The night was bitterly cold.

If I can feel... I'm still alive, right?

If I can feel, I'm still alive.

Hot, cold, soft, hard, pain... pain... pain...

I am the not dead then. I haven't been alive for a long time. But I can feel. I feel.

I feel the roughness of life against my flesh. Everyday the searing pain. The agony of living.

The searing evil. The branding of the living, the red hot iron of life on unwilling flesh.

I feel. I live. In the bitter cold.

You'll note I self-censored myself. If you saw yesterday's posting, you'll know why. If you didn't, you can read the edited post.

I've been struggling with a lot of internal stuff. Over the last year the theme of Peace has just resonated within me like a hammer in a bell factory. (Well, YOU come up with a better one...)

I don't see myself as unhappy. Yes, I have personal struggles. Yes, the state of the world and the country and the economy and taxes and work and blah blah blah. But who doesn't have stress? Oh yeah, they're called dead people.

But yesterday, despite appearances, I really did have an epiphany. About ego, and internalizing, and all sorts of feelings. The epiphany was about feelings. In 2002 I had an epiphany about religion and spirituality.

To be honest, I visualize all the repressed and suppressed feelings inside of my as a big black cauldron of boiling tar. Looks horrible, smells worse.

I've never been the action oriented type, but the reflective type. That's neither good nor bad, it just is. It occurs to me that action is as important as reflection though. Reflecting on being healthier make it so, but changing diet and getting exercise will. So what prevents reflection from becoming action?

Apathy, getting out of the comfort zone, lethargy, sloth, lack of support... These are excuses. I'm asking about the door and I'm getting commentary on the color it's painted. And this is self-commentary! "Great.. now what prevents reflection from becoming action?"

It's fear. How many thousands of times do I need to be told, or even say it myself, before I understand it? Fear isn't a real thing. Yes, it can save your life. It can also be totally irrational. It's the latter kind I'm talking about.

And here's the rub. I let fear keep me from action, and so I become frustrated, shove feelings of failure down inside, let it all stew for a while, and then write a crazy, half-baked, angry-angsty post on Livejournal. Gosh, THAT'll solve the problem! I'm not really angry or angsty or a failure or full of self-loathing at all... I'm just a freaking coward!

And that was my epiphany. Look in the mirror and say to myself 'It's just YOU!' I don't know if it makes sense. It's like a personality that's been split into multiple personalities. I saw anger and lack of self-confidence and persecution and paranoia and impatience and frustration and stress and lack of self-worth and all of these myriad negative things as *external*, as fragments of myself that I had no control over, like devils stabbing me with their pitchforks.

Only I am the devil. And the pitchfork. I have been making my own reality, making myself angry, making myself depressed, and using it all to keep myself from action, and all because I was afraid. Ergo, I am a coward. And I say that happily. Why? Because I finally understood it on the grand scale of my existence. Yeah, well, let's say I simplified the formula that I always thought was just too complex to ever be worked out.

It's just fear. Fear prevents action. So how do you get past the fear into action? By acting! It's so simple.

"It isn't that easy!" No, well, that doesn't change the fact that's it's true. Fear as an obstacle should be easy to overcome, because fear is an emotion, it isn't physical. The only way past such an obstacle is to simple walk over it.

I could go on all day. But I have to actually do some work. I think it's going to be a good day.

Current Mood: chipper

*** Self edited ***

I decided to undo this entry, but it was interesting.

I like to think of myself as being somewhat enlightened, but apply some stress and I snap like a branch from an old tree.

I decided to delete the original post for two reasons:

1- It was angry. Angry words are, after all, hateful words. And hateful words are words of violence. If I cannot be self-responsible and deal with it, then I'm a hypocrite. And I am anyway on various levels, but I don't need to advertise it.

2 - Wow. There was a lot of ego! I keep moving down this spiritual path, and I still am at war with the ego on this scale. I'm all that and a bag of .. well.. what? Gummy worms? Lighten up! (I say to myself)

The irony is that the egotistical tirade *I* read made me angry with myself. What have I learned? It's not that I want to censor my feelings, but certainly that is the very point of my spiritual journey, that feelings are feelings, and what we do with them is up to us.

So, being the reflective one, as always, I couldn't let the original post stand, and editing it seemed hypocritical. Regurgitating my angstiness on a public space has no productive result.

Part of the journey. I think I am clearer on the dream regarding the war, the one I fight inside. I recall my time in therapy in the 90's. Very interesting. I think I may have an epiphany... :)

Current Mood: awake

The War

I came to visit Darryl and his family. He was living in a nice little middle class, suburban neighborhood.

In the evening we went outside to sit in lawn chairs on the front yard and smoke cigars and watch the sky. “I’d like to see something!” I thought to myself.

Just then I did see something. Emerging from behind a house across the street, a round, glowing object appeared. “I think it’s a UFO!” I thought. I pointed it out to Darryl and just as I did I realized it was no UFO, it was a plane, on fire, and the fireball was about to crash into a house. The plane hit a house, hidden from our view, and we watched the explosion and fire.

Just then our attention was drawn to the sound of a jet engine overhead. No, not a jet engine, but jet engines. I watched as one jet maneuvered around another. They were clearly military aircraft. Suddenly, I realized what was happening. “It’s a dogfight!” I shouted. We saw the jet fighters roll and the following jet launched two air-to-air missiles at the lead aircraft. This, we could tell, was very serious. The plane we saw crash must have been a jet fighter as well, but on whose side?

We rushed inside and caught a news broadcast. They were showing a reply of a live feed. A man was interviewing someone in a house near where the jet crashed. As the man interviewed the cameraman caught the flaming jet in his camera lens as it came down. The explosion blew out much of the house immediately across the street, and the news crew went diving for cover.

