselves than to continuously wallowing in abject ignorance. Then again, I still hold the view that our intelligence is highly overrated.

More Cardiac Adventures- An Unexpected Hospital Stay

Just a quick update. Had a cardiac ablation on October 11th to solve issues with things like heart flutter and ventricular tachycardia. Cardiac ablation is a relatively simple outpatient procedure but I took a four day weekend to recover because my groin area was quite sore. You really don't want me to explain that detail, just take my word that it's unpleasant.

After a relaxing weekend, on the afternoon of October 15th had a setback. I was suddenly hit with another bout of ventricular tachycardia which sent me to the emergency room and a hospital stay that lasted until this passed Thursday.

Didn't post anything about this hospital stay because I was both depressed and more than slightly pissed. Depressed because the assurances I was given about the problem being "solved" weren't worth the toilet paper stuck to Trump's shoes as he boarded Air Force One the other day. And pissed because I didn't do my own research into VT and the cardiac ablation procedure. Found out people can have up to four procedures and still end up taking the medicine that controls crazy heart rhythms.

Feeling "better" as compared to the events on October 11th. But I'm still getting use to the new blood pressure meds and the fact I don't really have much of an appetite lately. The appetite thing could be a blessing since I need to lose weight anyway.

Once again, huge shout out to my wife, son and daughter who did their best to take care of me. And a massive thank you to my coworkers who visits made me feel much better. 

My Accidental Cardiac Adventures

Truly ugly

 As usual did this in a rush, will proofread and correct later.

Well, as weeks go this one was pure shit bordering on true hell. The end result, which occurred yesterday with me being discharged from the hospital was sore arms from all the IV's the nurses inserted. There is a little exaggeration involved here but given the number of times I had a needle inserted into the crook of my arms or the dorsal side of my hands I could have money renting myself out as a voodoo doll.

Also during this time a majority of my chest hair was eventually shaved off so the little cardiac sensor pads would stay in place. This shaving only took place after the nurses and technicians spent a couple of days ripping a bunch of them off taking clumps of hair every time. On a pain scale, removing the little adhesive sensor pads were relatively minor although we're talking quantity not quality. The biomedical gizmo they used to monitor my heart took five pads, and if one went bad they replaced all of them.

What put me into the hospital? Well Monday night I was at work doing my usual duties, nothing overly difficult or strenuous, just the same old chores. At some point I began to notice I had about ten-thousand butterflies in my chest having a rave party, there was no pain, although I did feel woozy.

I eventually garnered enough sense to go find some medical personnel to check my blood pressure since after about fifteen to twenty minutes it became clear the butterflies were not about to call it quits for the night. Believe it or not, my blood pressure was fine, it was well inside normal, healthy parameters. My heart rate on the other hand was the cardiac equivalent of a nuclear meltdown.

The person I found to check my blood pressure and heart rate was one of the night shift nurses in recovery. Luckily, her department was empty of patients, so she ushered me over to one of the stretchers and had me sit close to the patient monitor. At first all she did was place the blood pressure cuff over my arm and let the automatic system do its electronic thing. It was when she listened to my heart with a stethoscope that I scared the hell out of her. Not only was my heart rate running north of 220 beats per minute, my cardiac rhythm was pure chaos.

Mere minutes later I am wheeled down to the Emergency Department with a whole host of highly trained and very worried people hovering over me. Their chief objective was to get my heart rate down, it took two sets of drugs to accomplish that goal. Not long after that I am wheeled to a room in the cardiac intensive care unit where I spent the next several days.

Long complicated story short, after an intensive electrocardiogram and cardiac catheterization the good news was that my pipes were clear of all that nasty stuff that causes heart attacks. Yeah, given my habits I was rather surprised at that bit of happy information. The partial bad news was that, without going into complex medical terminology I know I was screw up, my heart was suffering from some abnormal cells who essentially could hijack my cardiac rhythm. After discussing this with my doctors, I realized I had been suffering similar episodes that were far less severe and far shorter in duration for a long time. Given my ass backwards work schedule, and that I was both overweight and out of shape, I attributed these episodes to just being tired.

Further good news is that this condition is curable- the exact word used by my cardiologist. It involves a procedure called a cardiac ablation which was performed Thursday night. Once again boiling away the technical terms that I would misuse in some fashion, the doctors got one half of my heart done. There was an issue as they proceeded with the second half and that got scary for my family and for me once I realized the extent of how badly things went sideways.

