Edge

Slowly making my way away from the edge. It's a long way down.

Temporary Suspension of Cynical Disbelief

I'm a pessimist and a cynic, courtesy of a lifetime of witnessing how base and low and disingenuous people can be.

But occasionally I am moved by what I believe is a person's honesty and integrity and sheer sense of goodness. I hope my assessment of Governor (Massachusetts) Duval Patrick's speech during last night's Democratic National Convention was right. I hope I'm not suspending my cynicism and pessimism to a highly skilled actor. I hope I'm suspending those perspectives to a man who deserves my respect and regard.

I'd like to see more people like Duval Patrick in public office. If Obama is elected to the Presidency, I'm confident Duval Patrick will be offered a very important position. I hope I'm right, both about him and about his future in public service.

I don't trust most of the other people who spoke, though Lilly Ledbetter's comments were hard and from the heart. I hope Goodyear's senior executives were watching and could feel their sales plummet with each word she spoke.

Gelatin, Gelatin, Where Do You Roam?

It's later than I'd like it to be. But, I don't control time. I've often wanted to, but it's never been within my grasp. I'm sitting here in the semi-dark, wondering where all my "people" are. You know, the people who are willing to talk to me in this semi-dark, gelatinous universe. Well, apparently they're not here.

I can have my own conversations, I suppose. And I won't be so judgmental about the insanity that pours forth from my lips.

Help for Someone in Houston

This information was passed on by a fellow blogger, who knows someone who knows someone who needs blood platelet donations in Houston, Texas. If you're able to donate or pass the word, please direct people to this site. The person needing help has an aggressive form of Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Time is of the essence.

Ranchman's Chicken-Fried Steak and Fried Green Tomatoes

(I took the photo with my cell phone, hence the fuzziness--but click, anyway, to embiggen for a closer view.)

We decided to be lazy today...at least a little. We drove to Ponder, a tiny town just north of Fort Worth and just a hop, skip, and a jump from Denton. There, we had chicken-fried steak at Ranchman's Cafe. It's a fantastic little place; it has the best chicken-fried steak I've ever eaten. And one of today's specials was fried green tomatoes, which we couldn't pass up, so we savored the wonderful, artery-clogging goodness of fried food...including the steak, the tomatoes, and french fries (though my wife ordered a baked potato...they usually require you to call ahead to reserve one, but they had an extra so they served it to her).

I discovered during our visit that Bobby Flay did a show on chicken-fried steak there in 2002 and another Food Network show on grilled steak was filmed there in 2003. I haven't see either one. Doesn't matter. We've been visiting Ranchman's since 1998 or 1999 (and it's been around since 1948). It doesn't need PR to stay afloat.

Empty Office

This is my new office, before any furniture had been brought in. Later, probably much later, I'll post an "after" photo.

Off, or Out Of, My Mind

The worst of our physical office move is complete, if you don't count unpacking massive numbers of boxes whose contents are unknown and the space for which simply no longer exists. At least we all have desks, but we don't have internet connectivity and we don't have phone service. I hope those come early tomorrow.

I'm physically and mentally tired and all I want to do this morning is drink my coffee, avoid mental challenges, and get the challenges of tomorrow off my mind.

They Want to See Your Bag

Two days in a row. There's nothing in my head that's aching to make it down to the keyboard. Like yesterday, I'm more inclined to want to be a storm-chaser today than a paper-chaser. Today. Right. That means "in this lifetime."

Oh, maybe you'd be interested in my dream. I had just arrived in a U.S. airport, very, very, very late one night, from an overseas flight from I-don't-know-where. Three people were waiting for me at baggage claim, inside customs. Hundreds of bags came out, but not mine. When I reported it missing, I was asked to describe it but couldn't remember what it looked like. They asked me to draw a picture. I did, but I couldn't get the handles drawn right; they looked like whisps of paper. The attendant got angry with me and asked whether I had checked the other airlines. "No, I said, I flew in on American." Her face twisted into a scowl and she said, "It doesn't matter! It could have come in on any airline!" I wanted to get my bag, but the people who had come to get me insisted on leaving to attend a party that should have been over hours earlier. "They'll keep it open," my greeters insisted. "They want to see your bag!"

Storms

There's nothing here today. Everything I've tried to write has finally been put away into my private folder. It's not fit to share, nor do I feel a need to share it.

I'm thinking of violent storms, with thunderous explosions of sound and flashes of light bursting from low, dark, sinister, murderous clouds that twist and turn and erupt into fiendish, shrieking winds.

I want to see such a storm tonight. I want to feel its fury as its cracks of thunder shake the earth.

Fingers in Their Cases

Today, my staff got serious about packing for our impending office move. They were in overdrive, packing boxes, gathering old magazines and other innocuous paper for the recyclng center, questioning "why do we have to keep this?" at every turn. They worked hard for their pay today, a physical effort that we rarely have to exert.

As for me, I had a completely unexpected and utterly unwelcome flare-up of the long-since-gone pain of my Crohn's disease. Fortunately, it wasn't serious and the most serious pain only lasted a few hours, but it was an unhappy reminder that the damn disease is still there. I had a minor flare earlier this year. I hope this isn't a signal that it's getting its sea-legs again.

Tomorrow, I'm to be interviewed for a national television news show that virtually everyone would know if I mentioned it, but I won't because I don't want my clients nosing around on this blog. It's going to be a phone interview, which is a good thing because I don't like television interviews in the least (and I've been told I have a face for radio, anyway). The topic has gotten so old that I wish it would just disappear, but at least it keeps my client in the spotlights of the media, which for them is a good thing.

All the prospective new business that is descending on me is still not close to becoming a paying client, but I can't help but think some of them will take the plunge before long. Our new office space probably won't accommodate any more clients, nor any more staff, but I'd like to have to deal with those impossibilities before I decide I wouldn't appreciate them.

I'm putting my fingers back in their cases tonight. Enough bloggery.

L. Cohen: Joan of Arc

How could someone NOT find this exceptionally compelling poetry and music? OK, maybe you don't find it as compelling as I do, but I just don't understand why not.

Time to See Leonard Cohen in Concert

I've never seen/heard Leonard Cohen in concert. I've wanted to for at least 30 years, but have never had the chance (he doesn't get to Texas...can't imagine why, as I'm sure both his fans here would go to see him).

I just came across what is said is his current tour schedule. I can't do Bucharest in September, though I have a friend who's invited me to come with her (and her husband) to Romania to help her create a theatre school for high-school age kids. That wold be good, if it could work, because I'd have a place to stay and people I know. But the date won't work. Ditto Vienna and Prague (dates not working...I know no one I could count on for a place to stay in either place). I'd LOVE to go back to Helsinki, though, even without a place to stay, other than a swank hotel. That would be fantastic! And I'd happily follow him to Stockholm, taking the same cruise ship I took last trip from Stockholm to Helsinki and back. I wonder if I could get tickets?

09/21 Bucharest, Romania - Arcul de Trumpf
09/24 Vienna, Austria - Koncerthaus
09/27 Prague, Czech Republic - HC Sparta
09/29 Wroclaw, Poland - Hala Orbita
10/01 Warsaw, Poland - Torwar
10/04 Berlin, Germany - O2
10/07 Munich, Germany - Olympiahalle
10/10 Helsinki, Finland - Ice Hall
10/12 Gothenburg, Sweden - Falconer
10/15 Stockholm, Sweden - Golben
10/17 Copenhagen, Denmark - Forum
10/20 Brussels, Belgium - Forest National
10/23 Milan, Italy - Teatro Degli Arcimboldi
10/25 Zurich, Switzerland - Hallenstadion
10/27 Geneva, Switzerland - TBA
10/29 Frankfurt, Germany - Festhalle
10/31 Hamburg, Germany - Colorline Arena
11/02 Oberhausen, Germany - Oberhausen Arena
11/03 Rottendam, Netherlands - Ahoy
11/05 Glasgow, Scotland - Clyde
11/08 Cardiff, Wales - International Arena
11/11 Bournemouth, England - International Centre
11/13 London, England - O2 Arena
11/22 Birmingham, England - NEC
11/24 Paris, France - Olympia
11/25 Paris, France - Olympia
11/28 Brighton, England - Brighton Centre
12/01 Dublin, Ireland - The Point

A Glimpse of Humanity

I'm in one of those moods tonight in which I realize that even Republicans can be decent human beings. I know. It's hard for, me, too, but I really believe it.