As awful as these events were, they were about to get much worse. We could hear fighter jets overhead. I went outside, in total disbelief at what I was witnessing. Fighters filled the air. American jets were in combat with enemy jets, but I couldn’t see the markings on the enemy aircraft. It was dusk, which made identifying the planes virtually impossible.

Then, to my right, the sky lit up in an orange hue. One of the enemy planes had let loose something that looked for all the world like fireworks! Bright, orange sparkles filtered to the ground. But where they landed the area was immediately engulfed in flame. Houses began to burn. Again and again I watched the jets launch their incendiary devices directly over homes, setting homes, buildings, and people ablaze.

I ran inside, hoping that the jets would not come our way. We began talking insanely about al-Qaeda and terrorists. “Thanks again George Bush!” someone said, pointedly blaming the ex-President. Someone hated the United States enough to attack it’s population, and it didn’t seem all that surprising that this could happen.

Again I went outside. Some tried to pull me inside, but I had to see what was going on. Now I saw a new weapon unleashed. It looked like a bright swirl, again, as if it were merely a fireworks display. Red swirls filled the sky, and descended to the ground. This time, rather than fire, small orbs struck the ground and scattered, only to explode with terrific force. The small orbs were bombs. They would roll under cars, into sewers, into houses, and then explode.

I saw in the distance the orange incendiaries being launched, and growing closer and closer. Where were the American planes? They seemed to have vanished. The jets passed overhead, orange fire fell from the sky. Inside I ran up the stairs to the second floor, and someone yelled, “The wall is on fire!” I saw a piece of the orange incendiary lying against a wall, after it had floated through the hall window. Water and fire extinguishers seemed to have little effect on it. Downstairs, the TV now showed only static, there were no broadcasts.

I went back outside. I ventured out further from home, watching the destruction of everything. I was, like many others out on this evening of horror, searching for a shelter. I came to a group of old buildings, including on large brick building. A soldier appeared who warned everyone away, instructing us not to into the buildings, as they were not safe. I was angered; I wanted to know if any of them had a basement or sublevel that could be used as a shelter.

Now the American jets were nowhere to be seen, and the enemy had free reign, dropping bombs and incendiaries at will over the helpless civilian population below. Fire was everywhere and explosions seemed to go on nonstop. Everything was burning or being blown up.

I young girl with long brownish-blond hair tied back with a ribbon, and wearing a red plaid skirt hurried down the street. Suddenly, something appeared on her face, on her cheek near her mouth. She stopped in surprise, and tied to wipe the greenish blob away, but it stuck, thick like grease, but sticky. Her eyes widened, and she fell to the ground, completely limp. I came to her aid, and saw the green blob next to her mouth, The girl had died.

So here was a third horrific weapon, a biological agent that killed quickly. I left the girl in the running water, and went back to my brother’s house.

Six long months passed… I left the comfort of the hovel we now called home to search for supplies. As I returned I passed a line of men… some were older, some not so old, some dressed in military garb. A man in uniform was walking down the line. Holding a nine millimeter pistol, he shot them in the head. They were labeled as deserters. And I thought, what a stupid thing, to murder these men, when the world had already come to an end, and when we all just wanted to live.

I walked through a dark, burned out door. My brother was there, now emaciated, his face covered with a long, gray, straggly beard. This is what life had become, and we never knew who the enemy was.

Current Mood: cold

"The head of the NAACP on Saturday urged readers to boycott the New York Post, calling a cartoon that the newspaper published an invitation to assassinate President Barack Obama."

Enough. Those who want to use racism to advance their cause.. are they not themselves racists? I've had enough of this bullshit. I've seen the cartoon in question... the idea is simply that the legislation of the stimulus package is poorly conceived, badly written, and serves no-one but those who stand to gain... and that's absolutely true. The writers were no better than chimps (remember... an infinite number of monkeys writing Shakespeare?) .


There is NO way to imply that the chimp in the cartoon is supposed to be Obaba, or that it is meant to imply Obama should be assasinated. That is patently absurd. Those who see racism in this cartoon are those who wish to pursue a political agenda... and pandering to racism they themselves 'out themsleves' as racists. Because they will see racism.... even invented... to advance a political agenda.


Am I calling the head of the NCAAP racist??? OH MY GOD!!!! NO!!! HOW POLITICALLY INCORRECT!!! I COULD NEVER!!!!

Yes I am.


Making an issue from a non-issue to advance a cause involving racist overtones. That's racist. Sorry. Tis so. The cartoon is obviously not racist, was not meant to be. So to invent an offense where none exists in order to advance a political agenda is very offensive to me... and it should be to ANY free thinking American.
Or are you satisfied to let fear and self-interested polliticians do your thinking for you?

This is wrong. And I'm, for one, standing up to say it is wrong.


I know what kind of America I want to live in and want the next generation to live in. I cannot allow special interests to get away with this kind of slander.


If you think otherwise, you are free to do so... but just ask yourself, who is doing the thinking for you?

I am angry over this, and I think any FREE THINKING AMERICAN should be.

Current Mood: angry

I have odd dreams. But for a while I've had pretty mundane ones. This past weekend I had a couple worth recounting, though.

The strangest had me at a resort. There were rooms with large windows overlooking the sea, but actually overlooking a break wall. The weather turned surly. Very surly. The sky turned gray, and waves began pounding the break wall, which was a wall made of large stones bound together by concrete. I watched with growing concern as the waves spilled over the wall. Those of us at the resort watched in horror as the sea simply rose up and spilled over the wall. We could see it coming like a tsunami, much higher than the wall. We did something pragmatic. We ran.