I have to strongly state that I do not believe the doctors did anything wrong. As with all medical procedures there is a chance things could go bad. Circumstances just didn't obey expectations but the doctors were able snatch at least a partial victory from the jaws of cosmic misfortune. I came away with just a truly huge bruise around my groin. Seriously, it's so massively gross I am tempted to take a picture of it. Don't worry, I have enough sense to realize that posting such a picture would be the worst form of oversharing.

My intention is to recover and about a month or two from now have the other half of the ablation done. As of right now I am taking medication that should at least partially keep the nasty abnormal heart cells from going terrorist and hijacking my heart again.

Please excuse my usual attempts at humor, as you might expect it's a coping mechanism. I do have to give a huge shout out to my fantastic doctors and nurses that worked hard to save my sorry ass. Furthermore, I have to say my coworkers rallied around me in a way that left me misty eyed a couple of times. They took time out of their busy schedules to come see during me while I was laying in a hospital bed. What's worse for them is that the doctors are forcing me to take a week off to recover. That means my monthly duties falls on them, adding to their burden. That truly bothers me and I hope that at some point I can make it up to them.

Getting kicked in the cardiac ass like I did this week means my lifestyle will have to change. Even though the pipes bringing and taking blood away from my heart are squeaky clean, I'm smart enough to know things there could go wrong in the coming years. That means far less coffee and sodas and somehow I will have to find the time and energy to go to the gym.

As things progress, I'll keep everyone informed.

Waiting is the Worst Part

Several months ago, a Canadian guy I know from Facebook posted a question wanting to know which American president was worse, George W. Bush or Trump. His personal assumption was that George W. could still claim the title since he had spent a trillion dollars on the Iraq War and had approved the practices of torture to obtain information from suspected terrorists and mass Orwell-like surveillance on the general public. Being Canadian safely ensconced in the bosom of top rate government healthcare and a far more rational and intelligent population, he is totally cutoff from the facts here in this cauldron of seething fear and rage that is the United States.

True, the current occupant of the White House hasn't gotten around to launching a totally needless but self-serving war that wrecked the political stability of the good chunk of the planet and destroyed literally millions of lives both overseas and here at home. Well, at least not yet, and I mean every word of that short statement. Trump's need for adulation and glory is a dangerous combination and when joined with his saber rattling on Iran, a favorite boogeyman for the clash of civilizations types and the Israeli government, anything is possible. Despite the recent love fest meeting between the narcissistic wonder and the little squirt from North Korea, we are in no way out of the woods in that region.

What Trump has done that in my opinion makes him so dangerous as to change my perceptions of George W. to the point he is almost acceptable is to eat away at the basic foundations of constitutional government and the very stability of the country. Trump is desperate to begin persecution of his political enemies and anyone else that doesn't measure up to his definition of loyalty. Personally, I despise the racist Kebbler elf now running the Justice Department, his policies on marijuana and immigrants are at the very minimum backwards and self defeating for the former and criminal on the latter. The only thing good I can say about Jeff Sessions is that he recused himself from the investigation into Russian interference on the election and has resisted Trump's insistence that he do something to get rid of Mueller.

Civility, a tough concept for Americans in the best of times, has taken a huge hit since Trump has risen to national political prominence. The modern Republican Party, never a bastion of progressive thought when it comes to promoting equality now has admitted neo-Nazis and white supremacists running for elected office. There is only one reason why such individuals haven't been expunged on national television by the Republicans. And if you didn't automatically think of the name of the person who is letting the party of Lincoln slip into fascism you really need to get a grip.

Equally disturbing is how numerous Republicans on social media are saying things worthy of not just the propaganda arm of an authoritarian country, but outright totalitarian police-states. Trump recently said to a Fox and Friends moron that he wanted Americans to sit up for him the same way the North Koreans do for the Kim Jong-un. Another instance involves a Republican party official that recently tweeted we should all get with the Trump program, or else. Not an exact quote by any means but close enough to express her sentiment. What exactly the “or else” means is anyone's guess but I have heard it repeated many times by other Trump supporting morons.

The situation that has sent me into spasms of anger and bewilderment is how Trump is now separating children from their parents or guardians at the border. Yes, these people are trying to enter the country illegally but they are still human beings and should be treated with respect and compassion.