If you try to put yourself in the position of someone with whom you vehemently disagree about virtually everything, you can get a different perspective on their positions. It's especially useful to force yourself to argue his or her position forcefully and rationally.

Nothing in particular brought me to this "insight" (which I experience fairly frequently, just not often enough to let it change my inate skepticism about the value of humankind); it just happens sometimes.

Approximately Now

Monday, I interview with the selection committee of an organization that is considering using a company like mine for management. I'm not counting any chickens, inasmuch as I'm one of five or six they're interviewing, including some individuals who are under consideration as staff members (versus contractor, like my company would be). But it would be a huge win for us, since we've just lost 25% of the fees from our largest client; it would make that back and then some. But it would be a huge undertaking and much work for all of us...if we get it, I hope it's worth it. I doubt that it, or any of the other "pieces of business" we're going after are "worth it." But they might help pay the bills until the obligations of the new lease have been fulfilled.

It's tiring dealing with the office move, the declining revenue, the obligatory treatment of nasty, stupid people with more respect than they deserve. And going through the motions of really caring about the business, the profession, the industry, everything that's connected to any of it. Bitter? No. Not bitter at all. Ungrateful? More so than I should be.

In my other life, the life where things that matter actually matter, I had just a few snippets of activity today. A few interactions with people who think, a few successes in getting words recorded on the keyboard, an idea or two for books or short stories or poems. And a few chances to read, again, about life in another place, another climate, in a place where people cluster to share their worship of nature.

I miss the freedoms I never recognized as freedom before they were gone. It wasn't long ago that I could have simply packed my "stuff" and moved on. Even though it seemed impossible, it was possible. Now, it's not. Not when there are leases for which I've signed my name and pledged to pay (or give everything I own if I can't). Poor me. Bite me! Poor me, indeed! Smart people know that, if you make your bed, you lay in it. I made my bed. I wasn't thinking about that when I could have changed the course of the future.

What I don't miss is a nice mixed drink...and least I won't when I go make one, which will happen approximately now.

Cantaloupe the Way I Like It

Today's breakfast started with half of a cantaloupe from which I removed the seeds.









Then, I carefully removed the "meat" from the rind and cut it into bite-sized pieces.









Then, I put a dash of salt and pepper on my bowl of cantaloupe. It brings out the taste of the cantaloupe to an unexpected crescendo.

Music I Need Tonight

From time to time, I read past blog posts and share them again. Not that anyone asks for them again (or even read them the first time), but I just want to get the message across again, from time to time:

http://musingsfrommyopia.blogspot.com/2007/02/meme-time.html

Richard Thompson and his wife wrote the song, but my favorite versions were song by Mary Elizabeth Mastroantonio and the team of Danko, Fjelds, and Andersen, none of which are availble on YouTube.com.

I may come back to revise this later if I figure out how to load music.

Here is Dimming of the Day by Mary Elizabeth Mastroantonio.

Time to Move On

I woke up early this morning, left my wife slumbering, and went to this place for a solo breakfast. I love Pete's Cafe. It's my kind of diner. The food is just OK, but the waitresses are all in their fifties or better and they're all crusty but friendly.

After breakfast, and after spending some time wading through boxes upon boxes of crap, I rented this pickup truck so I could take things over to our office's storage facility nearby. The truck is huge. Four doors. Actually very roomy and comfortable. If it weren't for the fact that it probably drinks enormous amounts of fuel, I'd consider it an option to replace The Bastard when the time comes. But no, it's too big and gas-thirsty.

This is just a piece of what's left to give to the shredding company when they visit on Wednesday. They'll shred all of our documents that need shredding (we've already taken a huge volume of paper to the recycling center...used the big black truck for that duty today). When it's all done, it will be like we just opened up our company and have very little paper to weigh us down.

Friday Convergence

I was in my car, witnessing an actual rain event. This has become exceedingly rare. People have been known to pay for this sort of experience. The photo captures the confusion I experienced as I contemplated the convergence of car, rain, roads, traffic, and reflections.




Soon after my experience with rain, I met a former employee for lunch at this place. I was 15 minutes early. He was 15 minutes late. This combination caused a tear in the fabric of the serene movements of waitstaff. I was labeled a victim of being stood up. It wasn't the case, but the waitstaff wanted to believe it, deep in their bones. They wanted to know I was a poor, lonely man in a restaurant filled with Friday-lunch gatherings of 6-8-10-12 people each. I think it made them feel like they could take a little of the burden off of me; they offered me tea and a phone in case I wanted to call somebody.

See

I got a nice surprise email today from a blogger friend who sent me a link to one of her playlists with some wonderful music. We share good taste in music, despite what the rest of you might think.

The remainder of the day was basically uneventful, save for a luncheon meeting with an old acquaintance with whom I can comfortably spend an hour annually. At least he bought the lunch.

Then, tonight, I made a very nice, relatively light sauce for spaghetti (again): olive oil, butter, lots of garlic, dried basil, dried oregano, dried red pepper flakes, and a can of chopped clams (there's no buying fresh clams in Dallas, especially not now). When combined with a nice butter and garlic sauce with bread, the meal was fabulous (and much more caloric than would have been ideal). Tasty stuff!

Tonight, another unexpected interest in watching a bit of the Olympics, followed by a yearning to type drivel into this blog, which is underway, but soon to end. See, I told you so.

Mellow

I had almost finished writing a vitriolic diatribe about a driver I encountered this morning when Blogger decided I should just abandon it. Shit!

I had explained why I would like to find the bastard and beat him to death, slowly, with an axe handle. I had explained what I would say to the bastard about why I was killing him and why his death would be greeted by humanity as a step forward in evolution.

But Blogger decided against me posting it. Now, I feel like taking an axe handle deep into the bowels of the Internet, swinging it wildly and killing people who "need killing."

No, I don't believe there are people who would be viewed by society, collectively, as "needing killing." But there are people who could be described that way by me, if they match my mood. I'm not a monster. I just think I should be given the duty, on behalf of mankind, of deciding who should die for the greater good. There would be fewer executions in our prisons if that were to happen, I assure you. But there might be surges of axe-handle murders where I spend time.

I try not to get so damn mad. But it's never worked before, and its not working now.

Phrenologist...it's what's for dinner

You didn't have to say it. You didn't have to write it. I knew what you were thinking when you read my last post.

"He's lost his fucking mind. He's either on drugs, alcohol, or has experienced a massive medical meltdown that has affected his brain."

No, it ws just me trying to let my mind get a workout.

I'm not crazy. I promise.

Oh, I had a voicemail waiting when I got home today. It was the phrenologist's office. "This is Cindy at Dr. Cannotpossiblypronouncehisname's office. I finally got the doctor to tell me when he wants you to come back for a follow-up. He said three months. That will be in November. Please call me to set up an appointment."

Three months? WTF? I dropped off a huge orange bottle of piss yesterday, and they took my blood, and they want to talk again in three months? Not fucking likely. I want the results of the jug'apissathon. I want to know what the blood said. I want to know what week before last's renal sonogram revealed. Come back in three months? Are they fucking crazy?

I'll report back, one of these days, on the phrenologist's reactions to my response to his office's voicemail. "A promising young phrenologist was killed today by a blast of wind from an angry patient's lungs and throat...."

Linguicide and Pescacide: Two Sides of the Same Coin

Linguicide. It sounds sinister, and it is. I suppose. Who would purposely engage in the attempted murder of a language? The very same people who would engage in infanticide or pescacide.

If a person's character permits him (or her) to intentionally murder a living language, then his (or her) character will most certainly permit him to intentionally take the life of an innocent fish, a speckled trout commonly found in the salt waters off the coast of Texas. It's that sort of duality that frightens me and makes me cringe when forced to engage in chit-chat with people I believe to be, or who I believe have the capacity to be, serial killers.

It takes a certain kind of psychologist to understand and attempt to treat linguicidites and pescacidites. And that special kind of psychologist is known as either a linguipsychologist or a pescapsychologist. Look it up in any dictionary of my choice!

I learned these things, and many more numbingly fascinating facts, by having a lengthy internal conversation in Latin with a paracatholic nun named Deliciosa Drinkwater. Deliciosa is James Kneeblood's most recent double delicious illicit paramour. You may remember James, with whom I conversed here on this blog long, long ago.

Let me go give that some thought.

Unwind

Today was a long one. A client's annual highight event is tomorrow and, so, several of us were involved in preparations today. That was after handling a multitude of other errands. We finally left the office after 8:00 pm and had a bite to eat at a Mexican restaurant near the office. Finally, we're home and can unwind.

