The Thigh Bone Is Connected to the Hip -- OW!

As I just said to my best friend, I’m rediscovering muscles I forgot I had. I had no idea one’s rear end could hurt quite like mine has been all day. But it’s just my stagnant muscles waking up after such a long time of disuse, despite the gentle way I’ve been launching back into my regime. I can handle the soreness, and even though it’s a bit uncomfortable, it does feel good to be back in the gym again.

One thing I forgot I dislike about the gym are those guys who “happen” to “saunter” past you as you’re on the treadmill or using the weights – you know, the guys who go there mainly to exercise so they can look good while they try to meet someone. Yes, gyms are great places for that sort of thing – you’re among people who are relatively close to your age (for the most part) and, for the most part, have the same interest you do in physical health. But chatting with someone friendly and maybe have a few of those chats develop into a date is one thing; using the place as a surrogate singles bar is another. I do see women there who have joined purely for that reason as well, and what’s interesting to me is that I rarely see them there after a few months or so. I don’t know if its because they met someone, or got disheartened. Or both.

I know that gyms have a reputation for that, but the one I go to – Bally – doesn’t seem to have that as its general theme. I’d say a good 95% of the people there – even the younger men and women – are there for the more serious aspect of being focused on exercise. I have friends there, some that are just a nod and smile, others maybe a wave – while others that constitute an actual stop in what I’m doing and a fun bit of conversation. I like that. In fact, I loved it when I was out of work. It really fulfilled that need for human contact and to be around a mixture of personalities and energies after sitting at home in my apartment all day, writing my book.

And I don’t mind being “checked out” by a man, either; how it’s done is the key thing. Most men there are polite and fall pretty far out of the “Hey-eee Bay-bee!” set, as I call them. And, if done right, it can be quite flattering. Yes, I wear exercise clothes that most athletes tend to wear, but not to be noticed. My choice is purely for comfort; cotton t-shirts and shorts are just too warm. So I know dressing like that is going to be a cause for glances from the opposite sex. I don’t care, really.

But there’s one guy there who’s just a bit too eager to be noticed. Not just by me, but I see him floating passed other women there, all of whom are clearly absorbed in what they’re doing. It adds a certain kind of “Chihuahua” energy to his presence, which in itself is somewhat distracting. Getting noticed, I think, and the level of success you have, is kind of like merging with traffic – do it in a way so that you’re seen but are smoothly inserted into the flow; if your approach is disruptive, it doesn’t create the setup you’re probably wanting.

Granted, the other day it was tempting to say, “Yes, I see you. Now kindly let me get on with why I’m here – to exercise.” But I didn’t. Being rude serves nothing. And I have to admit, his sort is rare there at Bally, so it’s not a big deal. He’s welcome to what he does and how he does it, and I have the choice to just not pay attention to it. Which I do. He’ll eventually get the idea.

But, occasionally, there are some weirdos there. There was one man I finally had to complain about. He had a whole aura about him of sheer creepiness that made my skin crawl. It got to the point where I actually felt my heart sink when I’d walk in and see him. He didn’t just glance at you repeatedly or meander by where I was, he’d actually stand and stare, eyes and smile filled with a smirky kind of lewdness.

One day, after having spent my entire workout under his gaze, I went to the management and complained; they said they’d speak to him, and I only saw him there off and on after that. Eventually not at all. By the time I took my leave of absence, I hadn’t seen him there in a long time. He may have switched times and / or gyms; I don’t know. It was obvious he just wasn’t terribly mentally well; I don’t think it was possible for him to truly understand what he was doing. And for that I can have compassion and forgive. I never felt endangered by him – he didn’t seem to give off that kind of vibe. Rather, it was one of just being slightly out of step with the rest of us.

But all in all, I love being back at the gym. I’m keeping my routine focused more on cardio than weights for the time being; I’m there more for the drive to be healthy rather than slimming down. If I lose the rest of the weight I put on, great. If I don’t, that’s fine too. It could just be that this is where my body prefers to sit. I’m still two sizes smaller than I was before I put on the 50 pounds, so I know most of what I’m carrying is muscle weight. I’m a bit heavier, yes, but more compact. That in itself is a nice feeling.

I saw the doctor today for my consultation. He recommended surgery, of course, but only for this reason: my age. The reasoning is that I’m young, and have quite a bit more time to develop further (possible) complications. If I were 20-30 years older, they’d simply leave the gallbladder in as at that point it doesn’t matter. But he said that because my health is good, it is also, at the same time, a low-risk factor for having that happen. I might happen – and it might not. The episode was isolated and probably just brought on by the really bad choice of food I had that weekend. Which means there is the chance it could happen again; once an attack of gallstones rears its head, there’s the likelihood it can happen again.

But since his recommendation was laden with more “can happens” and “possiblys” and other such phrases, I opted not to have surgery at this time and take a more naturopathic approach first. He was fine with that; he agreed I wasn’t in any danger, and was glad to know that Dr. Long, my Chinese doctor I see once a week at the Naturopathic Clinic where I go for acupuncture, understands that surgery is an obvious choice if necessary, and may even be needed before another episode flares up.

But I’d prefer surgery to be the last option; if it looks like it’s truly necessary, I’ll absolutely opt for that. I’m being very mindful of what I eat, and that episode I had was really what got me back into the gym. And I’ve been feeling much better as of late, and Dr. Feldman was agreeable to my wanting to remain with managing my condition with a good diet, exercise and having acupuncture weekly, given that the results from my emergency room visit didn’t indicate anything of an impendingly serious nature, so to speak.

I know some of you won’t agree entirely with this, but that’s okay. I know you just have my best interest at heart – and I do as well. I’d just really prefer to remain whole and intact if I can.