In just over a month almost two-thousand children have been separated from their parents and housed in conditions that at best approach that of dog-kennels or even something far worse. If you've read a little history think back to the Japanese interment camps of WW2 and how they were just thinly disguised concentration camps. Adding another dose of inhumanity is how Trump is using these kids as bargaining chips to get his wall along the Mexican border. He blames the Democrats for his own racist and xenophobic actions. Pretty much the same thing as an abusive husband blaming his wife and kids for the beatings he gives them.

Frankly, I'm ashamed of being an American right now. Far more than during the Bush years when you had Cheney prowling the halls of government with his Sauron-like smirk. If the United States hasn't fallen into the abyss we're damn near the tipping point. Now if my words upset any super patriotic dipshits, start a crowd sourced fundraiser and buy me and my family a Canadian, Australian, or New Zealand citizenship. I'll gladly unass this shithole and watch as you all go into societal nuclear meltdown from a safe distance.

As for Democrats be they “liberal” or “progressive”, I honestly blame you lazy and petty fuckers for the overall situation. I'm talking about the apathetic shits who couldn't be bothered to vote despite the fact that they realized Trump was a monster. And I have a special anger-borderline hatred- for the “voting for the lesser of two evils is still voting for evil” crowd. God help me, I think more of the right-wing fanatics than you guys and gals. At least the right-wingers have enough sense not to cut their own throats.

As of this writing, summer hasn't even begun yet and I feel myself longing for November. Either the assorted Democrats will pull their heads out of their asses and take back at least the House of Representatives, or Trump will be given another blank check to remold the government and break the Republic. At least the waiting and uncertainty will be over.

Nothing is Tiring

Just finished up a week playing Mr. Mom while the wife was away on a business trip. While no metaphorical monkey wrench flew into the proverbial machinery of the normal routine, it was a long tiring week. What I'm trying to say is that I rediscovered that nothing can be quite exhausting.

Nothing mainly consisted of running my daughter to and from school and various activities, which were usually scheduled during rush hour traffic. But it also included keeping the house reasonably clean and straight, the dogs and cats fed and watered, and doing the bare minimum of yard work. Yes, that last one is a standard practice but thrown in with the other chores made it worse.

Long story short, after a week of nothing I need a vacation. 

Wasted Weekend

Been one of those weekends where I wasn't exactly sick but doing anything requiring movement or any real thinking was just to much trouble. Spent all day Saturday and most of today laying on the living room floor as my wife and daughter binge watched Game of Thrones reruns.  See, my fourteen year old daughter has just within the the last two weekends become interested in the show and my wife talked her into watching the entire series while giving a running commentary on the characters and situations.

Why did I just lay on the floor while my wife and daughter watched a show I don't have much interest in? Good question, but the only possible answer I can give is that while I felt terrible being cooped up in the bedroom just didn't appeal to me. Another reason could be that my wife gives the most amazing lectures on the fictional families and history of that show. And to think she calls me a nerd over what I know about Star Trek.

Whatever the case, somehow I am going to have to drag my sorry ass to work tonight. I've got too much to do and like I said, I don't think I'm really all that sick. Here is some tropical music to enjoy.    

Thoughts on The Art of Writing

Several years ago I read a short, nonfiction article written by a famous science fiction author about an encounter he had with excited but ignorant fan. This author, who was doing the usual promotional duties for his new novel had just spent several long hours sitting in a book store signing his name and answering stupid questions from both fans and those with no idea how hard it is to write. Now the author admitted in the article he was tired and uncomfortable from sitting to long in what was probably the worst location in the book store. As the hours passed, he felt increasingly cramped and frustrated but through it all he kept a pleasant demeanor for those buying his book. However, it was a offhand and stupid comment from a fan that almost pushed him over into a mental abyss. I can't remember the exact words but the encounter went something like this:

The fan, a young man in his twenties, steps up to the small table the author is sitting at and hands him the newly purchased book to sign. “Sir,” The fan begins, “I just want you to know I really love your work.” He finishes saying as he nervously fidgets in from of the author.

The author, as anyone could expect, is happy that not only is someone buying his book but loves his other novels. “Thank you,” the author replies taking pen in hand to sign the book. “What other books of mine have you read?” The author innocently asks.

The fan then lists several of the authors previous works, all big with the science fiction crowd, and a few that ended up the New York Times bestsellers list. It is at this point in the article that the author admits he was rather enjoying the conversation with this fan, until the young man unknowingly dropped a bomb on the author's ego.