Somehow we found ourselves at a runoff. But it was steep, more like a waterfall, and cold. I looked up and saw something very strange. Large patches of ice were floating rapidly by above where we were, and on these patches of ice were extinct animals, such as mammoths, and dinosaurs. I merely assumed they had been on the ice when the storm caused it to break away. Rather convenient, perhaps. We leaped on the ice ourselves, and flung ourselves down the incline, which became a sheet of ice... we were now sledding down a waterfall of ice.

In another dream I was in my room. I was listening to the fan, and I could feel pulses of electricity running through me. I could control it to a point. I opened my eyes and looked at the door to my room. It was my room, identical save one very important difference. There was a large, brown, oak door. (My room is actually the attic, there is no door, and the entryway is at the top of the stairs at the other end, the door in the dream would open to nothing!). We, in my dream, being the family, were concerned that Muslim extremists were going to break in and kill us.

I had another dream in which I had bought a house in a rural area. There was already a family living there, but they seemed to not even notice me. Me and bald fallow were fitting a fake wall over a doorway on the second floor. The idea was I would live there hidden in the rooms of the second floor. Why? I have no idea.

These dreams are nowhere near as interesting as dreams I used to have. The dinosaurs floating by on ice sheets was close...

Current Mood: amused

I was considering the comparative lives of two figures: Jesus (Christ) and Siddhartha (Buddha). I many times have seen the two figures matched together, and I consider the millions and millions of lives that stories of the two have touched. Some (albeit a definite minority) ask if Jesus truly existed. Some ask, too, if Siddhartha truly did live. If they did not, then, the question becomes, does it matter?

The answer, philosophically, is usually 'no'. Writers like JS Spong conclude that Jesus' existence, crucifixion, is full of 'meaning', and it is the 'meaning' that is important, not the man. The message, not the messenger. The same can be said for Siddhartha. Whether they existed or not, their teachings still inspire millions to better lives.

So it doesn't matter.

But... does it? At the base of my skull, at the root of my most primitive mind, something tingles. Isn't something lost if there is only the message? Why can't I get the same inspiration, then, from reading about Hercules, or Gilgamesh, or any other mythical figure? Because that's what they become then, don't they? Mythical figures? Analogies? Patched together quiltworks of the thoughts and beliefs of any number of individuals wrapped in a storyline, and a fictionalized one at that? Isn't a fiction an untruth? Can untruth take us, then, to truth?

So what is lost?

The example is lost. It isn't, for me, personally, that Jesus lived or not, or Siddhartha lived or not... it's that they, as human beings, as people, no different than me, made a choice, and that choice changed not only their lives, but the lives of millions over hundreds, or thousands, of years! The role model is undermined if they didn't exist, because my inspiration is that, look, they made that choice, they lived it, they made a difference, what they they did was successful.

Granted, getting nailed to a cross doesn't speak of material success, but I speak of spiritual growth. Siddhartha could have remained oblivious, living a life of pleasure in the palace of his father. But he walked away from that. He wandered, he experienced, he questioned... just as I have done in my own spiritual life. In the end he found a way, he found his Middle Path, he found enlightenment, and then he made the decision to share that with the world. If he could walk the walk, then maybe I should walk the walk. I should take his inspiration and face down my demons and take my spiritual journey to the next level. But if he didn't exist, then what's the point? If he didn't make it, then why should I even try? If it's all a fabrication, then why should I risk anything on the basis of a fiction, no matter how great that fiction is.. it's still a fiction! The message of a fiction can only be a part of the fiction itself!

I'm uncertain about Jesus' life. There may well have been a man who lived and and brought his fellow man a new way. But I can't believe the myths surrounding his birth, life and death. I don't believe in a miraculous conception or a resurrection after three days. I think those are mythological constructs tacked on after the case to give his life extraordinary meaning. And I think those trappings harmed his message, caused it to be washed out and weakened. The best Jesus is not divine, or both human and divine, but fully human. The best Jesus is the example of a man who stood up to change the world, even if the world killed him for it. It's 'If he, as a man, was willing to sacrifice everything for peace, for compassion, for the future, then it is a choice any and every HUMAN can make as well'. If he was divine, then what's the point? Humans aren't divine, so how can we ever hope to follow in the footsteps of a god? The message that Man cannot succeed without an external god to prop him up is inevitably self-defeating.

So is the story enough? Can Hercules change my life? Why not 'I Am Legend' then? How about 'Planet of the Apes'? See, doesn't work. I need the HUMAN example. I need to know that men like this really lived, really made that hard choice, and did something, and made it happen. Change.

Like Jesus after him, Siddhartha created an order of monks and nuns to spread the teachings. Like Jesus' disciples, they were sent!

*Edited because I type poorly!

Current Mood: contemplative

I was thinking about Ricardo Montalban yesterday, wondering what he was doing these days.

Just now I learned that he has passed away at age 88.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090114/ap_on_en_tv/obit_montalban

Ricardo remains one of my friends on MySpace... :) I remembered him because I was thinking of advertising gimmicks, and I remembered how he would so suavely speak of 'rich, Corinthian leather'. Of course there was no such thing, but he made it sound like the the must luxurious thing ever.

And of course there was his Planet of the Apes film, in which he did not fare well. Neither did he as Khan in The Wrath of Khan, his Trek film. But I guess now we can think of him as having moved on to his own Fantasy Island, perhaps.

Current Mood: sad

That's an inside reference. It isn't supposed to have any special meaning, intentionally.

It seems what is on my mind these days is language. One of the things I love about you folks here is that you use it. Ever visit a website that let visitors post threads? I swear 90% of those who do post have no clue how to compose a simple sentence. And why must they always descend into name calling and foul language? Can two people no longer communicate without every other word being obscene? Can a group of people not get together to discuss anything without it turning into personal assault? Does anyone under the age of 20 even know how to communicate effectively anymore? I've been to high schools and middle schools here and have seen what passes for written communication in the iPod age.