In the meantime, I think I might need to pick up another bottle of ibuprofen to quite the complaints of my muscles. They’ve been rather vocal over the last several days.

Things That Make You Go Hmm....

I realize I’ve been remiss in updating my information about my consultation; it got rescheduled for March 29. Barring another rescheduling, I’ll let everyone know how it went. My desire is not to have surgery unless I’m about to go septic; my naturopathic doctor has had many cases like mine and has had success in healing my condition. I realize Western society has a tendency to be skeptical of something like acupuncture and herbal remedies, but as it’s a system that’s been having success for about 4,000 years I believe it has credence. But I should also note that he’s fully aware that if surgery does become necessary, then I absolutely must have it. Until then, though, I’d rather try something that’s a bit more organic.

So far I’ve been fine with some minor alterations in my diet, his treatments and adding exercise back into my regime. On one hand I’m very glad to be doing that again, but on the other: ow! I hurt! But that’s a good sign that I’m just using muscles that have gotten somewhat stagnant over the last six months.

Yes, six months. For those of you who know me, you know that exercise is something that’s very important to me. I lost 50+ pounds at one point, and I continued to go to maintain my success. But at one point I hit a very frustrating plateau in my routine and even put on 20 pounds that weren’t muscle. I tried everything to change that around for nearly a year. But around September I realized I’d started to get frenetic about my workouts and that I was sick of the gym. Saying I was burned out would be like saying the Titanic had a small mishap.

So I quit going and decided not to return until I was truly ready to, and had sorted out in my head what was blocking me from moving forward with my health goals. Interestingly, it was around that time that the roller coaster I spoke of in my first blog really started moving, because I’d finally started to go inward to look at what was holding me back – not just with my exercise, but with things I wanted in general from life.

By letting go of exercise and going inwards, I found myself really facing up to my own internal walls, and I began to finally allow myself to pull them down. What I’ve found behind them over the past six months has been utterly amazing.

I can’t really get into exactly what started coming up; it would be a novel, rather than a blog, but those of you to whom I’ve confided know it’s been huge and forceful and extremely revealing. The thing is, what began coming to me weren’t just your normal “everyday” understandings; I began truly knowing not just where I was heading, but when, how and with whom. But the thing was, it started to really overwhelm me and even scare me in some ways. After all, how could I possibly just know all of that?

It’s one thing to think of someone, and then pop there they are on the phone or in your email inbox. Or to think of a song and have it come on right after the one to which you’re listening on the radio. It’s quite fully another thing to have a whole section of your life and where you’re heading just come to you. It's like channeling the entire playlist for the day on your favorite radio station. No pun intended, there.

And the more I tried to tell myself that there was no way I could possibly just “know” all of this, the stronger they became and the more vivid. Part of what perplexed me so was that I honestly didn’t know if I was so overwhelmed by the truth of it all that I was trying to convince myself it was all fantasy…or the other way around. Meaning that it was fantasy, but so very appealing I kept trying to make it true.

But what I found was that the harder I tried to disprove it to myself, to make it simply Fantasies Gone Wild, so to speak, the more outside information I stumbled over that proved, often literally in black and white, that it was all real and very truly centered around this one person that kept popping up in and around all of it.

It was emotionally overwhelming and really quite frightening at times. But at the same time, I knew I was receiving (for lack of a better term) information that was very important. And as the months unfolded past Thanksgiving, into Christmas and into Spring, I began to be more and more confused by what I was actually supposed to do with it. Was it really the person I kept seeing and feeling? The times and places and events? Or were they just things I was creating for some other reason? Meaning, were they just grand metaphors leading me to something very important in my life?

Or both?

The sensations and information got stronger and stronger and more vivid; bizarre coincidences about the person involved began occurring in my life. I don’t mean just random things, I mean things of a solid nature where I’d get a sense of something in their life, utterly randomly (like as I drove to work or styled my hair in the morning) but have no way of actually knowing it – and then discovering a few days or weeks later I was dead on with the knowledge.

I have to be really clear here: I don’t know this person, I’ve never met them – even in passing. I know who it is and, yes, it’s someone with a public face, so to speak, but the circles in which this person runs are ones I don’t follow, not even in passing. But I got the strong sense that at some point -- in the very near future -- I would.

It was enough to make me wonder if I had some odd portal in my apartment through which Rod Serling had slipped; I half expected to have The Twilight Zone music cue in and start rattling around in my head.

It was eerie, and last Friday (the 18^th) it all came to a head.

All I can really say is that I had all of it, even down to the most minute details, confirmed by an outside source. And I have to be really, precisely clear here: she had had absolutely no way of knowing any of what was going on in my life. But she managed to confirm everything, right down to the smallest of details. This I also have to make very clear: there was no prompting on my end through answers to questions or even questions to her on my part.

It was one of the most bizarre moments of my life.

It was as if someone random rang one of you up, and related in perfect detail what you did last weekend, without having any way to know it. It was that exact.

I couldn’t help but have my hair go on end and feel my skin prickle; I was tempted again to go looking for a Rod Serling Portal, thinking maybe it was perhaps under the recycling basket way in the back of my pantry, or behind the boxes in my second closet.

But there was no Rod Serling, no Twilight Zone music. Instead, it was purely Dragnet: Just the facts, Ma’am.

It was both exhilarating and terrifying. Just like a roller coaster ride should be, I suppose.

It was exhilarating to know I’d been so accurate in my own sensations and impressions, but terrifying for the same exact reason. My roller coaster had just given me a very white knuckle loop and turn through a rather unexpected tunnel, leaving me with Bugs Bunny playing the bongo drums in my chest, and a rather whirly case of butterflies in my stomach.