“Yeah,” the fan says, “your writing is so simple and clean it proves anyone could write a bestseller.”

It is at that point that the fan takes back the book he purchased from the now stunned author and walks away. The author then writes that it only took a few seconds for him to recover but the question he desperately wanted to ask the fan was that if it's that damn easy why don't you write one yourself.

The reason I bring this up was that while I am only a crappy blogger, I had my own encounter with a nitwit who somehow believes writing is some simple task anyone could take up. I've been doing this blogging stuff for over nine years now and in my own way I have felt the inspiration, disappointment, and the simple persistent satisfaction of doing something just for the sake of blowing off steam. However, the one thing this futile endeavor has never been is simple. As anyone can tell, I don't initially spend a lot of time on such extravagant things like proofreading. But even a crappy sub-hack like me can say that creating just a short story is a complex process that can, and has, fallen apart many times. I can only imagine what a true novelist has to go through to transfer the often nebulous ideas running around his or her head to paper or laptop screen.

My encounter with the nitwit was indirectly the result of me mentioning once to someone I trusted that one of my hobbies was writing. The only things that causes people to run away faster after mentioning you write is telling them you sing or that you have new vacation pictures you want to show everyone. That was the case with the person I told, after giving a basic rundown of what I did he gave me one of those vague nods before changing the subject. Truthfully, I didn't brag about my efforts, or even worse, try to get him to read some of my stuff. Conversely, I pretty much did the same to him when he started talking about all the years he played his electric guitar and his efforts at organizing a band. Once the conversation played out neither of our hobbies were ever mentioned again.

Apparently electric guitar dude did mention my writing to the nitwit who recently asked me, with a straight face, why hadn't I published any of my stories. Amazon's publishing of e-books by unknown writers to be read on their Kindle tablets not withstanding, I tried to explain to this nitwit that you just don't randomly throw several thousand words together and call it a book. The analogy I used was that writing a book is like woodcarving, you start out with a rough draft of what you want to do source material and then proceed to refine the design as you go. Well, by the utter blank look on the nitwit's face my words went over like the proverbial lead balloon.

Strangely enough, I soon began to view my failure to get the nitwit to understand the complex nature of writing as a statement on my ability to convey an idea. It was then that I fully understood why that famous author I mentioned earlier wanted to run up to the ignorant fan and beat the crap out of him. Further threatening my crumbling faith in the average idiot walking down the street, it was then that I began to get an idea why a lot of famous authors were alcoholics.

As August Wanes...

...The Dog Days of Summer Come to an End.

There is something positively diabolical about the month of August for me. During my childhood it always hung in the background like some intimidating Grim Reaper signifying that the lazy and carefree days of summer were soon to end and that homework, bursting book bags, and crabby teachers would take center stage in my life. Making matters worse, here in South Carolina the late August weather usually had this soul grinding combination of broiling heat and oppressive humidity that made everyone both lethargic and short-tempered. People would mull about like disjointed zombies ready to descend on the first person who still harbored some sense of good humor and rip them to bloody shreds.

The grownups in my life then called it the “dog days of summer”, a designation that has marked me for life with its doom-like foreshadowing. Strangely enough there was this incredibly naïve time shortly after I left school where I thought those days were over. There was some idea rolling around in the cavernous empty space between my ears that no longer would I be oppressed by irate teachers and surly adults depressed that another year would soon be over. I believe that frame of mind lasted about as long as it took me to reach my first August after I left school behind me.

Almost without exception my August experiences had been either tragic or disastrous. The spectrum of events have ranged from the sad breakup with a girlfriend during my army days who I thought I loved to near war being declared on the butthole who even now lives across the street from me. At least the girlfriend is now a source of pleasant memories, the “neighbor” and I even now either glare or hostilely ignore each other in some sort of suburban cold war that will only end when one of us, probably me, moves.

Despite the fact that deep down I know there isn’t anything like an annual supernaturally-inspired conspiracy out to terrorize me, this time of the year is the worst for me at work. There is enough humid crap flung my way this time of year that I actually long since made a regular habit of doing a military-like situational awareness report in my head at the first of August to try and prevent any disasters before they occur.