I recently ran across a bulletin board with a thread on Buddhism. Some examples of how that went:

"Most people doesnt know much about it."

"How can a 600 lb fat ass teach one about self decipline.. "

"if u happen to reach enlightenment then thats pretty sweet"

"You people are dumb it's not a religion"

"My whole family is buddist. My father has almost perfected it.. and he is 41. lol. It's
just trouble."

"its pretty sweet."

"to tell you the truth ima christian so i really dont give a fuck bout that
shit"

"same as any other religion, a load ov crap"

"well, they are enlightened, but after that they take a vow to not stop comming
back until mankind is at pease with itself or something like that"

"If you know the meaning of buddha it means inlighten one"

"Personally I try not to think about it too much. Religion and philosophy gives
me a headache when I'm just trying to survive."

"before u comment on my grammer, spell maybe right"

"you can not be inlightened if you are not altruistic"

"Buddhism is the only religon crap that I can even start to beleive in"

"You Idiot"

Current Mood: cynical

I was surfing the 'net and ran across a site dedicated to Toltec Path... which I don't think I've ever heard of before.

They have 'Four Agreements':

Be impeccable in your word (tell the truth, keep promises)
Don't take anything personally (separate feelings from response)
Don't make assumptions (non-judgment)
Always do your best (Be holy, or excellent)

What is curious to me is that not of these 'agreements' are really very eye-opening or unique.

I mean, you can look the Eightfold Path, the Ten Commandments, etc., etc., and see the same ideas echoed there. Do unto others, turn the other cheek, right mindfulness, etc. And they seem a bit... obvious. Like saying 'Be nice, play nice, think nice', or 'say what you mean and mean what you say' and then developing a religion out of it.

Or from Bridge on the River Kwai: "Be happy in your work!" It's just not very compelling, I'm sorry.

I don't know a great deal about the Toltec Path, and I don't mean to insult those who may follow it. I'm just relating my reaction to it on a 'feeling' level. This is my reaction, my first response. I mean there is a sort of red flag waving overhead saying, this is just a little too obvious.

I'll read about it some more, I really shouldn't react on such a superficial reading of it. But there it is.

Believe it or not...

Post surgery my workload got bigger. I thought I could manage to subtly rework the work flow, but by my time sheet I see I put in more hours and drove more miles than any month save possibly one since I started working here. It's just crazy. I grab time like now to post and go online.

I'm looking forward to accidentally stumbling over a satchel of gold bars one evening...

Current Mood: tired

That subject line is kind of an homage to Rocky and Bullwinkle.

I'm just now getting to recording my experience of this past weekend, which saw the course of my life altered in not-entirely-unexpected ways, but not-exactly-desirable ways, either.

Thursday night I ate a meatloaf which I'd bought at Fred Meyer, then went to bed. It was going to be Friday, and I was already in the rock and hard place at work due to it being 'no computer Friday' and and the fact that I had a mailing to do which required that I use a computer. Work stress had been high, with increasing amount of work from the National Office squeezing my days even more, and they were already pretty full.

I woke up at 4am with a vague uneasiness in my stomach. I recognized this as one of my infamous stomach aches. I hadn't had one in a while. And my doctor had said he believed it was a result of the damaged connective tissue and cartilage in my ribs. How wrong he was was soon to be proven.
Within an hour the full blown stomach ache was in play. I couldn't lie down, I couldn't stand, I couldn't sit. I paced, sat, laid down, and tried in vain to find some tolerable position. It felt as though I'd been been slammed in the stomach, and pain radiated out through my back and my side. Still, in the past it has faded with time and I've been able to go back to sleep.

I planned ahead. I could still get two more hours of sleep and go to work... I would call in and tell the boss I'd be in around noon... but at some point I was literally on my hands and knees. I saw myself in a mental picture and laughed out loud. "This is ridiculous!" I chided myself. I decided I needed to get help. By then it was 7:30 and I was still in excruciating pain. I walked gingerly down the stairs and said "I don't want to scare anyone, but I think I need to go to the Emergency Room".

Kim drove the truck and Darryl followed behind with me in the passenger seat. I got lucky at that point, though. Though there were a lot of cars, the ER wasn't busy at all. The nurse was able to take me back after a brief discussion of symptoms. They laid me on a table and gave me a shot of pain killer. They decided on an immediate course of treatment and told me they would do an ultrasound. I could feel the tension in the stomach fade away. The doctor McUne, was incredibly helpful and knowledgeable, he had a sense of humor, too.

They put in an IV, started me on fluids and got around to the ultrasound. Darryl came in and joined me ion the room after that. When the ultrasound results were reviewed the good doctor had a surprise for me. It was indeed being caused by gall stones. The ultrasound showed that the liver and pancreas were irritated and the gall bladder was inflamed. They could see the stones. Evidently I was passing a stone. The back pain was being caused by the stone blocking the ducts. Enzymes, trapped by the stone, were trapped in the pancreas... enzymes that help digest protein... and the pancreas is made of protein.

The doctor told me I needed to be transported for surgery and admitted 'now'. Normally, I would be released, surgery would be discussed, and it would take place on an outpatient basis... four hours in and out. . In my case, with the threat of a stone blocking ducts and causing liver and pancreas damage, surgery was called for as soon as possible.

The laughable part? My insurance company wouldn't pay for it if I had it done there. My doctor was in Salem, some 25 miles away. But no! They said if the insurance was to cover it I had to go not to Salem, but to Portland, 70 miles to the north. He then added the kicker. They would transport me by ambulance... but it would cost me $1500. So Darryl (my personal hero this weekend) drove me there, to Sunnyside Hospital in Portland.