Limeys Make the World Go 'Round...No, That's Not It...

This could only mean one thing, right? I've used up almost all the limes!
(Click on the photo to embiggen...)

Just What They're Looking For

I've grown so accustomed to using this blog to release pent-up (and not-so-pent-up) emotions. It's hard not to let it be an easy outlet for my anger, fear, joy, loneliness, happiness, sullenness, emptiness, or angst. But there are some things one just shouldn't share with a blog or, rather, with the rest of the world. Some pieces of our personal lives should remain private, hidden, and shielded from public view. But that's increasingly hard to execute.

This is not news to most readers, I know. It's probably not news to me. But today I am thinking about the value of anonymity or, at least, the desirability of anonymity. Try as we might, we cannot maintain anonymity the way we once could. Online searches of Google or Intellius or dozens of other sites can give us details about people that we probably shouldn't know and certainly shouldn't want to know.

The identity of people posting messages on blogs or in chat rooms or simply responding to email messages is not private. With certain modest skills and basic tools at hand, one's most private electronic communications to one's innermost circle can be fodder for YouTube or FaceBook or god knows what else.

By the time it occurs to you that your identity, your entire life, is available for public view, it's probably too late. Your secrets are out.

A would-be employer is reading your personal medical history with interest and horror and is busy deleting the job offer she had just written. Details of your visit to an abortion clinic as a teenager are being reviewed by investigative reporters, their neighbors, and your minister's mistress. Your long-ago-expunged arrest record for DUI in the idiocy of your youth finds its way onto your employer's desk at M.A.D.D. headquarters. Your sordid affair with a married biological weapons specialist in Second Life is thrown in your face by your spouse and your fellow members of the board of Amnesty International.

The hardest part of facing the fact that there is no anonymity anymore is that people you trust may be feeding details of your life to recipients who are hungry for the slightest shred of damning dirt. Either that, or you're growing paranoid. But you better not let that cat out of the bag; it could be just the tidbit they've been looking for.

More Kidney Tales

My sister called me earlier this evening and left me a voice message expressing concern about my 'kidney disease' post of last night. I haven't called her back because I was out having dinner and buying vegetables and then came home and, to my surprise, decided to watch the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics. And now it's late.

Well, sister, I wouldn't worry. The phrenologist didn't seem overly concerned and neither will I be. It's still not even certain that he's right. More tests will determine that. He says, if he's right, I am at stage 3 of the disease, "moderate decrease in kidney function." He says the goal, if he's right, is to limit the severity of decline in function, so that I can plan on dying of old age before I have to have dialysis or a transplant. I told him my plan, at present, is to die relatively healthy at age 96 after being hit and killed instantly by a speeding bus. "So," I told him, "your job is to make sure that happens."

I'd be lying, of course, if I said this unexpected pre-diagnosis did not bother me. It's particularly annoying since the doctor who sent me to the phrenologist said it appeared that the over-the-counter arthritis pain remedy I have been taking was responsible for the unhappy blood test results and that my kidneys seemed to be functioning normally. But such is life.

Anyway, I'll find out more next week, after I deliver large orange vats of refrigerated urine to the phrenologist's office.

Ellie, if you read this: you must know something of this, right? Tell me what you know, OK?

My Advice

Lots of things have taken my time, both personally and professionally, during the last several days. There have been too many issues requiring too much energy and too much concentration...I've just not been able to concentrate the way I should.

I'll post more information within the next several days. After the issue of the hotel failing to open in time for our upcoming client event has been resolved. After the phrenologist's surprise announcement that I have kidney disease has been tested (more orange pee jugs). After the too-soon box-packing sessions for our upcoming office move have begun.

I want to retire and kick around the country. I want it so badly I can taste it.

My advice to you: work for someone else...someone who can provide insurance, retirement, and a good salary. Working for yourself is worthwhile only if you make a shitload of money. And I don't.

California Bag Check

We tried to pack light for our California trip, but we got carried away. The checked bag fees were just outrageous.

Sharing California

OK. I will post some pictures. But they're not the full story. That would be too...something. We spent most of the weekend in Santa Rosa, CA. But my photos from SR were mostly bad shots of a badly decrepit, badly ignore house. Not happy stuff. So, I'll share some other ones.

• Starting from the most recent photos, backing up to before we left Dallas:
  
• Sacramento Airport Inside Shot
  
• Exterior shot of State Capital in Sacramento
  
• Inside our room at the Hawthorne Suites, Sacramento
  
• On the road from Santa Rosa to Sacramento
  
• Another on the road
  
• "Grape Trees," as I like to call them
  
• Our very first computer, a 1985 or 11986 version of a Compaq, with floppy disk and 10 meg hard drive
  
• Russian River Pub
  
• Another Russian River Pub shot
  
• Back in Dallas...my way of cooking spaghetti and sauce

California

We spent Thursday afternoon waiting on the court-appointed conservator, a sloppy woman dressed in an unattractive sleeveless knit shirt and shorts, to meet us at the house and deliver a set of keys. If I'd had to guess her profession, I'd have said she had retired as a dishwasher for a diner. She was to meet us in "half an hour" but she did not arrive until an hour and a half after our call. She is a loser from all perspectives.

Yesterday, we went through boxes and boxes and boxes, finding mostly old papers that should have been shredded and discarded years, even decades, ago. But there were some very interesting photos here and there and some information that revealed a family history of good fortune and pressed luck.

We did get out for lunch at The Russian River Pub, which was a delight, despite the traffic. We needed the break.

Dinner last night was at a Mexican fast-food joint down the street. Then we went to Trader Joe's to pick up a few odds and ends. We'll go back this morning to buy sushi, which we'll take over to the badly neglected house and put in the refrigerator until lunchtime.

I'm astonished as how badly the house has been treated. After, and perhaps long before, my mother in law died, her son who lived with her just let the place go to hell. It's a shame. It was a decent little house. Now, it will cost a fortune, that no one in this family has, to rehab it. So, the old place will probably be put on the market "as is," and it will fetch a fraction of the price it should.

I wish I could spend six weeks here, just cleaning up the house and yard. At least some cleaning and a coat of paint would help bring it back to its glory days.

And thank you, too.

Thanks to Alex, I know exactly how to avoid ugly traffic on my drive from Sacramento airport to Santa Rosa tomorrow afternoon. Thanks, Alex. Have a margarita on me, with a mango chaser. And I will enjoy myself, thanks, and leave my guilt where it belongs, on the curb.

And thanks, Mimi, for helping my friend get the word to Congress that financial support for lung cancer research is vitally important. Mimi is an alienym (how's that for a word?) for my sister. She did that work not only for my friend, but in memory of my Dad, who died of lung cancer.

I have to thank Nicole, too, for sending me her recipe for Tom Yum Soup. Tom Yum Soup is one of my favorite things in the world (as of today...I am fickle, though). Here is Nicole's recipe. Some among you will find some things odd about the recipe, like the spelling and a few words that are totally unfamiliar. Nicole is from Australia, via Amsterdam and Croatia and places in between. She brings to you things from the world. Her husband does the same.

Tom Yum Soup

• 1 litre water
  
• 2 vegetable stock cubes
  
• 3 tablespoons Tom Yum paste
  
• 2 stalks fresh lemongrass, lightly pounded, cut into 4cm segments
  
• 1/4 cup sliced galangal (John says: I think this is ginger root...right, Nicole?)
  
• 6 kaffir lime leaves, chopped in half
  
• 3 tablespoons fish sauce
  
• 1 cup sliced mushrooms (champignongs, straw or shiitake)
  
• 1 tablespoon Prik Pao roasted chillie in oil (you see this thick, oily, deep red hot sauce in lots of Thai restaurants)
  
• 20 prawns, medium size
  
• fresh coriander, roughly torn
  
• 1 fresh red chillie, sliced
  
• 2 spring onions, sliced
  
• juice of 1-2 limes
  
• Boil the water.
  
• Add stock cubes and stir to dissolve.
  
• Add Tom Yum paste and stir to dissolve.
  
• Add lemongrass, galangal, kaffir lime leaves and fish sauce.
  
• Add mushrooms and cook for a minute.
  
• Add prik pao and stir to dissolve.
  
• Add prawns and cook for a minute or two until just done.
  
• Turn off heat and stir through fresh chillie, spring onion and lime juice.
  
• Sprinkle with coriander.
  