Adding to the chaos is the start of the new school years as my rugrats ( ie: kids) work out the kinks of reentering the hallowed halls of learning. This year Darth Spoilboy is a high school senior who has already earned enough credits to graduate. This has created the attitude in him to skate through with classes akin to underwater basket weaving design and comic book appreciation. My lovely spouse, Dragonwife, wants him to still hit the books with college-level calculus and literature. Needless to say they have had several heated discussions over their differences.

As for my daughter Darth Wiggles, the reintroduction to things like homework and getting ready for the next day of school is far more physically and mentally exhausting than I thought possible. And I swear, two separate school fund raising project folders now sit on my kitchen table. My wife and I are expected to sell wrapping paper and candy bars to our coworkers, friends, and family so the football team can have new equipment and the spoiled suburban Tea Baggers do not have to pay a tiny bit more in taxes.

All I can really do this time of year is to hunker down and try to avoid the worst of the poop flinging and look forward to cooler weather. Around the first of October I usually head down to the coast and spend a Saturday sitting on the near deserted section of the shore at Huntington Beach State Park. The sound of the waves and smell of the salt air is almost enough to make up for this crappy month.

 

In The Land Of The Gun

You don’t live around, and in all honesty once belong to the extreme end of the gun culture without having some basic understanding about how things have gotten this bad. There was time when the general public had enough commonsense to understand pulling any sort of weapon out as a threat was a declaration that society had essentially broken down at that moment. 

Without delving into all the facets of Southern society and their various strengths and faults the overall view was that civility was preferable to some sort of recreation of the Old West. Now there were individuals who were exceptions to this viewpoint, but a seemingly casual visit by a reputable law enforcement figure was usually enough to quash any nasty proto-anarchical tendencies forming. However, decent and mostly sane behavior could usually be traced back to how a person was brought up.  

For various reasons my grandparents raised me from the age of eleven until I reached that nebulous stage called young adulthood. During that time I was exposed to, but did not have any access to weapons greater than a BB gun without my grandfather right beside me. One of the few times my grandfather actually felt the need to ever spank me was the day I showed off his antique double barreled shotgun to a few curious buddies. Concerning the BB gun, I once made the mistake of bragging to him about a bird I shot for a thrill, the calm and cool reasoning my grandfather shared with me about how that was monstrous behavior was in its way far worse than the spanking. Needless to say, I never killed another bird again. Squirrels were a different matter; they could be cleaned and cooked and my grandfather’s neighbor loved to serve them up with rice and butter beans.    

Somewhere in the midst of the Ronny Reagan-inspired rebirth of American patriotism the usual reserved approach to even the appearance of weapons in public went the way of the dodo bird. It is hard to stay reasonable in the face of a massive theatrical onslaught where semi-coherent, quasi-actors battle the latest surge in atheistic communism with humorous one-liners and the most advanced and massive assault weapons their steroid soaked arms can hold.

While there is a question which actually came first, shrill politicians panicking over the Soviets conquering the Western world or the Hollywood action hero going out to battle this political Sauron and his legions of AK-47 carrying orcs. Our elected leaders, always willing to sink to the lowest common denominator of base behavior far faster than any daytime talk show host, continued to stoke the communist fears and promote the idea that the way to defeat the red menace was through armed conflict.

You simple cannot carry on like this without the basic underpinnings of society starting to come apart. Never mind that the Soviet Union collapsed under its own ponderous weight, once fear has been instituted as a national characteristic and the belief that all problems can be solved with the use of a weapon with sufficient caliber all bets are off. People start believing that weapons specifically designed not to outright kill, but shred the bodies of soldiers should be owned by all. That there is a right to the unrestricted purchase of all kinds of ammunition even though you cannot buy one package of extra-strength sinus medicine in a drug store without a record being kept. Or that a person should be immune from prosecution if he kills an innocent bystander because he was “standing his ground.”

From "The State" newspaper:

Is shooting a bystander in South Carolina someone else's fault?

COLUMBIA, SC — Shannon Scott argues he should not be prosecuted for shooting and killing an unarmed Keenan High School basketball player.

In his Stand Your Ground argument in a Richland County courtroom this week, Scott and his attorney, Todd Rutherford, said Scott fired his weapon from his front yard to protect his daughter, who was being chased by people trying to hurt her.

It’s terrible, but Darrell Niles, a 17-year-old innocent bystander, just got in the way, they said.

“He simply ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Rutherford said.

Scott, 36, says he should be granted immunity from going to trial on murder charges. But others told the judge that if Scott isn’t prosecuted, South Carolina will move one step closer to becoming a free-fire zone where people shoot and kill innocent bystanders with impunity.