Once there I was checked in, after finding out that the stay would cost me $600. Health care in this country means money, and lots of it. I met a lot of nurses, one named Dan, and the resident was named Rachel, who noted she had only been there a couple of months. She was young, but she was smart and desired to put me at ease. The attending was Dr Charles Kim. He would do the surgery.

They explained much, what was going on, risks, what would happen. They needed to wait for the pancreas to be 'less angry' before surgery. The plan was wait until Sunday. If things looked good I could go home and come back Monday for surgery. It wouldn't work that way. The highlight of Friday night was accidentally rolling over on the control that called the nurse’s station. She moved the button…

Every couple of hours someone would come in to take vitals, draw blood, test blood sugar, etc. It wasn't very restful. I found it ironic that I was asked if I slept well. Saturday went well. The pain was under control, I rested, I was visited by nurses and CAN’s and listened to the activity on the floor. Darryl came back about noon I think, and it was actually kind of dull. I was getting Metformin, and they were concerned about blood sugar.

My lab work was coming back very good, so Dr. Kim decided to go ahead and have the surgery Sunday, which was an unusual day, and it would depend on when they could get me in (they were doing outpatient surgeries Sunday). Dr. Kim’s concern was that the stone was still floating around, and there might be more than one. Again, luckily, one of his specialties was the use of a scope that was used to extract stones. They would inject me with dye, insert this very small scope and search for the stone(s). Because of meds and the IV I was going to the bathroom.. a lot… and the IV always seemed to get wrapped up in something.

Sunday I was awakened early and the anesthesiologist visited to discuss risks and ask questions, and he said the surgery would take place ‘in the next several hours’. That was about 7:30am. Just past 8am Dr Kim arrived and told me the surgery would take place at 9am. Again, I was lucky to get an early time. I had a couple of insulin shots for blood sugar, which I found disconcerting. But the shots were far from scary. In fact, nothing save the implanting of the IV line was painful.

They came and rolled me out after some prep I watched the ceilings roll by. The operating theatre was small, and it looked more like a big, white storage room… so much for the myth of TV. They put in a new IV and scotched me onto the bed. They gave me an injection which, according to the woman there, would make me feel fuzzy. I was amazed. I thought about the risks, though they seemed small. Darryl went through this, and though mine was a little more complicated, there was no reason for me to feel worried. I wasn’t freaked out at all! My first time on an operating table, and I felt entirely calm. And the odd thought crossed my mind that they could put me to sleep… and I would never wake up. Oh well, I wouldn’t know it…

The anesthesiologist put a plastic mask over my face, and in mid thought I was gone. I opened my eyes and was looking at a group of men in surgical garb talking politics. A woman seated at a table seemed keenly interested in what I was doing., she’d ask questions, They rolled me back upstairs.

The rest of the day was difficult. The pain wasn’t as bad as I thought, just discomforting and ever-present. Dr. Kim said I might feel pain in the shoulder. I’m not sure why. Darryl was there as was Camille. I concentrated on relaxing. People kept checking up on me. Dr. Kim came by and said the surgery went fine (they told me three hours, but it was closer to two), there were no stones, so I must have passed the one that caused the initial pain. They had someone who taught people about being diabetic (which was now officially diagnosed, but not a surprise). I agreed to stay overnight so that this person could talk to me Monday, plus they could see how I was doing.

Monday was rougher. I asked for pain meds several times. The nurse, Dan, gave me Metformin on an empty stomach. Not good. I battled the urge not to throw up, but lost the battle. The poor CNA who had to clean it didn’t seem overjoyed (but she was very nice about it). The day nurse said she was concerned about that, but it was just the Metformin on the empty stomach.

By early afternoon I was dressed and leaving. We had to stop at the pharmacy.. in a different building.. then go to an ATM, then on to Aggies so Darryl could check his account. Aggie gave us each a wrap, which I managed to eat about half. My appetite would not really return until Tuesday. Then the 70 mile trip home. I was pleased to finally get home. Lydia gave me a pillow, blanket, and requisite stuffed animal. Each night Lydia has slept on the chair in the living room while I slept on the couch to ‘keep an eye on me’.

My boss came to visit Tuesday, bringing a stuffed tiger. The ex-chair of the Board of Trustees sent me a plant and candy (which I can’t eat). And that about catches everything up. I am doing better every day. I try to see how long I can go before resorting to the Vicodin, and I’ve been sitting up today using my computer. But I didn’t sleep all that well last night. I tend to sleep in two hour increments, which I think is due to the routine in the hospital in part.

I feel as if my insides have been rearranged. My side still hurts, my stomach occasionally feels discomfort, but I wouldn’t call it pain. It can be difficult to get up, and to stand. But each day it gets a little more manageable. I will be off work for two weeks.

I have a lot of people to thank, especially the good doctors, McUne of the Albany ER, and Dr. Kim who did the surgery. The nurses, CNA’s, et al were great. Lydia and Darryl, too, and Camille for visiting, and Aggie for the meal. But my hero for the weekend was Darryl, who drove me to the ER, then to Portland, who stayed in Portland and came to visit every day. Plus the fact that he had his gall bladder removed and was able to reassure me that it really wasn’t such a big deal. Without his support it would have been so much worse.

Someone wrote this.. someone actually BELIEVES this! What planet do I live on!!