• Serve immediately.
  Note: Use as little or as much of the paste, mushrooms, chillie and
  lime juice as suits you. This can all be adjusted to taste. Regarding
  the mushrooms, I like the flavour of the shiitake, even though straw
  mushrooms would be more traditional and a lot of people use the
  easily obtainable fresh champignon. If using dried shiitake, put
  about 4-5 mushrooms into a bowl, pour over boiling water and weigh it
  down with another bowl until the mushrooms have softened, takes about
  15 minutes. Then you can slice them and use in the soup. I usually
  like to add the soaking liquid to the soup as well, as it adds
  flavour. Instead of prawns you can use sliced chicken breast fillet
  or pieces of a firm white fish.

I'm waiting with bated breath for Teresa to tell me what she thinks about some of my writing. Teresa is a new and rare visitor who is an incredibly good writer and someone whose criticism would be very valuable to me. Most of the few of you have not read much, if anything, of mine that I consider truly worth putting on a page. I've actually asked her to give me candid feedback on some of my "favorite" pieces. So what if I'm sacrificing myself to a sharp sword? I want to know.

And thank you, too.

Thanks to Alex, I know exactly how to avoid ugly traffic on my drive from Sacramento airport to Santa Rosa tomorrow afternoon. Thanks, Alex. Have a margarita on me, with a mango chaser. And I will enjoy myself, thanks, and leave my guilt where it belongs, on the curb.

And thanks, Mimi, for helping my friend get the word to Congress that financial support for lung cancer research is vitally important. Mimi is an alienym (how's that for a word?) for my sister. She did that work not only for my friend, but in memory of my Dad, who died of lung cancer.

I have to thank Nicole, too, for sending me her recipe for Tom Yum Soup. Tom Yum Soup is one of my favorite things in the world (as of today...I am fickle, though). Here is Nicole's recipe. Some among you will find some things odd about the recipe, like the spelling and a few words that are totally unfamiliar. Nicole is from Australia, via Amsterdam and Croatia and places in between. She brings to you things from the world. Her husband does the same.

Tom Yum Soup

• 1 litre water
  
• 2 vegetable stock cubes
  
• 3 tablespoons Tom Yum paste
  
• 2 stalks fresh lemongrass, lightly pounded, cut into 4cm segments
  
• 1/4 cup sliced galangal (John says: I think this is ginger root...right, Nicole?)
  
• 6 kaffir lime leaves, chopped in half
  
• 3 tablespoons fish sauce
  
• 1 cup sliced mushrooms (champignongs, straw or shiitake)
  
• 1 tablespoon Prik Pao roasted chillie in oil (you see this thick, oily, deep red hot sauce in lots of Thai restaurants)
  
• 20 prawns, medium size
  
• fresh coriander, roughly torn
  
• 1 fresh red chillie, sliced
  
• 2 spring onions, sliced
  
• juice of 1-2 limes
  
• Boil the water.
  
• Add stock cubes and stir to dissolve.
  
• Add Tom Yum paste and stir to dissolve.
  
• Add lemongrass, galangal, kaffir lime leaves and fish sauce.
  
• Add mushrooms and cook for a minute.
  
• Add prik pao and stir to dissolve.
  
• Add prawns and cook for a minute or two until just done.
  
• Turn off heat and stir through fresh chillie, spring onion and lime juice.
  
• Sprinkle with coriander.
  
• Serve immediately.
  Note: Use as little or as much of the paste, mushrooms, chillie and lime juice as suits you. This can all be adjusted to taste. Regarding the mushrooms, I like the flavour of the shiitake, even though straw mushrooms would be more traditional and a lot of people use the easily obtainable fresh champignon. If using dried shiitake, put about 4-5 mushrooms into a bowl, pour over boiling water and weigh it down with another bowl until the mushrooms have softened, takes about 15 minutes. Then you can slice them and use in the soup. I usually like to add the soaking liquid to the soup as well, as it adds flavour. Instead of prawns you can use sliced chicken breast fillet or pieces of a firm white fish.

I'm waiting with bated breath for Teresa to tell me what she thinks about some of my writing. Teresa is a new and rare visitor who is an incredibly good writer and someone whose criticism would be very valuable to me. Most of the few of you have not read much, if anything, of mine that I consider truly worth putting on a page. I've actually asked her to give me candid feedback on some of my "favorite" pieces. So what if I'm sacrificing myself to a sharp sword? I want to know.

Help Fight Cancer

A blogger friend I've never met face-to-face but who I consider one of my closest friends in some fundamental ways, has asked me to help spread the word about the Lung Cancer Alliance. My friend's husband is dealing with cancer (and he's never been a smoker) and she is understandably focused on his illness and how it can be addressed. More than that, she is working hard to get support from others who can use their voices to help ensure support for efforts to find treatments and cures.

The Lung Cancer Alliance - a group that does a lot of advocacy in raising awareness of lung cancer issues, is asking for help in getting people motivated to write to their senators in support Bill S.3187, the Lung Cancer Mortality Reduction Act, which was introduced by Senators Dianne Feinstein and Chuck Hagel. The legislation would authorize at least $75 million for lung cancer research under a comprehensive program aimed at reducing lung cancer mortality. Unfortunately, it seems that not enough people are aware of this bill, or are apathetic about contacting their senators to urge them to support the bill. Why? We don't know. Maybe they don't think lung cancer is a big issue because they think that lung cancer is a "smoker's disease" and doesn't deserve any funding (WRONG!!! see statistics down below - plenty of non- and never-smokers get it too!). Anyhow, at last count, only about 400 people had visited the webpage below to send an email to their senators. In an attempt to get more support for this bill, some of us are sending out personal messages to our friends asking them to go to this page and take a moment to fill out and send the form that should appear at this URL (the form is quick and easy to fill and send)
http://capwiz.com/lungcanceralliance/issues/alert/?alertid=11623916

My friend usually doesn't like to bother people about signing such petitions, etc. but would appreciate it very much if you folks would add your support, and if you know of anyone else who might be willing to sign it, to forward this message or the text of it along to others. Hopefully, with enough support, this legislation will pass and lung cancer research will start to get the funding that it deserves. What is needed is a Manhattan Project to find a way to reduce or stop the incredible number of lives being taken by this cancer. Below, I've included some facts about lung cancer -- some statistics that most people don't seem to be aware of but that ought to spur just about anyone to take action.

From the Lung Cancer Alliance's "Facts"
** Lung cancer is the leading cause of cancer death in the United States among every ethnic group. 1 in every 3 cancer deaths is from lung cancer. An average of 439 people die from Lung cancer in the U.S. every day. (my note: That's about equivalent to all of the passengers on a large commercial airline jet dying in a crash each and every day.)


** Lung cancer will kill more people than breast, prostate, colon, liver, kidney, and melanoma cancers... combined.

** Lung cancer kills nearly twice as many women as breast cancer.

** Lung cancer kills over three times as many men as prostate cancer.

** One in five women and one in twelve men diagnosed with lung cancer have never smoked.

** Over 60% of new lung cancer cases are never smokers or former smokers, many of whom quit decades ago.

** Only 16% of lung cancer cases are diagnosed at its earliest and most curable stage.


** The majority of lung cancer patients are being diagnosed so late that they will die within a year.


** National Cancer Institute (NCI) : Over the past 35 years, NCI’s budget has grown from $380 million a year to $4.8 billion a year in fiscal year 2007 (FY07) – an increase of 1265% - and NCI has complete control over how to spend the money. Even though lung cancer causes one in every three cancer deaths, lung cancer research received less than 5% of NCI’s budget in FY07.

** Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC): Congress also earmarks funding within CDC for specific cancers. The CDC budget for FY07 includes $201 million for breast and cervical cancer initiatives, $13.9 million for prostate cancer and $14.4 million for colon cancer. CDC budget for FY07 included $0 for lung cancer initiatives. Yes.. you read that right.... $0.00 for Lung cancer, even though one in three who die from cancer will die from lung cancer.

No Rest for the Wicked?

I just finished making the reservations. Thursday morning, my wife and I will fly a circuitous route to Sacramento, California, where we will rent a dull car and drive about two hours to Santa Rosa. We'll arrive in Sacramento about 1:30 pm; with luggage, unfamiliarity with highways, and other such intrusions, I imagine we'll be in Santa Rosa by 3:30 or 4:00.

There, we'll visit the house where my mother-in-law lived before she died. We'll go through boxes, look for photos, and shred papers that have no meaning but could be used by criminals to do harm or steal identities that are no more.