While it also brought a large amount of relief to find out I wasn’t going mad (okay, the jury’s still out on that one in some aspects!) knowing that I did know, and had been so utterly accurate made it feel as if I’d come around a bend in my ride, certain the car was about to roll to a glide if not a full stop – and instead found a whole new leg of loops and twists– along with an octane-sweetened burst of speed.

There’s a huge amount of change coming towards me, emotionally, geographically – and even physically. And it involves this person to whom I'm seemingly linked. But the thing is – it’s all exactly what I’ve felt myself moving towards my whole life – especially the last four years. It’s funny how finally getting – or at least heading into – what you’ve always wanted can be so frightening. Last Friday brought on a whole new swash of emotions as bright and full as any good midway out there. In a way, it’s kind of like having Las Vegas suddenly spring open in your head, robust with all the excitement, promise and emotions involved.

But I also know that’s normal and natural to feel those things after you have an experience like that.

I’ve been digesting all of this over this for the last several days, oscillating between putting it into a blog and not. I wanted to tell everyone about what’s been going on, but I didn’t know how to format my thoughts into coherent phrases. Plus I haven’t been sleeping all that well over the last week; night before last I got a collected three hours of rest. Unable to function lucidly, I finally went home around three yesterday and plummeted into a dreamless nap for about an hour and a half. I felt better after that, and I did sleep better last night as well. Not great. But it was better.

But, then, I have had a lot to absorb over the past week. I’ve felt caught on a Scrambler-like ride of emotions – one moment I’m thrilled and excited, the next calm and confident and accepting of it all, then feeling quite scared. And sometimes it’s hit me so hard I’ve simply had to let myself cry so hard I can hardly breathe. It’s a catharsis, and though wild and wooly, it’s meant to heal. And I feel as if I am – and even finally allowing myself to heal and step into what I’ve been working so hard to create over the last four years…and maybe even my whole life.

You’re welcome to believe this or not. There are some moments where I’m absolutely sure – and others where I find myself mulling over my own doubts and skepticisms about all of this – even with the confirmation.

But even for all that’s been generated, I have to admit that an anonymous quote I came across recently in an email sums it up best for me:

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, "WOW! What a ride!"

And make sure to stop for some cotton candy and a bag of freshly-popped popcorn; it makes the journey all the sweeter.

Permed Mullets and Poet Shirts Still Live In the Land of Duran Duran

Or at least in the world of the guy who sat in front of me at the concert. And maybe in the land of Def Leppard, too. Well, the mullet at least. Probably not the poet shirt.

And no leg warmers at all, Andrew. Sorry. Despite your odd association with that retro fashion and 80s music. Even the patrons of a Def Leppard or Motley Crue concert have let go of the fixation on spandex and cut up t-shirts held together by shiny, strategically-placed safety pins.

For the most part, at least.

The Def Leppard concert I attended in Sacramento, CA was quite amusing from the standpoint that for hairstyles and basic fashion, I seemed to be the only woman there who had gotten out of the 80s permed hair and teased "mall bangs". And there were more mullets than I thought even existed. I had actually thought that when Billy Ray Cyrus cut his off ("That's not a mullet," someone once said about his hair, "that's the mullet." Example: http://onestientertainment.com/pages/billy_ray_cyrus_promo.jpg) that we had fully experienced the death of that hairstyle. It was something that seemed only to serve someone who couldn't decide if they wanted long or short hair. But there in Sacramento I discovered that the style is still popular in some places. I felt like I needed to perhaps erect a self-help booth in a corner to heal these poor souls. "Here. Just a snip. See -- it won't hurt! Have a pamphlet. Really -- there's help!"

Even Def Leppard and all the other seminal “Hair Bands” of the 80s have long since shorn their hair to more mature styles.

It's just that you rarely see that style in Portland, so I guess it just caught me by surprise. But even when it was a popular style I never quite got it. But then who am I to speak? I had some pretty damn stiff mall bangs when I was in high school, so I guess I really can't say too much. (Here's an example: http://www.naughtysecretaryclub.com/BigBangs.htm) I had stock in Aqua Net and Suave, I think, just from what I spent on hairspray. And my best friend Jane can relate some juicy stories of my first experimentations with hair coloring.

It wasn't until I did, she's fond of hinting, that she knew that orange could reach that tone and shade. I still say it was just light auburn with golden tones. And like that old country tune, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I have to admit I was this [-] close to going to my mother's house and getting out an old t-shirt to wear (well, okay, more like this [--------------] close, really), but I decided that I just couldn't be "that guy" for which someone in Office Space is admonished, when he wears a band t-shirt to the concert. I've done that once, and I did feel somewhat goofy. It’s just as bad when someone changes into their newly purchased t-shirt at the concert. But at least there’s a slightly different spin on doing that than appearing at the show, ticket in hand, band logo emblazoned across your chest, as if you’re showing a second piece of picture ID in order to be allowed inside. Or like you're needing to remind yourself where you're going and what you're doing.

The concert was a lot of fun. Duran Duran did many of their older songs, and it was amusing to me that I still know all the words to most of the songs. I did find myself stumbling through others at times. It's been awhile since I've listened to them on a regular basis, so I'm a bit rusty. Plus it was a lot of fun to see all the original members. The drummer left in approximately 1986, and the lead guitarist not too long after that. I saw Duran Duran in the late 80s, but it was only three of them, and it just didn't feel the same. Plus, for that show, they were followed by David Bowie. There's a performer if there ever was one. He put on an absolutely superb and fantastic concert, completely erasing the thrill I'd had of seeing Duran Duran. It was like watching a good high school choir followed by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir; there's no getting around which performance is really going to blow you away.