From the delusional folks at http://www.answersingenesis.org/home/area/hot/dinosaurs/default.asp

When one accepts the history time-line as outlined in Scripture, it is easy to explain dinosaurs. When one understands that land animals (including dinosaurs) were made on the sixth day of Creation—that there was no death (of animals or man) or disease (there are dinosaur bones that show evidence of diseases like cancer) before sin—that all the land animal kinds (including dinosaurs) were on the Ark—and that many animal groups (including dinosaurs) have died out since the Flood (because sin, the curse, and the Flood affected the world)—then it’s easy to explain the history of dinosaurs.

I only ask 'why?'

Last night I had two rather interesting dreams.

In the first I was on a boat sailing the Pacific. Something happened to the boat and it began to sink. It was a brilliant sunny day as I swam away from the boat, and as I looked back I saw it sinking, stern first. I panicked as I saw nothing in any direction. One of my fellow passengers was not far off, she yelled that she thoyght she saw land, but it would be difficult swim. My fellow passenger was Mary Ann, of Gilligan's Island. The boat, of course, had been the USS Minnow.

I shouted for joy as my feet touched rock, and I saw I was near a waterfall. The passengers straggled to shore and I started thinking, we should all claim an equal section of the island. I mean, why not stake claims? I wanted the waterfall. As we explored we saw mountains, a volcano and were chased by some weird mid-sized elephant thing. I continued to push for parceling the island, but saw a benefit to sharing resources for its development. I didn't want Howell taking over everything!

The second dream was a contest. 24 men and 24 women would compete. One woman and one man would emerge at the end of the contest, and they would marry. The prize, for the man, was that he would be named the new King of England.

In the dream I was 54 years old, and I was outclassed by everyone. The other contestants were much younger, the women were all in their twenties. Despite this, and probably because the first challenge was easy (it entailed a balancing act of stepping down a series of wooden posts), I survived the first round, being ninth of the top twelve.

The remaining twelve men and twelve women were housed in a mansion. During my time there I felt isolated. At a dinner party I overheard two of the women protesting that I had no business being there, I was dull and old.

The next day there was a contest that entailed hanging from a roof. I don't recall why. But the handholds I was gripping gave loose, causing me to fall before the contest started. Everyone was aghast. I turned it into a joke, and realized everyone was laughing until they cried, so I continued to dance and do slapstick, and was soon a hit on the show.

I don't remember any more of the dream, just something about a dinner, accidentally finding myself in the ladies bathroom, bits and pieces. But I had this vision on me standing in the sun, wearing a gray three piece suit with some kind of red trim, white haired among the younger people, being introduced to the World as the new King of England.

Current Mood: amused

Wow. I had no idea.

The Communists have a secret agenda, did you know this? They want to take over America by making America week, by changing laws. How? Yeah. First, change the immigration laws to allow unlimited immigration. Then a million Chinese (all Communists, of course) come over, and essentially by sheer numbers affect laws, take over organizations, etc. Second, the million Communists weaken the US militarily in concert with Communist front organizations that promote such ugly and untenable ideas as pacificsm, peace, and equality.

While the Million help get laws passed that do things like end wars, bring troop home, reduce the size of the military, scale back the nuclear arsenal stockpiles, close bases... the pacifist front organizations erode America's wilingness to fight, and it's ability to respond. The Communists then face a militarily weaker nation, and unprepared nation, and march in and take over.

These Commies are very clever, working over periods of decades, many decades, generations even, to achieve their end. More remarkable even after the fall of the Soviet Union.

These are the beliefs of the Angry Right. The Angry Right that stands on the threshhold of Doomsday with the biggest guns in it's hand, ready to kill the Red Hordes that stand ready to stampede over America's God-Blessed country, unflinching in their rabid paranoia, and their willingness to kill to be proved right, to create an America in their image or go down in flames as martyrs of the Angry Right.

The above may be a bit tongue-in-cheek, it may be darkly humorous, but it is essentialy correct. I've been stunned over the last few days, reading attacks from the Angry Right against pacifist and peace organizatins, habitually falling back on half-truths, outright lies, innuendo, and their 'Communist connections'. The latter is less effective after the Cold War ended, but the Chinese make it a viable platform to regurgitate the platform of fear the Angry Right loves so dearly.

They despise Martin Luther King, Jr. as much as they do the ACLU, the NAACP, and pretty much any organization or person which stands for peace, unity, or equality.

Which begs the question for the Angry Right: what exactly is it about peace, unity and equality that scares you so very much? And why is it, exactly, that you ARE so angry?

Current Mood: quixotic

Very dramatic, no?

Actually this is just a rant about bad drivers. Feel free to 'ho hum' or 'what else is new'. But the second guy was scary...

The week before my vaction, February 8th I think it was, I drove home as usual, and I turn at the left turn light at the third intersection I come to off the expressway to head toward the grocery store. This taxicab was following about an inch off my bumper though there is traffic in front of me and I can't do a thing about it. As I reach the beginning of the left turn lane I flip on my turn signal and start to move into the left turn lane.

That's when I see that the cab is to my left. This is not actually possible. If I'm entering the left turn lane, then how can the cab be on my left? Well, the cab dcided to try and PASS me as I changed lanes to get into the left turn lane before me. How he ever thought that could hapen without two vehicles occupying the same space at the same time I have no idea. So he avoided me by going left, which meant crossing the centerline and possibly killing somebody. Mental note: NEVER take a cab in Albany, Oregon!

The second one was worse. This morning In was on the expressway about eight miles down the road from home. I was in the left lane because the right lane was clogged with slow moving trucks.

Unfortunately, because of the heaviness of the traffic, the left lane wasn't going much faster.

I look in my rearview mirror and see a missile headed my way. A gray mid-sized car going WAY too fast for traffic conditions. I thought, well, I don't know where he thinks he's going! He pulls up directly behind me, leaving virtually no space. I can't see the front of his car because it's on my bumper. He then swerves back and forth behind me. Mind you, if I tap my brakes at this point I'm a dead man.