Read more here: http://www.thestate.com/2013/08/16/2924473/is-shooting-a-bystander-in-south.html#storylink=cpy

What Wives Should Never Do

 (Author's note: This was my first attempt at nonfiction at the Helium.com writing site where I have been playing around with flash fiction again. The gods at Helium did not like my admittedly tongue-in-cheek response to their prompt and kicked it off the next day. As you might be able to guess the prompt was to explain the things wives should never do to their husbands. For those who might cast a disparaging eye at such a topic there was another prompt asking wives to explain what husbands should never do to them.)    


Guys in general rightfully deserve the stereotype that we are tactless brutes lacking any consideration, especially for our suffering better halves. The key words here are “in general” because if you can look beyond the superficial gruffness and false bravado are not we fresh and blood human beings ourselves with feelings that can be hurt? So ladies here is a short and simple list of things you should never do to your husband.

Never force your husband to go shopping. Simply put guys usually hate going shopping for themselves and often can be found sprinting inside a store for something they desperately need like new underwear or toothpaste. Shared common interests notwithstanding the only reason husbands and boyfriends will even begin to enter some dress or candle shop is because they think such attentive behavior might get them sex later.

Along those same lines some ladies think allowing their significant other to wait outside their favorite boutique and hold their pocketbooks while they shop is enough of a reprieve. In some ways this situation is even worse, the male of the human species spent millions of years of evolution roaming the African savanna, to tie him to one spot is akin to those brutal and inhumane cages where some livestock are forced to spend their entire lives. The only possible exception to this predicament is if there are already other guys at the same location holding their girlfriend’s pocketbook.

The funny thing is there is actually an established social hierarchy for guys who sit outside some store waiting for the ladies in their lives. Seniority is based on the oldest male in the immediate area requiring the younger pups to sit and listen to whatever he was to say. Any guy who disrespects the sitting grand poobah is expelled from the group and forced into the store his wife or girlfriend is shopping to stand around and hold her items.

Does this sound like too much whining? Yes ladies, as a man I freely admit my brothers and I complain and whine far more than the cruel and very inaccurate stereotype of woman doing the same thing suggests. What in heaven’s name do you all think us guys did as we strolled the African savanna for all those countless eons?

Do not expect us to read your minds. One of the biggest obstacles I have had to overcome in my own marriage is to develop the talent for reading my lovely wife’s mood or true feelings when she says the exact opposite. How females interact with each other when men are not around is a complete and utter mystery to me. From what I have read though it has been suggested that it is often a byzantine labyrinth of intrigue and deception. Bringing that into a relationship is a dangerous affair. We guys usually, but not always, appreciate the direct approach; remember we are after all just relatively cleaner versions of unrefined cavemen.

About a month after my wife and I were married I could tell she was very upset about something but refused to tell me what was wrong. This went on for nearly a month until she exploded and began to tell me I was the crudest and poorest example of a human being this side of your average genocidal dictator. What brought on this volcanic emotional eruption was my long habit leaving my socks on the floor next my shoes. Of course, it is an immature behavior but I had just spent two years living alone in a small apartment and developed the usual set of male habits when it came to keeping a room clean. The general reason I left them next my shoes was because I often just wore the same pair for several days. Okay, maybe that was more information than you needed to know, I apologize.

On a side note, speaking strictly for myself, but I figure it goes for all guys, if I could in fact read minds rest assured I would have already used it to become filthy stinking rich.

Wives and girlfriends should never attempt to force their significant other to dress differently, unless we ask. One of the worst traumas for boys growing up is when their mothers took them shopping for new clothes. Now some guys do have a fashion sense and enjoy walking around all GQ and honestly more power to them. That being said a number of us males, very much including myself, had to deal with a mother who desperately wanted a little girl to dress up in pretty clothes. When they had a son instead this desire stayed the same with them dragging their boys around forcing them to try on suits, ties, and oddly decorated or strange feeling pants and shirts that we were told not to get dirty.

One of the worst experiences I had along those lines was during elementary school. My mother had gone out and bought a pair of off brand blue jeans decorated with the image of a shiny cowboy hat on one back pocket and a pair of cowboy boots with tiny rhinestones on the other. At the time I was nine years old and when I saw them I knew I would catch the devil from my classmates the minute they saw me walk by. As everyone knows children can be extremely cruel and after just wearing those odd pants to school once I swore I would never go through that kind of abuse again. This bring up the fact that mothers, wives, and girlfriends should never buy the men in their lives clothes that cannot get dirty, paint splattered, and then torn to the point they become un-wearable.