But for last night's performance, Duran Duran was truly in their own zone for performing. They'd seemed somewhat tired and off when I saw them before, but it's hard to replicate the energy of a complete band when it's just three of you, I think; given it was all five of them back together last night, I’m certain that was part of the magic and fun of last night’s show. I'd definitely go see them again -- if it's all of them. Otherwise it's kind of like my father's old joke: "This is Davey Crockett's hatchet. But it's had two new heads and three new handles."

It would have been even more fun if I'd gotten to see it with my best friend Jane, who was just as immersed in Duran Duarn during their heyday in the 1980s. But even though I was by myself, it was absolutely worth it. I didn't go to a concert a few years ago simply because I would have gone alone, and I found myself frustrated after the concert had come and gone as I realized how disappointed I'd been at missing it. It was then I vowed to just go, whether alone or with a friend or two. Nobody ever looked back and regretted going to something they wanted to see.

As a semi-side note, I was on eBay a while ago and came across a John Taylor poster for sale (the bassist for Duran Duran) that I still have. The bid at the time? $50. It made me blink -- hard. When I bought it in about 1986, I paid $3.75 for it. And I have a lot of those posters still. Some in good condition, some somewhat worn. Plus I have a lot of out-of-print books and 12" single records, too. I've seen those on eBay going for an easy $25-$75. A nest egg started with babysitting money.

One thing that amused me about last night’s concert was how many guys were there; not just with their girlfriends, but clearly there on their own. It was rare to find a guy freely admit when Duran Duran was popular (even at their height) he was a fan. Back then, if a guy wasn’t into Night Ranger, Foreigner, Motley Crue, Aerosmith, Def Leppard, Judas Priest (and even U2), or any other more "manly" band, he became an immediate pariah to his friends. Not so now. The musical closet doors have swung wide open.

The other amusing (and…somewhat frightening) thing, too, were how many people younger than I were there. It was quite odd to be confronted with the sense that "my" music is now "retro" and being “rediscovered.”

Speaking of which, I'm sorry to inform you, Andrew, but not only are songs from Def Leppard's Pyromania being rotated on KGON (the local "Classic Rock" station), but so is Pour Some Sugar On Me, as is Motley Crue.

Which means...the music I like is now 15-20 years old. One of KGON's criteria for the music they play. That's....

....Yipe!

Not exactly sure how I'm feeling about that at this moment!

(Wipe that grin off your face, Andrew! Your time will come soon. Just wait until Jesus Jones does a reunion tour.)

So, my fellow Durannies, rock on. If there is "something I should know" about our new "retro" status for our era of music, only time will tell. Or a few new rotations into KGON’s playlist, which ever comes first.

Note to Self: No Laughing and No Walking Faster Than A Shamble or a Shuffle....

....But I'm feeling much better now. Despite the fact I've twice now entirely lost the blog I was in the midst of writing.

I rounded out my weekend of movies with Garden State, an excellent movie written and by Zach Braff, about a young man who returns home after his mother dies and essentially learns what it is to live. A beautiful, damn near perfect movie, and a great contrast to his goofy and neurotic character on the sitcom Scrubs. The last one I watched was Chronicles of Riddick with Andrew, a film expanding a character writer / director David Twohy first created in his film Pitch Black, an excellent film that is, as Entertainment Weekly called it -- "possibly the world's first art-house science fiction film." Riddick didn't get very good reviews, but I liked it, and was pleasantly surprised by it, having gone into it with fairly low expectations. It still managed to have a different feel to it than comes standard with sci-fi films, and at times had a

I'm still feeling stiff and sore -- probably a combination of heaving so hard and still having my gallbladder be agitated -- and I'm beset with an odd, dry kind of headache. It could be leftover from the Vicodin I broke down and took last night, or just more of what's going on. All I know is that while I don't feel great, I'm even better than I was yesterday. I just can't do any of the things in my title as it hurts!

Despite all that, I'm really glad to know why I've probably been feeling so under the weather for the past couple of years. About two years ago, I suddenly put on 20 pounds for no apparent reason, and after spending a frustrating year trying to tweak my diet and exerecise routine to no avail, I began seeking alternative reasons. I first went to my doctor, but feeling "tired all the time" and feeling always "blah" didn't lead him to any conclusions, and the tests we did simply came back stating I was probably the healthiest person in the clinic.

But my intuition kept telling me there was something more. I kept getting more and more fatigued and worn-out feeling, and finally turned to acupuncture. Which has been helping immensely. I did stop going to the gym a few months ago, partly because I had started to get really frustrated with the fact the weight was remaining steadfastedly stuck no matter what I did and a sense of self-loathing had started to creep in, along with a feeling of burnout, and because Dr. Qin (pronounced "chin"), my Chinese physican had recommended that I take a break as it was seeming to only sap me.

I'd fought that suggestion for awhile, but I knew he was right. That was back in September. And while I miss it, it's been a healthy time of getting some new perspective on what was really driving me so hard at the gym and to slip into acceptance of myself in a healthier way. But the thing is, I think I finally have the answer for what's been going on with me. The sensations for which Mo has been treating me have been somewhat elusive in revealing their true source. She's an amazing acupuncturist, and through her questions I've become extremely body- and health-conscious in a very good way; I've never ceased to be amazed at the questions she's asked that has revealed a seemingly unimportant symptom I'd had during the week as something key. It's been a fascinating year.

If anything, all Mo's hard work and the help of the doctors there (and the rest of the awesome staff there at the clinic!) has led up to this discovery. And I'd be willing to bet my house (if I had one), that if it hadn't been for all they've done for me -- between the treatments and the herbs -- that my situation would have been far worse on Saturday. So I'm extremely grateful for all their help, support and guidance. And now we have something we can really work with!

I'm not looking forward to the surgery per se, but I do feel very glad to know why I've been feeling so under the weather for the past two years. The weight gain coincided with the onset of the other symptoms, so perhaps I have the answer for that as well. Granted, my last fling with the flu caused me to lose ten pounds, but that wasn't quite the answer I was looking for.