We've set aside Friday through Sunday to go through "stuff" and then arrange for shipping any significant amounts of paperwork back home. We'll drive back to Sacramento on Sunday evening and will fly back to Dallas on Monday.

This will be my wife's first trip back since her mother died. There's a battle going on between three siblings and it bothers me. My wife is not inclined to be one who wants her "due," but there is some fighting going on between other siblings and, in the finaly analysis, there is some bad blood there. It makes me sad to see people argue and fight over who "gets" what. It doesn't belong to them. They don't "deserve" it. It's just what's left and there's upset that one sibling took advantage of the mother and got all the value, while the others were left out.

Repeat: it wasn't the children's property to start with...the mother could have, and perhaps should have, used it all up during her lifetime, leaving nothing for the vultures to fight over.

I'm being unkind, and I shouldn't. I didn't grow up in that family. I don't know the history that's never been told. But I think back to when my parents died and there was none of this "I deserve what's mine." We just mourned their passing and disposed of what little was left of their lives, then went on about our own.

Despite the somber reason for going to Santa Rosa, I hope we have a chance to have some fun. A little trip back to the Russian River Pub would be nice...I loved their hot wings and beer and relaxed attitudes when I was there last. My wife started to mention it tonight and I knew before she spoke about it what she was thinking. We've come to know ourselves so incredibly well in some ways. We don't just complete one another's thoughts, we complete one another's wishes.

We haven't told staff we're going, other than a cryptic message that we might be out of the office on personal business on Thursday and Friday.

We'll be gone and I'll feel guilty for enjoying a trip that shouldn't be enjoyed.

Prison Bars

With a just a little more technical know-how, cajones of steel, and the right connections, I could have become the Bill Gates of the illicit drug trade. Let me explain why I believe this could have been.

During a meeting recently, I was having a conversation with a woman who is very entrepreneurial. I often like people who are entrepreneurial, though I frequently come to loathe them shortly thereafter for their deep Republican views and their psychopathic love of material things. But that's beside the point.

This woman and I were chatting about Internet wonders who had made a killing by introducing bad ideas, selling them quickly as raw brilliance, and then taking the money and getting out before reality set in. I offered my own concept of something that might have the potential of making me a very wealthy and very wanted man. The way this particular idea came about, incidentally, was that she mentioned something about an news story about someone who had been caught making and selling crystal meth, after he had made an enormous pot of money. He was doing it the old fashioned way. I had an idea.

"What about this," I said. "Meth, as I understand it, is very easy to make with readily available products, right? People seem to get caught when the meth labs blow up or catch fire. What if you were to minimize the risk of spontaneous combustion on your premises and, even better, have the product made directly by the end user? What if you changed the entire business model for drug distribution? What if you really turned it on its ear?!"

By this time, my mind was in overdrive, dreaming up all sorts of ways to take manufacturing technology into the 24th century. "Imagine this. You carefully and safely prepackage the individual chemical ingredients that today's meth labs mix. But instead of mixing them and risk explosions and fire, you create a device that will allow the end-user to do that."

I went on to describe, as best I could, the way ink-jet printers work> They mix the black ink and the magenta and yellow and blue, using precise instructions delivered to the printer by the computer, using printer-driver instructions unique to that printer. "What if our little device mixed the meth components with similar precision and, instead of jetting the ink onto a page, the device jets the mixed chemicals into a little packet desiged to capture and seal them?"

"We could call it the Meth-Jet," I said. "We could distribute it only to prequalified buyers and we'd only sell over the Internet."

"We could establish assembly plants for the Meth-Jet devices all over the country. We'd exhibit it at trade shows for more "mainstream" products. There's no question there would be other uses than for meth production," I enthused. "We could quickly leave the modest risk of imprisonment behind us as we mainstreamed the product and began collecting royalties, which would of course be sent to our offshore accounts"

As I finally returned to my surroundings from the flight of fancy in which I had been engaged, I saw that my acquaintance was looking at me with wide eyes and a sense of stark terror about her. She laughed nervously and cleared her throat, saying "Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Let me know how it goes. I have to catch a plane." With that, she turned and walked away, wheeling her carry-on bag behind her.

Oh, well. I didn't really want to take the risk, anyway. But I did think it was a clever idea. And when I learn that someone has taken it and run with it, I'll be annoyed with myself. But I'll be on the outside of the prison bars.

Single Malt Advice

I'm standing way off to the side of the precipice. If I got closer I know I could just lunge off, just to see what it feels like. And I know that's a stupid move. So, instead, I'm drinking a piss-poor maragarita (out of a bottle, no less),improved only slightly with a kick in the butt...a shot or two of not-bad reposado tequila that wishes it were the real thing.

The inevitable is temporarily delayed, which means in simple terms that I've taken the loss on my own corporate account. Someone has to go, but I keep hoping another month might bring on some new business to turn it all around. Fucking dreamer!

That's what everyone wants me to do, of course. Hope hard enough and the world will succumb to my desires. I wish it were that simple.

No, I need to be the bad ass bastard, the guy who fires a 10-year employee. It really needs to be done, but I think I absolutely have to have some powerful tequila to make it acceptable. Maybe it will wait until the end of the month.

At least my sister is OK. I can knock one bad swing of the knife out of the way.

I did get a phone call today from a guy who is just starting an association and wants some advice. Inevitably, that's the sort of thing that takes my time, gives the volunteer valuable advice, and then turns quickly and kicks me hard in the face. But I keep coming back for more.

If there aren't people out there who will give me a house in Nova Scotia, how about a hug and a high-top snifter of single malt scotch?

I'm sniffling again, hoping for a swig of sympathy. Pathetic, isn't it?

Old Friends

Life's a lot better than it was. I spoke to my sister tonight and she's feeling much better than she was. No serious blockage, no significant stents, no bypass. But the docs told her she probably had a heart attack, which is not good. But she got moved out of cardiac ICU tonight to a "regular" room, so things are looking up.

I didn't get down to see her, for many reasons (not the least of which was the fact I couldn't be sure they'd let me see her), but may visit soon. But, of course, I have a client commitment this weekend. Again.

My concerns about my house and my car and my clothes suddenly lost the urgency they had...and they didn't have much urgency before.

Ellie, I'm really glad they assuuuuuumed we were old friends. Maybe we are. Maybe that's exactly what we are.

To Sleep, Perchance to Decompress

It's after 3:00 a.m. on Monday morning. I finally got home from an out-of-town meeting. Thanks to the idiocies of airline pricing, I did not have a direct flight. Rather, I had to fly first to Chicago, where I waited almost five hours for the second leg of my flight. It's not that there were no direct flights from Pittsburgh; it's just that they would have cost me $600+ instead of $400+. For a flight that not so long ago cost less than $200.

The flight was delayed, I was told, by weather, although no one could say where the "weather" had been that delayed literally dozens of flights in and out of O'Hare.

Just before I left for the meeting, I learned that my sister had been admitted to the E.R. of a Houston hospital. Heart problems. I've been getting bits and pieces of news, the latest being that she will undergo an angioplasty, probably later this morning. Then, either her heart blockage will be repaired with stents or she will undergo bypass surgery. She's been in cardiac ICU for five or six days now. I'm worried and I'm finally home and I may leave again after a few hours sleep so I can see her after she wakes up following surgery.

Before I started writing this, I read KathyR's blog post, and its corresponding comments, about end-of-life issues. Both these things together have put me very much on edge. I wonder if I'll be able to sleep a few hours. I'll only find out if I try.

Thanks in Advance for Your House

I'm not likely to blog much for the next week or so...maybe a bit more. Two client board meetings, a conference, some proposals for new business, trying to get new telephone service for the new offices, getting quotes from movers, impending client financial black hole...lots on my mind. That tends to stifle what little creativity I seem to have lately.

I read something tonight in the current issue of the Texas Observer about the perceptions of place from a guy who moved from Austin, Texas to Portland, Maine. I'd like to drop everything and give Portland, Maine or Halifax, Nova Scotia a few months to see if I could fit in. If you have a house in either place you'd let me borrow for a few months, I'll be most grateful for your kindness.

Lyrics: The Animal of Man

I couldn't find the music, but here are the lyrics to Roger Miller's "The Animal of Man:"

His footprints can be found
On the graves of dead young soldiers
On the amber covered plains
Killed by radio-active rains

And his traces can be found
In the dying streams and meadows
And he'll kill you if he can
He's the animal of man

Yes his traces can be found
In the scars of red-skin children
That have never fully healed
Ask a black man how he feels

He's a nervous gifted child
He's an old man been forgotten
He's a military band
He's the animal of man
I don't know when he wrote this, but it carries a very uncommon sentiment for country music of its day...amazingly uncommon for its time.