I can't go anywhere because there are a string of trucks in the right lane and the left lane is backed up because of people trying to get around the trucks. But this obvious fact has no impact on the reckless driver behind me.

Then, there are trucks and flashing lights in the opposite lane, looks like the tail end of an accident cleanup. The gawkers ahead of me slow down... which creates the situation I was afraid of... I have to brake.

The guy behind me has no prayer of braking in time to not slam into me because he's practically overlapping me as it is. He is forced to fly off the road surface onto the shoulder and into the grass. Only by some miracle could he have avoided hitting me.

BUT HE DOESN'T SLOW DOWN. He keeps driving, finding himself nearly parallel to me, then pulls in behind me again ... and starts blasting his horn. I can't blame him, his nearly fatal accident was entirely MY fault after all. I mean, his driving a quarter of a millimeter off my bumper when traffic is slowing had nothing to do with his almost murdering me.

Finally, the traffic starts to speed up, as soon as he clears a truck to his right he guns the engine and flys through the right lane and then crosses back into the left into a space that seems too small for him to fit into about two cars ahead of me. There's no signalling of any kind, just very aggressive, very reckless, driving.

Somehow, when I get to work, I don't think I should have be thankful that I survived the commute. No stress here at all!

Current Mood: aggravated

So my boss asked me to download Martin Luther King videos from Youtube. Of course, it isn't that easy. When is it ever? You can upload, but not download.

So I searched for a utility to do that. I found a few, none of which really worked. I finally found one called 'videopiggy' as shareware and was successfully able to download the three files I wanted, but only the first 15 seconds of each. So I paid the minimal $24 fee to register and unlock the full version.

And since doing that I have been unable to download a single file! It always returns and 'Unknown format' error with the filename (these are flv files). Disgustedly I wrote a sarcastic message to their support staff regarding the inability of software specifically designed to perform one single task to perform that one specific task.

Why is it I always have some bizarro error with software? Why are software companies utterly incapable of producing software that works, no matter how simplistic the task seems? I sort of understand the bloated and montrous programs Microsoft produces, I mean, they ARE so bloated I'm stunned every time I can just open a file!

But these little utility programs with one function. I mean, come on! I don't want to have to struggle and call tech support and jump through hoops to download a friggin flv!

And it strikes me that this is the nature of computer technology today. High stress, low dependability, high cost. At least on the PC side. Mac people still seem to swear by their systems and I don't know if they experience this kind of hair-yanking stress.

But I know this much, SEVERAL PC owners have confided in me that their next computer will be a Mac. And I saw one in action at the recent event hosted by my employer (funny typo, I typed 'hosed' instead of 'hosted'.. slightly different meaning..). I have to say, there is a pretty good chance my next computer will also be a Mac. The idea of battling with Vista and the bloated Office software (what's with the 'docx' extension? Sheesh!) is NOT palatable in any way.

Sometimes I yearn for DOS. (Not really, I just like to say that so someone will ask, "What the hell is 'DOS'?")

Current Mood: annoyed

So, Jacobs Field, home of the Cleveland Indians, is no more. The naming rights were purchased (for a collosal sum of money) by Progressive Insurance. Ergo, the new name is 'Progressive Field'.

But I loved the old name! Dick Jacobs saved baseball in Cleveland. He rejuvenated a broken down franchise that was perennial loser and lauging stock (referred to as the minor league for the majors, for example). And the old stadium was called 'the mistake by the lake'. He restored prestige to the team, and unveiled a new state of the art stadium ranked as one of the best. They sold out something over 400 straight games. Jacobs Field even had the cool nickname: The Jake.

But that's over. The new owner, Larry Dolan, is more cost conscious. True, after last years result (one game away from the World Series) one can argue that a fiscally managed team with a strong minor league system can compete with a modest payroll. But all Cleveland fans know that once a rising star is established, he'll sign elsewhere. I wouldn't be stunned to see Sabathia, the Cy Young winner last year, sign elsewhere after the season, when his contract expires. Going into a 'rebuilding' phase every few years sucks baloney bits.

As a fan, I have issues. :)

But the new name just sucks. 'Progressive Field'. What's the nickname, 'The Prog'? What the hell is a prog? A cross between a pug and a frog? At least they could have called it Progressive Park, then they could go play at the 'PP'.

Just rambling out loud.

Current Mood: amused

Story regarding the accident that caused Isabelle Norton to lose her leg:
http://www.sonomacountymom.com/forum/showthread.php?t=756

Story about the ensuing lawsuit: http://www.registerguard.com/csp/cms/sites/dt.cms.support.viewStory.cls?cid=46522&sid=1&fid=1

This story is tragic, miraculous, and yet something hits the back of my head saying that something just isn't right.

Isabelle Norton's father went out and bought himself a fancy new riding lawnmower. Cool. One day he was out mowing, and came to a fence. So he threw the tractor into reverse. Tragically, his two year old daughter was behind him, and before he realized it he'd run over her.

Doctors expected she might not survive, but she did. She was out of the hospital in ten days, but had to endure several more surgeries. The mower blade missed a major artery by the slimmest of margins.

Her nine year old cousin proved to be the hero. He attempted to lift the tractor off of her but couldn't. A neighbor jumped a fence and assisted. The nine year old found towels to stem the bleeding and tied a tourniquet (he needed the neighbor's help). The boy saved Isabelle's life.

Fast forward. $250,000 in surgeries and nearly two years later, Isabelle is being fitted with a prosthetic leg. So now Isabelle's parents are suing John Deere. Why? Because "Deere & Company was negligent in designing the mower with a switch that allows the driver to keep the blades spinning while driving in reverse." They are suing the seller also, "Ramsey-Waite Co. of Eugene, charging that the company did not adequately instruct the girls’ father, Kirk Norton, in the safe operation of the mower." The suit asks for 8.5 million dollars.