I do, however, think we sometimes get sick for purposeful reasons. As I said in my first blog, when I came out of my last flu, I felt as if I had some things settled in me that I'd been struggling with for awhile; this time, with this whole gallbladder thing, I can't shake the feeling that I'm again on the verge of something big and important. I don't know what, but there's someting in and around all this that's leading me to...something. So for that reason, I'm looking forward to all of this, even if it was my body just simply finally revealing to me what was the true issue so that I can, with the help of the surgery and my acupuncture, get on track to being on the level of health I want.

So for all that, I'm quite grateful this happened. That may be hard to understand, but it's just a brand new challenge for me. One of the things I've so far learned is that, now that I'm on a (temporary but mandatory low-to-no fat diet; the gallbladder's job is to digest fat and right now, in its state of agitation, any fat that comes in has the possibility to really irritate it again) is that I've developped a real taste for Rye Krisps -- even saturated fat free ones -- something I never particularly cared for before.

My other learning experience in all this will be Andrew. He was quite thoughtfully respectful towards my new diet on Sunday. "Mmm," he said as his pizza baked, "doesn't it smell good? Just because you're on a no-fat diet doesn't mean I have to be. Just think of all that nice melted cheese! I can't wait to try it!"

Twerp.

But as my best friend Jane pointed out, it's good for me. "It's his job to torment you," she said. "You should know that."

I'm certain, though, when Obi Wan Kenobi said to young Annikan Skywalker, "Patience, young Jedi," he didn't have little brothers in mind. That's a whole different realm of that skill. But it's still a healthy one to learn.

If I don't wear down my molars in the process.

On a different note, I found out that Def Leppard is coming to town for a concert this summer at PGE Park. It's a double-billing with Bryan Adams (sort of an odd combination, in a way). Those of you who know me, know I like DefLep a lot, and I've seen them in concert twice already. But what's neat is that their drummer , Rick Allen(who retaught himself how to play the drums after he completely lost an arm in a car accident, and actually plays better now than he did before, I think) founded a charity organization with his wife, Lauren, called Raven Drum Foundation (http://ravendrumfoundation.org/) that sponsors arts programs. I've taken part in an energy medicine clinic Lauren put on last spring, which was then followed by a drum circle led by Rick Allen. A lot of fun, and the money goes towards the foundation.

One of the ways Raven Drum draws in patrons and helps get information out about the organization is by having a booth at concerts, manned by volunteers from the area. So I sent an email last night telling them I'd be glad to help out if they needed it. I'm planning on getting tickets, of course, but it would be a lot of fun to have a more behind-the-scenes perspective, too, and to help Raven Drum with my time. I've liked everyone I've met from the founddation, and it's an organization that sponsors something I believe in. The concert's scheduled to be at PGE Park in early June, home to the local baseball team, and is supposed to be an informal kind of setup. However I'm there, it'll make for a fun day.

Plus by then I should be feeling a lot better. At least for right now, when I say my life is a shambles, I can mean my gait, and not things overall.

P.S. Two new photos in the gallery.

P.P.S. Hopefully my consultation on Tuesday won't be heading towards this: http://www.cactusventures.com/jpg/operation.jpg

Hear ye! Hear ye!

Update: My consultation is scheduled for next Tuesday at 3:30 pm. I shall let everyone know what happens....While I'd prefer to get in sooner than that, at least I won't miss my concert!

Once It Was the Age of Aquarius....

....Now it's the age of disposable technology. But that doesn't really roll off the tongue as nicely as the other phrase.

A few weeks ago as I rewound a tape in my VCR, it made a hair-raising screech, followed by a rather unpleasant klunk sound. Startled, I went to eject the tape, and found it had become stuck inside my VCR. After trying for about a half an hour to get it to release its grip on the video tape, I knew the whole thing had died. And since it costs more to repair it than it does to purchase it, out it goes to the garbage dump. Same thing with my monitor that died a few months ago (though disposing of those is different -- you have to take them to a special store -- like Office Depot or Best Buy -- and pay a small fee to have it deposed. Has something to do with the gas in the tube, I think.) But the cost of repairing a monitor is usually equal to a brand new one.

My plan for the weekend was to rent a bunch of movies and park myself on the couch and get caught up. I came home Friday evening with Pirates of the Caribbean, Napoleon Dynamite, Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Chronicles of Riddick and Garden State.

Then, on Friday, the remote to my TV completely died. I couldn't do anything with it. Just the batteries, I thought. Nope. That was completely dead as well (better that than the whole TV). Granted, I'm an able-bodied person and most of what you can do with the remote you can do on the TV itself, except for the handy favorite things like punch in channels and flip back and forth between two of them. I rarely just watch one show; even if I am, I switch around during the commercials. I can hang ten with the best of channel surfers out there.

So the loss of those features wasn't a huge thing, but it was still rather annoying. So when Pirates finished (great movie, while Disney, it didn't have that "feel" and I was very pleased with it), I went to Best Buy to get a universal remote, and also picked up a new VCR. But while there, I learned something interesting about myself. I was in the home electronics section, a veritable toy store for those of us who always like nifty technology. I began running through other options -- a new and bigger TV as they were inexpensive, even the flat screen ones (not high definition; still a king's ransom for those things!) Or I could get a DVR / DVD player, meaning, one of those nifty gadgets that records your TV onto a CD-ROM, essentially. Really cool things. I even thought about upgrading my DVD player -- all the prices I saw were fair, I thought.