Barack Obama, Worthless Bastard Extraordinaire

My hope that the course of America might change was crushed when "my" candidate was exposed as yet another sleazy politician who cannot be trusted. Obama's promise to fight FISA abuses was only that, a promise, and he broke it, flatly and openly. His astonishingly weak justification for his vote to support Bush's evisceration of the Fourth Amendment was just so much predigested oatmeal. What else did he promise just to get my support and the support of people like me? He's just another hollow, self-serving politician whose only agenda is personal aggrandizement. The worthless bastard!

I'm going to vote for him anyway, because I have no other choice. I certainly wish I did. McCain is the incarnation of evil, in my book, because he is Bush with a different patronizing tone; there is no way I would ever vote for him. The "third party" candidates don't represent my views and, if they did, I would not jeopardize the possibility of getting a Democrat elected by supporting them. I hate that, but until we have much stronger and more attractive alternatives to the Democratic Party, that's where my support will go. It chills me to think I'm backing a person and a party I hold in such contempt.

I wish there were someone on the ballot who shared my beliefs and attitudes and had not made politics a career but...because of the person's principles, capacity to lead, and deep desire to take this country in a completely different direction...had decided a run for the presidency was his or her civic responsibility. Who the hell would that be, though? It's downright terrifying to realize that no one comes to mind as a leader I would trust with this country's future. It's too late now, anyway. Once the two mainstream parties have settled on a candidate, the options virtually disappear.

We desperately need a viable third, and perhaps fourth and fifth, party. As annoying as I find the candidacies of Ralph Nader and Bob Barr and Chuck Baldwin, I understand the frustrations that led to their parties' formation. Frankly, if the Libertarian party would adopt positions on social welfare that more closely mirror my own, I might well explore giving them my support, though I see in them, and in the "other" parties the same inclination toward lifetime politicians as in the mainstream.

While I'm talking politics and Obama, I'll throw in my two cents about the uproar that Jesse Jackson's sotto voce comments caused. WTF? Who cares? Must supporters of every candidate be 100% in lock-step with the candidate? Having witnessed Obama's disingenuousness about FISA, I can well appreciate Jackson's ire at his perception that Obama was selling out his own people. Give it a rest. This kind of sensationalism is absurd. Jackson's comments are not the big story; Obama's abandonment of his principles is the big story.

Should Erasmo Get the Gig?

Erasmo Aranda wants me to pay him to do landscaping around my house. He hasn't given me prices yet, just a door-hanger promoting his business. What do you think? Should Erasmo get the gig?

My Uncle Used to Love Me But She Died

OK, this is a bizarre take off on a Roger Miller song, but I love it! Watch and listen! You'll love it, too, and if you don't, just let me know and I'll arrange for you to win a major lottery drawing the first chance I get:

Roger Miller

I have always admired Roger Miller's music. Here are some videos of a couple of my favorite songs he did. What I'd really like to find is a song he did on his one album that I have, that I have always truly appreciated; that song is called "Animal of Man."

King of the Road


England Swings

Cod a la Decompression

I've decided naps can help rebuild sapped energy. I've never much liked to nap because I feel like I'm frittering away time, which is in limited supply in my lifetime, but then when I finally decide to take one, I'm refreshed. My wife is a professional napper. She's a real pro; can do them daily if given the opportunity. I have brothers and sisters who have the same skill. I didn't get the gene, or at least, in me, it isn't a dominant gene.

It's almost time for dinner, which will consist of baked cod, some butter beans, sliced tomatoes, and a side of a ricearoni sort of dish with a wonderful garlic aroma. Ahhhhhh! A glass of nicely chilled sauvignon blanc will accompany my meal.

And I'll take the rest of the evening off to decompress.

Nap in the Cards

Temperatures are drifting north of 100 degrees F, making it very unpleasant to venture into the garage where temperatures are amplified. We spent several hours at the office today, but left sometime after noon to have lunch. My wife couldn't sleep last night (she only got about 3 hours rest), so when we got home she quickly went about preparing for her nap.

I've been occupying myself with silliness of various kinds, taking this last chance for a couple of weekends to avoid work when I can.

The next two weekends will be dedicated to clients. Next weekend I'll be in Pittsburgh (Thursday through Sunday) and then I'll be a client meetings the following weekend here in town. At least I'll be able to sleep in my own bed during the latter event.

I've been busily preparing for our office move. I have a moving company stopping by on Monday to give us a quote. On the same day, I have 3-4 telephone companies dropping in to gather data to quote on new service when we move. We have 11 voice lines and a partial T-1 (whatever's not in use for phone lines) for Internet access. It's horrifically expensive to have all these lines, but that's life. I dread this next week's meeting. I'm afraid I cannot hope for changing a client's mind about reducing the management fee it's paying; it just doesn't have the money any longer. I keep thinking of the impact that will have on us; layoffs and salary cuts. It's never the right time for such things, but this is worse than most.

I'm feeling worn out today. Maybe a little nap is in the cards for me, too.

It's a Shame to Waste a Criminal Mind

I've decided to launch a series of related magazines. They will be, to my knowledge, the only magazines of their kind, yet they should have extremely broad appeal. Because the markets toward which they will be directed have been extremely underserved, I anticipate an enormous amount of pent-up demand for the magazines. Just consider some of the magazines after which my new series will be modeled:

Midwifery Today, dedicated to the "heart and science of birth," targets a very distinct, utterly unique marketplace;
World Literature Today, showcases literature and culture from around the globe, also has a unique audience;
Psychology Today, which sprang from an interest in pop psychology, has evolved to focus its attention on an audience with unique reading needs.

After giving the matter considerable thought, then, I have decided to launch the following publications:

Auto Theft Today, targeted toward the professional who finds it increasingly difficult to keep pace with technological developments in automotive theft deterent systems;
Home Invasion Today, a magazine for the discerning criminal who needs to know the latest tips and tricks for avoiding occupied dwellings during his or her professional undertakings;
Mugging Today, aimed at the more violent offender who wishes to keep abreast of current practices in illicit crimes against persons;
Bank Robbery Today, a hard-hitting practical how-to guide that features monthly interviews with professionals who have retired from their careers (they got caught) and with some of the more astute players who continue to astonish the critics.

I am seeking experienced editors for each of the publications. Applicants should have impeccable editorial credentials, a strong work ethic, and experience in the fields of endeavor appropriate to the publication for which they are seeking to serve. We are looking for advertising sales people, as well; they will be paid on commission and must be willing to sign a code of standards and ethics.

To apply, send a PDF file of a series of pages that show your name, Social Security number, full address, credit card numbers and corresponding expiration dates and PINs, and a signed blank bank check to, info@criminalitytoday.com.

Me I Like My Lengua

Today's lunch was tacos de lengua with pico de gallo, rice, and refritos. I failed to make a lunch to take to the office, so I decided to go out instead. Cuquita's is a good little family-owned Mexican place near the office and I enjoy going there, where I'm almost always one of the very few gringos.

Their lengua is fantasticly good, though every time I order it (most of the times I go there, but I don't visit often) the Mexican waitstaff are pleasantly surprised that a gringo would actually order it and like it. Apparently anglos are not deeply into cooked cow tongue, as a rule. But I do love it. Today, one of the owners asked how the meal was and what I had eaten. When I told her it was wonderful, as usual and that I had eaten the lengua, she exclaimed, "Good for you! You like tongue?! It's one of our favorites. At home, we don't dice it like here, we shred it." I asked when I could plan on having dinner with her at home and she laughed. I was serious, but apparently that didn't come through.

I will admit that, conceptually, the idea of eating tongue is not terrifically appetizing. But the proof is in the eating.

If it hadn't been lunch (and I hadn't been obliged to go back to work), I would have had a margarita or six to accompany my wonder-meal. But I didn't. I've actually never had a margarita at the same time I've eaten lengua. I'll have to try that.

It Takes Kidneys

Saw the doc today. Lab results say my bad voodoo blood has improved, so I am not scheduled to die in the near-term. "Come back in a month for a re-check and renal sonogram. Pay on your way out." Having no insurance in place at the moment (it's coming, just not yet in place), I have to pay for these visits. I think they're giving me discounts when I tell them I'm paying out of my pocket. Just $89 for today's visit, the same as last Thursday's visit. At that rate, I could visit the doctor twice a month from now on (of course I'd have to eat less between visits).