Only if your husband or boyfriend asks for assistance in picking out clothes should such a task ever be attempted. Of course, this all goes all out the window if said man is about to make a total fool of himself, and then it is at your discretion.

Wives and girlfriends should not freak out if their man needs some alone time. This is where things can get messy, the two sexes, forever locked in a strange dance alternating between love and hate, each have segments that are convinced that they naturally carry all the burdens associated with a relationship. Because of this the various injured parties believes that should get the majority of time to be alone to mentally and emotionally regroup. 

The simple answer to all this posturing is that there is not one. Yes, some individuals permanently carry the burden of the relationship they are involved in but most of the time responsibilities shift from one to the other. A rational couple would sit down and discuss what bothers them and when they would like a chance to slip away and enjoy a movie or a cup of coffee before they take a chainsaw to the other. While we are at it we should all come together for a group hug and to sing “We shall overcome.” Truth be told it is human nature try and exploit an advantage to greatest possible extent at the weaker party’s expense.

While ladies are universally viewed as the weaker party in the male/female relationship dance, mainly because men are often jerks prone to quick violence, women get the edge when it comes for the need for some alone time. Ladies who are financially able can spend a day at the spa without anyone thinking anything about it. Now if a guy wants to spend the day fishing or being just being lazy he is open to a world of acid comments about falling short. The truth is that we all need a little times away from the everyday grind to recalibrate no matter how wasteful our lack of purpose might seem to others.

All this boils down to something husbands and wives should do for their spouse, it is ridiculously simple to the point of being so obvious that we often fail to think of it. Just give the most important person in your life a little consideration and take care of them like you want to be treated. 

 

George Orwell and Ben Franklin walk into a bar...

 ...What would they talk about?

War is a way of shattering to pieces... materials which might otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable and... too intelligent.

George Orwell

 

They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.

Benjamin Franklin

My grandfather was very wise man. Now he was ornery and such a curmudgeon that if there was a hall of fame for such people his likeness would be craved in the finest marble and set atop an equally ornate pedestal but as wisdom goes I base my distrust on established hierarchies and beliefs on his teachings. While a white Southerner who had grown up in its dominate culture and ideas during the absolute worst part of the Great Depression he nonetheless had a progressive side that would often shine through his admittedly rough and inherently conservative exterior.

“Americans sure do love to live on the edge of the slippery slope.” He said to me once in the early 1980’s as we watched the evening news. I forget the exact point in time but I believe Ronny Reagan had gone and invaded the Caribbean island nation of Grenada with numerous politicians and pundits warning anyone who would listen that the United States had no business trying to play policeman of the world again. The disaster that was Vietnam was still fresh in the memory of most Americans and very few had the stomach, at that time, for half-assed crusades.

Contrary to the naysayers and the worriers the invasion of Grenada did turn out to be a “minor” military campaign that did liberate a small country with really nice beaches. However only an idiot would disagree that its primary purpose was to tweak the nose hairs of the old and nearly senile Soviet leadership and give Fidel a heart attack as he sat in his Oceanside villa dreaming of his lost baseball career.

“Watch my words boy,” my grandfather said to me as we sat in the living room watching his huge and now incredibly old fashioned cabinet television, “a few years from now American soldiers will be going all over the world fighting wars again.” He said this during some of the most anxious years of the Cold War when most pundits thought any major deployment of American troops overseas would be just a short prelude to letting the missiles fly resulting in a deep fried planet and Homo sapiens learning to walk like the dinosaurs.

What I do clearly remember is just nodding my head in a semi-condescending manor since I was just a few short years from starting my military career. Never the swiftest in mental operations and with my head filled with scores of Ramboesque movies where super soldier saves western civilization and then sails off into the sunset with some hot babe. I had dreams of “being all that I could be”, which like the steroids using film twits generally involved defeating godless communism then having some attractive young lady fawned over my war wounds.

Who would have thought, besides all those with foresight and a little knowledge of how power corrupts, that First Bush would launch the United States down the road to nice little wars in both Panama and Kuwait. Curiously enough our antagonist in both conflicts were individuals formerly on the payroll in some fashion of the American government but that little fact was both largely sweep under the media rug and ignored by a population hyped on Ronny Reagan patriotism. No one could screw with the United States, we had cut the balls off the Russian bear then watched it crawl off to cower in some corner allowing Americans to bask in the glow of their own awesome awesomeness.