But what I began to realize was that, while I could feel the "Ooo! Nifty!" thrill in me -- I didn't care. I didn't want to buy any of those things, even though I could afford them. I simply couldn't trigger the purchase follow-through in me. Practicality stayed with me. It would be nice to have those fun upgrades -- but I really was able to stay with the fact I didn't need them. It's something I'd been noticing about myself about clothes recently -- I'd like to get new ones, but I don't need to. Oh, I'll get a new top or skirt every once in a while to freshen things up, but the need to get three or four new outfits in a go left me at some point. All I needed and wanted to get, I thought were the two items I originally wanted to get -- the VCR and the remote.

So I have to say I was quite pleased with myself there in Best Buy. Earlier in the year, whether it was a "resolution" or not, I'd made a vow to pay my credit card and student loan off by Fall, and to save my tax returns when they came in; before, none of those things felt like a necessary priority. Granted, I've had to put some things on my card (like the VCR and remote), but it's still less than I'm sending in every month. And that's a really, really good feeling.

Look, Ma! I'm all grown up!

OK, I confess. I did get a few extra things there -- a CD drive cleaner, Duran Duran's new album (first one in about 15 years or so that was recorded by all of the original members) since I'm seeing them in concert on Friday, Collective Soul's New album, and another Duran Duran CD that has a bunch of old B sides. And a mouse pad for work. But all in all, it was a to-the-letter purchase of items on my list. It was hard not to walk out of there with a big grin on my face. The only thing I've so far purchased with my tax return money was the concert ticket; any other year I would have blown it on fun stuff. This year I felt absolutely no desire to do that.

Universal remote programmed, new VCR hooked up, old remotes in the garbage (I felt myself grimacing as I did that), I went to bed, looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend of movies. I watched two more on Saturday -- Napoleon Dynamite (I liked it, but I have to admit I felt a kind of dread in the pit of my stomach as I watched it; it hit a bit too close to home in some ways. The costumes, hairstyles and settings make it look like it was taking place in the late 70s or in the 80s, but the fact people had cell phones mixed in modern times; goes to show that the frustration of high school is timeless) and Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (the first film by Guy Ritchie, who also did Snatch, another one of my favorite films. There's one character that's in both films, so that's fun too. I think Snatch is the more refined of the two, but LSTSB had a more refined story). That evening my mother came over and Andrew, Erika (my brother's girlfriend), she and I all watched Shaun of the Dead, a very funny British movie about a somewhat slacker-ish guy who becomes the hero when London is overrun with zombies.

A very fun evening and relaxing day for Saturday.

I'd noticed earlier that day that I wasn't feeling all that well. Having had three bad bouts of sickness in a month, each one worse than the last one, I simply assumed it was something left over from those, although I did consider that maybe I'd caught Erika's cold. For whatever reason, I didn't feel all that great. And I have to admit I'd thought it odd that, the whole day, I'd had absolutely no appetite, and I'd had to make myself eat something small, a chronic feeling over the last few weeks, ever since I'd been sick.

No biggie, I thought. Just after-effects of being so sick. So I wasn't worried at all.

I was, however, really tired, and went to bed about 10:30, planning on sleeping in a bit. But I woke up around 1:30 in the morning with the worst pain in my sternum and upper back I'd ever felt. I felt like my entire body had seized up like the video tape in my VCR, and had gotten something jammed in my chest -- on top of feeling like I had a large inflated balloon in my stomach. I honestly didn't know if it was simply really bad indigestion (though from what I didn't know since I hadn't had that much to eat) or something worse. I paced around my room for a bit, thinking maybe movement would help, but it only made me feel even more nauseated. So I curled up on my bed for a bit -- and then was suddenly hit with the realization I was going to be sick.

And I was. Violently. And I didn't feel better afterwards the way you usually do after throwing up -- instead, I felt worse. And the pain had started to twist tighter and tighter in my chest; it was then I realized there was something really wrong and it wasn't just food poisoning or indigestion. That was when I knew I needed a doctor, and that I had to go to the hospital. Nearly doubled over, I shambled as quickly as I could to get Andrew (for those of you who don't know, he's my brother, and he shares the apartment with me). It wasn't hard to notice, even in that moment, that my gait was simlar to those of the zombies...something Erika recognized as well and bemusedly pointed out later. I knocked on his door and told him I needed him to drive me to the hospital.

There was a pause, and he replied, "Right now?"

Even in my pain I wanted to laugh and say, "No, we can wait until the pain stops!"

Erika was still here as well, and off the three of us went to the nearby hospital (I nearly called 9-1-1, but I didn't know how to let them in, as my apartment building needs an out door key or to have someone buzz in a visitor). After getting sick three or four more times, and having several tests done (among them an ultrasound), the staff discovered that I have gallstones (the reason for my recent lack of appetite). Remedy? Surgery. Granted, a mild one (they can go in with lasers and a tiny tool nowadays, rather than slicing you completely open). My father had his gallbladder completely removed several years ago, but the doctor didn't think I'd need something that drastic.

They gave me some anti-nausea medication and some Demerol to help with the pain, and I began to feel much better. They released me around 5:30 and home I went. I was really glad to have Andrew and Erika there; not just for transportation, but it was a nice outlet for some moral support. Plus the doctors and the nurse (a very nice man) were very kind and thoughtful, and very reassuring.

Nothing huge, but nothing minor, either. It hadn't occurred to me to be worried in and around all of that, as my arrival hadn't elicited something similar to a scene out of ER with the doctors pouring over me, grabbing needles, gloves, paper coats, goggles and a variety of machines as they whisked me down the corridor. But neither were they lazy towards me. This may sound somewhat goofy, but it was, despite the horrible pain I was in, very pleasant. So kudos to the emergency night staff at the Providence Hospital over on Barnes road. Thank you very much!