This family practitioner, who I've been seeing for about 6 years, didn't recall that I'd had a double bypass, nor that I'd had surgery many years ago for complications from Crohn's disease. I'm beginning to wonder. Not only did he not recall (which I can understand if he had a patient load of hundreds or thousands), but he didn't seem to have the information at ready access in my charts or in his computer.

Maybe I should become a doctor. My memory seems to be just perfect for the role.

Hhhmmm. One of my brothers used to tell a miserably bad joke, the punchline to which was for the person telling the joke to tap his temple and say, "It takes kidneys." Maybe that's what this whole renal episode is about.

Damn Doctors

Damn doctors. Still no results from blood test, nor from pail of piss test. I'd just rather know what's up than not know. I called today to inquire; I was told someone would call me back. I didn't bother to ask when. If I had, the response might have been "Sometime in 2011."

Saturday Night

In a surprise development, John decided to experiment wth heavy drinking...

A Pot to Piss In

At least three times yesterday I heard some variation of the phrase, "doesn't have a pot to piss in." I noticed it more than would normally be the case because, as it happpens, I do have a pot to piss in. Well, a bucket. A jug. A plastic container.

My visit to the doctor on Thursday resulted in, among other things, my taking home a large orange plastic "piss jug," which I was directed to use to capture and store all of my urine output during a twenty-four hour period that ends at 8:30 this morning. You wouldn't think a requirement to capture one's piss in an orange piss jug would crimp one's style. Well, it does. I can only imagine how much more of an inconvenience it must be for a woman. I mean, if I chose to do so, I could lug my jug about with me and make deposits on the sly. Not so with a woman. How do they deal with such dictates?

At any rate, my impending freedom from being chained to an orange piss jug is making me giddy. I woke up early, again, and had enormous amounts of energy moderately more stamina than usual. I washed dishes, made coffee, made a couple of deposits into my jug, and roamed the Internet for a bit.

Now, what to do? I suppose I'll wait around until my doctor's office opens and giddily throw open the doors and ask with a broad smile, "Where shall I deposit my pot to piss in?"

Do Not Tear Out Ceramic Tile While Drinking Tequila

Here I sit, having just had pork roast, corn, lima beans, and a nice slice of tomato (I know, it's not barbeque or fried chicken, but it's today's traditional Fourth of July meal for my wife and me).

Aside from my earlier over the top patriotic post, we did very little today that would have given away that today's the Fourth of July. Because the doctor told me to piss into a plastic container from this morning until tomorrow morning (when I'll deliver the overflowing jug to the doc's office), we couldn't stray far from home. But we did do a bit of wandering in my car. And we stopped at Half Price Books, where I could easily spend all my money and my time. And we went grocery shopping.

I started watching (and listening to) an Independence Day celebration on PBS, but I lost interest fast. So, I poured a little more white sipping tequila and tried to remember how to type. So far, so good.

I'm getting sleepy. Tequila at 5:00 pm tends to do that to me by 8:45 pm. I feel a little like painting something or tearing out some ceramic tile, but I've always believed doing either after a few shots of tequila is against the laws of man and nature.

Patriotic Musings

For all my loathing of the "patriots" who believe that patriotism means loving one's country, right or wrong...for all my disgust at the massive faults that plague not only this nation's politicians, but its people...for all my embarrassment that Americans have collectively allowed our names and our legacies to be used in ruinous ways that put our very existence at risk...for all of that, I am and I shall always be a patriot. I love the principles upon which the the United States of America were founded. I love the fact that this country can be, indeed has been, a beacon of hope for more than two centuries. I love the idea that, if we insist on it, the United States can continue to be an imperfect but striving model of how human beings can come together for their common good, overlooking their disputes and disagreements.

Today, I listened to a moving reading of the Declaration of Independence. If we, as a people, would just take the time to listen to what that amazing document says and reflect on what it means, I think we cannot help but be proud. I know, none of us contributed to the words, but we are all contributing to its intent with every breath we take in support of the principles so eloquently espoused by that magnificent document.

While I believe deeply that George Bush and his administration should be removed from office and tried for crimes against humanity, I do not lay all the blame on the American people and I most certainly do not lay blame on the American system of government. I hold all of us accountable for allowing the man to take and keep office; I hold accountable all the people who have allowed this administration to lie and fabricate and manipulate events to enable their theft of power. I am upset and angry at everyone who continues to allow Bush to embarrass us and present to the world an image of America that is not us. But I am in awe of the radical experiment that has become the United States of America and I am committed to allowing a wonderful idea to eventually reaching fruition. It will be long after I am gone, but if we collectively correct our mistakes, admit our flaws, acknowledge our guilt, and rectify every wrong, the vision of America will be realized.

When that happens, it will have happened around the world. Because until all people, everywhere, have achieved the same "inalienable rights" that we achieve, our experiment will still be just an experiment. When we achieve the goals we set forth in the Declaration of Independence, so will the world.

Happy? Birthday

Today is the day we celebrate our nation's birthday. We have been part of a noble experiment that, for all its ups and downs, has brought us to unparalleled prosperity. Good things can go bad. If this nation and the principles upon which it was founded are to survive, we have to reach back and remember what it is our forefathers fought for. We have to acknowledge our mistakes and our abuses...correct them and move forward. Otherwise, all of the time since the "real" birthday of this nation will have passed by without any meaning, without any real progress. Watch these videos to see just some of the things we must correct. But be careful...the courts have ruled that the identity of viewers of YouTube.com must be revealed...

Would You Like to Hear About My Bile Ducts, Too?

I was planning on a carefree holiday weekend. It will probably be pretty laid back, but carefree will be hard.

I mentioned a "bad" thing yesterday, i.e., being told by my cardiologist's office to quickly make an appointment with my family doctor because of alarming lab results that suggested "worsening kidney function." I'd already made an appointment with the family doc for next week for a checkup, so I figured I'd wait until then.

But today my family doctor's office called. He's on vacation, but apparently saw the results that my cardiologist had faxed to him and told his staff to call me to tell me to go right away to see a nephrologist. "I have an appointment to see the doctor next week; can't it wait?" I asked. "No, he wants you to see someone today." The nurse said she'd try to get me an appointment and call me back. She called back. She couldn't get me an appointment until the end of July, so she wanted me to come in to see another doctor at the family medical center, just to check me out..."we wouldn't want anything to happen over a long weekend," she said. She made an appointment for me at 1:00 pm and told me to bring in all medications I'm taking, prescription or not.

So, I went to see the stand-in doctor, a young woman who has seen me before when I've needed to get to a doctor while mine has been enjoying the fruits of his enormous wealth. I actually much prefer her. She's direct but pleasant and there's not a hint of accusatory tone coming out of her mouth.

Anyway, the doctor asked me lots of questions and advised me that one of the drugs I'm taking (an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory for arthritis) could cause problems so I should stop it. From there, I gave them a gift of a little urine and more blood and was given a plastic container the size of a tanker truck in which I was advised to collect all my urine output for 24 hours and bring it in for a huge party at the doctor's office on Saturday. OK, the party thing is stretching it. But, my god, I'd have to drink a couple of cases of see-through lager to be able to even partially fill the tanker truck.

The blood test and urinalysis should tell them something, she said, but she wants me to have a renal sonograph done...that, too, will have to wait until the end of the month.

While she didn't make light of the lab tests and said, indeed, that they could be signs of some very serious stuff, she calmed my nerves by allowing that the elevated urea level could have been caused by my "fasting" before my lab tests. The elevated creatinine, on the other hand, was of more concern. I, of course, don't have a fucking clue what either of them mean, except that they make me nervous.

God, I've done it. I've written an entire blog post about health issues. Shit, I'm getting old. Very, very old. And, at 54, I'm way too young for that.

I just want to be a curmudgeonly geezer. I do not want to be an old curmudgeonly geezer!

P.S. My old insurance shut down 6/30/08. My new insurance, after I select it and fill out the forms, will commence 7/1/08. In the meantime, everything goes on the credit card for reimbursement. Let's all hear it for "universal health care!"

Good and Bad

Good: I have a fully-executed copy of our lease for our new office space in hand.

Good: We picked out carpet and paint colors today for the new space.

Bad: It's going to cost $310 for the door sign and building directory signs for our clients.

Bad: I'm not sure I can count on a Voice Over Internet Protocol (VOIP) phone system to meet our needs, for various reasons.

Good: My wife and I had Thai food for lunch.