But it leaves me wondering... If I bought a riding mower I wouldn't assume that the blades ever stopped moving. Spinning blades didn't cause the accident. But there was a switch anyway. Did the father buy the tractor without attempting to learn what the various switches and controls did? Tha seems a little negligent on his part, doesn't it? But the switch didn't back up over his daughter either.

But more troubling to me than this is reading the story of the none year old hero. Even a neighbor jumped a fence to help. But the father who ran down his own kid, well, where exactly was he? He was in shock the story says, due to the nature of the scene. And yet a neighbor and nne year old cousin evidently were not.

I'm wondering if the lawsuit is not in part coming from the sense of guilt the father must feel for not immediately rushing to his potentially fatally injured daughter.

OK, maybe I'm just a jerk for even thinking that. But I don't know. Like I said, something is making the 'something's not right' reflex kick in on this one. I've been thinking about this all day. I'm willing to accept that I'm just crazy or whatever, or just wrong. That's why I'm posting this, because maybe someone will reply and say, "Look, you dumbass, you are forgetting that..."

What your opinion, O wise reader? I really want to know on this one.

Current Mood: contemplative

I had this thought.

"How did you start the new year?"

"Well, I waited for the gunfire to cease and the explosions to stop, got up, checked to make sure I was more or less still intact, dusted myself off, and continued on down the road."

2007 seemed like a dark and violent year. Maybe the more so because 2006 was a dark and violent year, and it seems every year is a dark and violent year. But maybe 2007 was tagged at the end, as if to put an exclamation point on it, by the horrific murder of Benazir Bhutto.

I read a story online about Hindus attacking Christians. And I thought that Hinduism was a peaceful religion. Of course there are the battles with the Sikhs... and I shook my head. The Sikhs kill the Hindus that kill the Christians that killed the Muslims... and I wonder if anyone really hears the wise men speak. Is that what it always boils down to? Killing and bloodshed and power? I read about the Dalits, the outcasts of the Hindu caste system, and I sighed.

Does nothing make sense on this planet? Are human beings really just beasts with big brains that know of nothing but brutality? Thankfully, at least the Buddhists are peaceful. Then I read the most striking phrase I ever imagined I could hear. I was reading about Buddhists attacking Christians, and there in front of my eyes the words 'Militant Buddhists'. Militant?

I shook my head harder. I thought my sanity had momentarily departed me, or my eyes had played some trick on me. But I had read correctly. But... how? Violence truly is anathema to everything I believed about Buddhism or to Buddhism itself. The Eightfold Path speaks to non-violence, to Right Thinking, Right Intention, Right Action... How can such a philosophy ever be perverted into violence? How can anyone guilty of bloodshed and violence possibly call themselves Buddhists?

I felt my shoulders slump, my head dropped. The next sigh was heavier than ever. Can there be NO peace then? Is everything good tainted by corruption, selfishness, oblivious drive for power and control? Is that what it really means to be human? What a horrifying thought. A horrifying thought that leaves me feeling utterly disgusted with all of them. Them. Those who make a choice to violence and rationalize it on religious grounds, on political grounds, on ANY grounds. Violators of their own faiths! Without shame, without pity, without compassion, without anything in their hearts but the viscous black sludge of hate.

And in the midst of this tar pit of humanity how does anyone hold out any chance for peace, or compassion, of hope for the future of any kind? It's damned hard not to fall into the hate, to not let go and fall into the vicious cycle of violence. It's easy NOT to choose to care, it's easy to just NOT choose at all and feign obliviousness. It isn't my problem. I'm afraid... if I stand up I'll stand alone... I’ll become the target.

It's almost as if the evil in the world HAS become tangible. It roars up and devours everything in its path. The evil in the world today is palpable... And that seems obvious to everyone.

Evil begets evil begets evil. There's an avalanche threatening to bury us all. We can feign obliviousness all we want, but that won't save us in the end, when the avalanche we chose to ignore buries us all alive. Cut to the chase. The world is in trouble. Soon there will be no place for innocent bystanders, because there won't BE any innocent bystanders. Inaction doesn't excuse us from the fate we will all share.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by it. No-one seems to want to REALLY stand up against evil in the world. No-one wants to risk calling it what it is. But why is it better to bury our heads in the ground and say 'everything is fine as long as I can still buy fast food and shop at Wal*Mart' and live in that kind of hollow existence than face the dear and the ugly and choose to see it for what it is? Because it's overwhelming? Because it means stepping outside of the comfort zone? Because it means risking one's lifestyle, maybe one's life?

Or is it the satisfaction of lying in your bed at the moment of your death and thinking, the evil in the world has grown exponentially, and what did I do to make the world a better place? Nothing! If you live your life buried in your own little space, ignoring everything that disturbs you, choosing obliviousness.... did you even live at all?

What can you do? Choose! Find people that are willing to stand up to violence and the evil that is out there and stand with them! Start a new wave! One becomes two becomes four becomes eight becomes sixteen becomes thirty-two... and before long you're one of a million who choose non-violence, who choose peace.

Imagine two worlds. One, like now, full of violence, bloodshed, hate... and another full of peace. Which one do you want to live in today? Which one do you want our children to live in tomorrow? Start by making a simple choice.

The Eightfold Path is actually not a bad place to start. Contemplate on it. Meditate on it. Learn to reflect. Pray if that's what empowers you. Reach out to other religions, find men and women of peace wherever they are, whoever they are, whatever they look like, whatever language they speak. WE ARE ALL THE SAME.

Current Mood: quixotic