So much for a relaxing weekend. My right arm and elbow are very stiff and sore from the IV they put in so they could draw blood and give me the medicine, and my belly hurts from getting sick. And I'm very tired and thirsty. But all in all, I'm feeling okay. I have to call a special number tomorrow and schedule the surgery. It's most likely outpatient, which is great. Not the best thing to look forward to, but I'd rather have the stones out than keeping them in. My hope is to schedule it for Friday, as I have my Duran Duran concert on Thursday and first of the week is always incredibly busy at work. The surgery has to be done soon, but there isn't exactly a clock ticking on it either. And having it on that day means I have the weekend to recuperate.

Needless to say, I'm very thankful I have my tax return saved in case I have to take more time off from work. I've already had to use half my vacation hours for the flu I had a few weeks ago, and the tax return is a nice cushion for maybe letting the rest of my vacation time sit so I can have a real vacation later this summer. But if I have to use them, I have to use them. I'm just glad I have them backup -- I've had some jobs where I had nothing, and / or the employer didn't care if you were running a fever and had nodules growing on you. If you were scheduled, you were scheduled and you better be in.

Where I work now is not at all like that, thankfully. They even understand about personal days, too. I'm lucky to have found such an awesome place to work. On top of being able to help people, I go into work every day feeling like I'm stepping into a big extended family. That's rare, I think, for a workplace. And despite the fact we're the largest personal growth company in the world, it still has the hominess of a start-up company. I have to say that it's the first job I've had since the Air Force where I feel challenged to learn and grow and I don't see it as going in to "work"; the effort to roll out of bed comes solely from wanting to stay snug and comfy and snoozy, and never from not wanting to go in.

I just feel kind of bad for having to take off more time again, so soon after being out for a full week with the flu, and prior to that other missed days with being sick. But I know they know it's not something I can avoid, and while it does make more work for everyone, I know they don't mind when the reason has to do with health. So thank you to everyone there at work for all your moral support these last few weeks, too!

So despite having an overall crappy weekend, the good news is that at least I know I'm not disposable and can be repaired.

You Can't Whistle An AC/DC Song

Or so I discovered as I was coming home last night. I caught myself trying to whistle the song I'd just heard on the radio, and it was pretty stupid-sounding. Not that it doesn't have a melody, but it just doesn't fall off your lips like, say, even Sad But True by Metallica.

And just where is this little life lesson going to take me? Well, nowhere I guess. It's most likely one of those seemingly useless factoids I tend to carry around with me that do nothing except help me win at Jeopardy on the occasional night I might be caught watching it. Otherwise, I have no use for knowing that more people are killed annually by donkeys than in plane crashes, or that dragonflies are one of the fastest insects out there, able to fly upwards of 50-60 miles an hour. You know, the things that would never save someone's life or get you out of a speeding ticket. I suppose I could astound the policeman with some stunning fact that so bemuses him I avoid the ticket, but it's highly unlikely.

And in case you're wondering, no, I haven't had the chance to try. Oh, I might try a bad joke just to get the police officer to laugh, but if I was speeding, I should have known better. Though I have to admit there's still a small part of me that's still a little peeved about getting a $97 ticket for going 7 mph over the limit on a dead stretch of a San Jose highway at 1 am -- ironically, the same exact place a friend of mine got a $42 ticket for going 20 mph over the speed limit in the middle of the day.

My one experience with a "quota ticket."

Normally, I have every single respect for police officers. They do amazing things every day of their lives, whether they think they do or not. But I have to admit that the traffic cops in San Jose gave me numerous reasons to lose respect for them. For one thing, they would continually speed past me on the highways when I was already going a good 10 mph or more over the limit (just so I wouldn't get flattened by the other drivers around me). And the big one was when I was on SJSU campus one afternoon, and nearly got creamed by a traffic patrol car that slammed through a 4-way stop (I had the right of way, both as a pedestrian in a crosswalk and the fact I hit the intersection first). When I found another police officer there on campus, I went up to him and explained to him what happened, and stated that I wanted to lodge a complaint.

He glared at me and said, "Yeah, so what? What do you want me to do about it?"

I looked at him a moment and said as politely as I could, "Well, thank you, officer. I feel much safer knowing that attitude is rampant in your place of work. Nice way to serve and protect."

I could see in his eyes he really wanted to say something (I even want to say he may have hated me for saying that), but I didn't give him the chance as I turned and walked away. It was so stupid I couldn’t even really feel any rage on my part. Just disgust.

The patrol police in San Jose I still had respect for, but the traffic ones -- well, in my opinion they need a tune-up in the attitude and awareness department. It's one thing to stick up for a colleague, but if I had someone telling me, "Your fellow officer nearly killed me when he ran a stop sign," (and, no, his lights weren't on, and there wasn't an emergency; it was the middle of the afternoon on campus), I'd be a little more concerned -- rather than having a reaction like I'd just told him I'd seen something happen over which he had no control -- say, along the lines of my saying, "I don't like the color your colleague painted his house."

But then, that's just me.

I can understand becoming jaded and cynical, especially in a job like that. You can see a lot of stuff that could make even the brightest optimist begin to see the possibility that maybe the glass is half empty rather than half full; there are times even in my job I can feel that, despite the fact I adore what I do, and I'm never ceased to be amazed at the people who come to us for help and the people with whom I work. My job, however, doesn’t carry the same kind of danger as a police officer, of course (though sometimes I can feel just as jaded -- side case in point: a woman insisted we were double-charging her, and when we couldn't find evidence of that happening, we asked her to fax us a copy of her credit card statement. What does she send us? A photocopy of the front and back of her credit card....)

So danger, no. But the cynicism can creep in. Overall, please know, I have deep admiration for police officers. I just think the ones with whom I had interactions in San Jose are a poor example for representing the men and women who work their tails off to make sure I can walk down the streets of Portland, even at night after a concert perhaps, and feel safe. For the most part I did in San Jose as well, because I knew that there were other police officers who truly believed in their oath to protect and serve. There's always going to be a few bad apples in the bunch, I know. But it's still disheartening to come across them, especially when you have deep admiration and respect for the profession.