Bad: My cardiologist's office called, urging me to make an immediate appointment with my family doctor due to the fact that my recent lab work revealed "worsening renal function" that commands my family doctor's immediate attention. No other explanation.


Good: Tomorrow (July 3) is a "Friday-equivalent," so we'll all dress casually at the office.

Good: I have two proposals I have to finish ASAP for what could be very good business contracts...but no assurances.

Something There Is That Doesn't Love a Wall, That Wants it Down...

On rare occasion I am confronted with something so upsetting that I cannot find it in me to write about it, at least not for awhile. So it was Sunday.

During a meeting with some neighbors about how to deal with "the wall" (a sculptured concrete wall around parts of our neighborhood...a wall that is about to fall down), I learned of a death in the neighborhood.

A woman in her late 50s inherited her mother's home about 2 blocks from me a year or two ago. I did not know her mother, nor did I know her. Both were described to me by my visiting neighbors as "reclusive."

Within the past two weeks, one of the neighbors who lived next door to the reclusive neighbor complained to the president of the homeowners' association (HOA) that the yard had been neglected and mail hadn't been picked up and flyers were left unattended at the door. A notice from the Post Office, from December, was an alert to the recipient that no more mail would be delivered until the mail box was emptied and the peron came to call at the Post Office. The notice was dated from December, just before Christmas. The HOA president asked if the neighbors had tried to call or knock on the door to see if anyone was home. "No." Have you called the police, since the neighbor might be ill or hurt? "No."

To make a long story short, the complaining neighbor finally called the police and insisted they take a close look to see whether anyone was there. They found the woman dead in her car, in the garage, along with a suicide note, dated in late November. She had been dead for about seven months.

I know nothing about the dead woman other than what I've been told. I find it heartbreaking that the poor woman was so alone that no one cared enough to try to find her after she went missing in November. I don't know whether she worked, but I'd have to assume not. I don't know whether she knew any of her neighbors, but I have to assume not. She must have been completely and uttlerly alone. No one knew her well enough to even notice that she was not around. It was her yard and her mailbox and the commercial flyers that caught someone's attention, not the woman's absence.

How can we not miss someone's presence, even someone who may have been a recluse? How could her next-door neighbors not notice long ago that something was out of place? I wonder if I had lived next door whether I would have cared enough to try to find out if something was wrong.

I suppose what upset me as much as anything was the fact that the people who told me about this seemed so unmoved by it. The telling was a juicy bit of gossip, not a tale of tragedy. I felt myself physically withdraw from the other four people in the room when the story was told and I saw their reactions; not horror or terror or sadness, but distaste and excitement. That made me feel a little closer to the lady I never met who decided to end her life, perhaps because she was so alone in this world. I don't know what the suicide note said, but I can't help but think that isolation may have played a role in a terrible, irreversible decision.

Somebody Likes Me...or They Want to Sell Me Something

I was curious to see where a visitor to my blog came from, so I clicked on the link that brought someone here today. Below is where that link led me. I'm a skeptic, so I assume the "editor" who "rated" my blog wants to sell me something. Of course, if I'm proven wrong, I will blush and gingerly retract my skepticism.

Birthday Blast

Yesterday was my wife's birthday. I took her to a restaurant that we've never been to and, until recently, I'd not even read about, but which turned out to be an inspired choice. How I missed all the hullaballoo about Bijoux is beyond me.

I'm just glad we went. And I'm even happier that, upon learning where we were going, my wife had the presence of mind to pull out the $100 American Express gift card that had been moldering in a drawer so the sticker shock on my credit card was only half of what it could have been. It's pricey...well beyond my price comfort zone. We did not hold back, but we easily could have gone far beyond what we spent. Good grief, to think there are people who frequent these sorts of places on a regular basis! Here are our respective prixe fix menus:

My Wife's Meal
Appetizer of fresh crab on a tiny, crip shred of potato with cucumber shavings
Crispy Pork Belly, with fava bean "succotash," corn, and tomatoes
Tilefish (not quite sure how it was prepared, but it was good)
Long Island Duck Breast with foie gras fried rice, snap peas, spicy Asian jus
Combe cheese

My Meal
Appetizer of fresh crab on a tiny, crip shred of potato with cucumber shavings
East Coast Oysters, ponzu, tomato, black pepper mignonette
Scallops with pork cheek ravioli, tomato fondue, frisee
Maytag cheese, with potato bellini with corn, pancetta crisp, and caramelized red onion

There was more, of course. The obligatory "palate cleansers" between courses, the special "goodies" from the pastry chef, a half-bottle of 2006 Duckhorn sauvignon blanc.

Despite the snotty menu, the place was very comfortable and the staff were extraordinary. There was none of the snobbery that I associate with the typical "upscale" restaurant (which is one reason I like to avoid "upscale" restaurants). It was obvious that the young owners truly care about fine food and they avoid pretentions (except, I must say, in the descriptions of the food, which I found more than a bit pretentious...but that may be because of living a relatively sheltered life).

The most important part about the entire evening was that my wife really liked the place and felt that it was a special celebration for her birthday. She likes high-end restaurants much more than I do, I think, and she knows how I feel about most of them, so she appreciated that I sought the place out and made the reservations in spite of my normal misgivings. And, of course, I was blown away by the food and want to go back.

But, on my birthday, I want to go someplace I can wear shorts. Or, at least, jeans.

The Story of Steve

Please do not be alarmed. The following is a departure from my "normal" post (if there is any such thing). I just happened to be in the mood to fabricate a new reality and this is what came out.

All About Steve

I once had a friend, Steve, who developed a wonderful talent late in life. He learned to communicate with ants.

Steve would come by the house every so often and regale us with stories about his conversations with ants. He once explained to us why ants so often seem like they’re in a massively-confused state of methamphetamine-induced frenzy as they zig-zag from one place to the next, retrace their steps, almost crash into other ants, and then take off like rockets, just to do it all over again. I don’t remember that explanation, but it seemed perfectly rational to me.

Steve’s cross-species linguistic talent enabled him to die a rich and very happy man. It was just a few years after he started communicating with ants that he told us that ants mourned the loss of their loved ones just like people do. The difference, of course, is that ants’ facial expressions, tears, and cries of sorrow are almost impossible for us to perceive. So we did not know.

Well, Steve knew. And he decided he would do something to comfort them in their times of grief. He created an ant funeral home.

He took the limp little bodies (or crisp little bodies, as the case may have been) of dead ants, placed them in tiny coffins made of hollowed-out coffee beans, and arranged solemn services at which friends and relatives of the dear-departed ants would speak in hushed tones about how wonderfully well the dead ants treated their friends and families. Because there is really no appropriate place for ant coffins to be buried, they would burn them after the services, sending tiny little whiffs of coffee-scented smoke into the sky, carrying the remains of the little dead ants up into the air to be deposited a few feet or a few miles away, depending on the prevailing winds.

The families and friends of dead ants paid Steve handsomely for his highly dignified funeral services. They did not have money, of course, but they did have what amounted to armies of friends and relatives who could find miniscule little scraps of gold and platinum amongst all the tiny grains of sand and dirt they carried from place to place. They deposited those scraps of precious metal in a seldom-used room in Steve’s house.

In short order, Steve realized that he had hundreds and hundreds of pounds of precious metals in his store-room. As fast as he’d sell it (making quite a lot of money each time), the grateful ants would refill the room again. Steve used his money to build a coffee-bean-hollowing factory, along with a lovely house for himself, and to buy a weekly quart of Partida Elegante Extra Añejo Tequila. He also bought a fabulous river boat he named Felicity, where he entertained untold numbers of eccentric women.

Steve truly adored his ant friends and he grieved along with them when their family members and dear friends died. But he was so happy that he could relieve their pain, if for just a little while, that he devoted his attention to keeping the funeral pyres burning.

When Steve died just after his 97th birthday, his ant friends returned his devotion by fashioning a gigantic (in their eyes) coffin of whole, French-roaste coffee beans. After an extraordinary procession, during which billions of ants passed solemnly by his coffin, his best ant friends worked hard to hollow out a large number coffee beans, fill each of them with Partida Elegante Extra Añejo Tequila, drag them one by one to Steve’s coffin, and pour it over Steve. Finally, they lit the pyre and Steve’s happily drunken ashes drifted across the sky, dropping bit by bit onto the ground where his beloved ants toiled so tirelessly.

Steve had trained a number of his ant friends to run the coffee-bean-hollowing factory, so when he died his legacy lived on.

This is Steve’s story and he’s sticking to it.