Of course Clinton followed First Bush by deploying troops into the former Yugoslavia and then conducting an aerial campaign against Serbia but it was Second Bush, a longtime trust fund loving slacker, who came after him with the single goal of rising above the shadow of his famous father.

Being in a semi-good mood I will not throw around volatile accusations of possible foreknowledge of the 9/11 attacks or how once informed of the situation his staff let him continue with his appearance at an elementary school classroom surrounded by children. My point being that Second Bush’s visit had been long scheduled and while he later had fighter escort after Air Force One was in the air they did nothing to pull him out and get him to a safer location right then. DISCLAIMER: I am not suggesting anything. That is just one of several curious points that have never been answered to my satisfaction. Unlike many, I realize life very rarely ties all situations into nice little bows with the gift card having all the “T”’s crossed and little “I”’s dotted.

Nevertheless, the nation was primed for war and even more importantly, vigilant for any manner of behavior that might suggest possible terrorism both foreign and domestic. This new threat called for increased measures to secure our corporations and other economic interests from attack. Scratch that, I mean homes, hospitals, schools, and other crumbling infrastructure.

This insidious danger called for the technological might of the United States government to be brought to bear. No, we did not gear up to rationally take on the causes of the insanity that breed terrorism. All available government intelligence resources were mobilized along with the call going out to the patriotic private sector to help out in the “War on Terror.” The private sector, seeing this as a great way to make a profit jumped onboard and began helping out the government listen in on billions of phone calls along with overseeing the internet as people played Angry Birds and surfed around for decent porn.   

This now brings to center stage Edward Snowden, who worked for a private intelligence gathering contractor, and decided to play Don Quixote and start attacking the windmills of the monolithic National Security Agency by letting all the spying cats out of the bag. Since Snowden skipped the country the United States government has tried its best not to look completely incompetent but despite stamping its feet in a full-fledged tantrum and threatening to hold its breath like a spoiled toddler all demands for his immediate return have gone unanswered.

Various polls of the American people seem to suggest the country is relatively split on the merits of Snowden’s actions. For me he is a hero as well as a well meaning idiot who will more than likely spend the rest of his life in jail when the United States government gets its dirty hands on him. You simply do not embarrass the current military and economic superpower of the world without paying a heavy price.   

As far as my feelings on Snowden are concerned I believe what he did was right. I do not trust the government to listen in on phone calls and watch what people do on the internet without a warrant. I do not give a rip if a Democrat or Republican is in the White House, power corrupts and the one thing all elected officials crave is more power. That being said where I start having Orwellian fits of nervous anxiety is over the establishment of a corporate Espionage/Intelligence gathering complex (Yes, a trademark is pending on that phrase). The Military/Industrial complex is long established and has considerable interest in making sure our glorious and wise elected leaders not only always feel there is a need for their current weapons but that huge amounts of taxpayer dollars are always being pumped into their corporate weapons research coffers.

This corporate Espionage/Intelligence gathering complex has similar DNA and is certain to look after its own interests by making sure our stalwart elected leaders and the more malleable segment of the American population always believe some evil boogeyman is lurking in the shadows. I guess depending on your point of view it could be said both of these corporate industrial power blocs are one Hydra-like creature. Whatever the case even now they essentially own a significant timeshare in the United States government along with the oil industry and the bankers.

The military/Industrial complex and its minions in the media have already whipped up enough patriotic froth amongst the intellectually compliant that the very idea of war is peachy keen cool for every international issue that even remotely plagues the United States. Hell, Senator John McCain, his very, very good buddy Sweet Lindsey, and others in their entourage have never heard an idea for war they did not like. Once the Espionage/Intelligence gathering complex comes up to full steam I can only imagine the Big Brother-like policies they will say the United States has to buy from them or fire will rain from the sky, chaos will rule, and the nasty enemy de jour will soil your sons and daughters.

On the other hand, it may already be too late and we are sliding down that slippery slope of authoritarian oppression my grandfather worried about.  Here are a couple of videos that might prove interesting. The first is a more in depth and coherent examination of Orwell's vision. And the second shows a man being arrested for simply recording the actions of the local police who then arrest him and kill his dog.