Hey -- I still get all weepy-feeling when I see an ambulance or fire truck or police car whiz past, lights flashing, sirens going, risking themselves to make sure they get to someone who needs them. It's more than the little kid in me that still thinks "diggers"(as my brother Andrew called them when he was little) and backhoes at work are really cool, it's the swirling sense in my heart of seeing another human being caring for someone else. It doesn't take much to show that, really.

It's why, when I can, I give money to a man who waits patiently at the on-ramp near where I work. Not a lot, but just whatever I might have in my wallet, as I don't carry much cash with me. I've never seen him drinking (I often watch him as I'm creeping forward in my line), and he never sounds or acts drunk when I talk to him.

Normally I don't hand out money to people. But there was something I liked and immediately respected about him the moment I saw him. His bearing was full of the pride and dignity, despite the fact I could tell it was very hard for him to do what he was doing. I believed what I saw and read on his sign (homeless, family). He's always clean-looking (though his clothes and haircut are a bit on the shabby and shaggy side), walks stiffly with a cane, and the times I've talked to him as I've given him a few dollars, I've learned that he's a Vietnam veteran, votes Democrat, is up on current events beyond what I am, and has a very funny sense of humor. And I know that his name is Robert. The deep appreciation that came into his eyes and the way his bearing softened when I asked him what his name was left me wanting to cry the rest of the way home.

And it made me wonder when the last time was someone actually acknowledged him as a human being. Something, I think, we tend to forget to do in our own busy lives as we go from errand to errand, email to email. The woman who often rings up my purchases at Haggen at lunch is named Barbara, she loves Kenny Rogers, likes to go to the casinos occasionally with her boyfriend, and has three horses she loves to ride. Another girl there at the store (she's newer and so I can't quite remember her name) has a roommate that she spent last weekend with pigging out on reduced fat Triscuits and cheese as they watched old, silly movies and gave themselves manicures.

These, to me, are treasures. Maybe a somewhat sappy term, but I love knowing these things about the people with whom I interact. Knowing what I know about the dragon fly or donkeys and airplanes might win me $50 in a trivia contest (or that AC/CD doesn't compose melodies one can whistle), but knowing what I've learned about these people I can carry with me for much longer than that prize money will last.

My Very First Blog

My Very First Blog

OK, I've been reading my bro's blog for years, and others as well, so know what they're about. But doing my own -- hmm! I guess I could pull out my deepest, darkest thoughts to examine and have people comment and do polls over, but they've been in the deep and dark for so long they're kind of pasty-looking and tend to slink around like Gollum.

You'd think someone who likes opinions (though I do know when to keep 'em to myself...well, at least I'm learning) would have had a blog a long time ago. Truth? Never really ocurred to me. Or you had to pay for it. And I didn't know if anybody really cared to hear about my life. I write as a trade, for the most part, given I do email support all day long at my job. And I like to write on my own time, too, when the muses are biting at me. So maybe that's why -- I do a lot of writing already, doing more seemed...more.

Or less.

I have to admit I've had some stuff churning through my head lately that I'm not sure what to do with. Where Am I Going and Who Am I and What The Heck Was My Name Again sort of stuff. I get the feeling I'm heading into something, but what I don't know. I realize I have to just keep going and let it reveal itself, but at the same time, it's like moving through a tunnel at times -- you feel the wind on your face and know you're moving, you can hear the clacking of the wheels beneath you and the bumps and divots of the road, but the forward view is hazy and dim at best. I guess it's a process of trust. Well, no, it's fully a process of trust. It's just that my personal conductor who kindly sent me on my way forgot to print on my ticket where I'm heading.

But at the same time it's pretty exciting, too. I've been rather lazy as of late, kind of cocooned in my life (something I felt I had to do) and I've only recently begun to feel like I have wings again. Nothing "bad" happened, and no single thing sent me to do that -- it was just that I felt like I needed to reach out and hit the Reset button on the Nintendo System of my life. Well, more "pause" than reset. Or "reorient" if there were such a button.

I just spent the last month (yes, month) being in and out of flus of varying levels of awfulness, the last one completely flattening me for a week. I'm still feeling pooped and low on stamina, but at least it's coming back. But the funny thing is, the first thing I noticed after my fever broke (I wild night of 102.1) I began to notice that the jumble in me had settled. Questions I had, concerns or confusions, even, had settled into something I understood or could at least accept. The weird shove forward into that speedy tunnel no longer seemed confusing, and I realized I wasn't quite so white-knuckled about it. A trust had appeared. I guess it's not important to know why or from where.

Funny. I just thought of something. I love roller coasters. The harrier and scarier and loopier the better. I once spent my 19th birthday at Six Flags over Texas with my dad, and we went on every single roller coaster there at least twice. It's the first thing I hit when I go to an amusement park. There's one I've heard about in Denmark, I think it is, that's completely in the dark. Makes me rub my hands together and grin just thinking about it. Whee! But here I was, in the midst of my own personal roller coaster ride (again, I'm not sure what brought it about) and it was scary. As in "stop!" scary. But once you're on one of those things, you aren't going to, no differently than the person running The Big Dipper at Santa Cruz is going to stop it. That was the other thing I realized when I came out of that flu hell -- I was enjoying it!

I'm on the verge of something, I think. Dunno what. Nor do I really feel a need to have it figured out. I think I'm finally getting it'll figure itself out, and I don't have to do anything, just like I don't have to do anything but just sit back in my roller coaster car and let the ride unfold for me.

Bring on the loops!

Ciao for now.