OK, so I really want to keep up, to some degree, with some sort of collaborative writing. I find it fun. Today, pick someone in the blog group (look in the followers section) whom you know very little about. Based solely on their blogspot pic and the name of their blog (not their writing), write a one-paragraph bio of them. The only person who is a follower who is not participating is Salena (the pic with the smiling couple). If you end up writing this late, check on other peoples' pages to see who hasn't been written about yet so that we can try to get everyone covered.
Raised in the Virginia Highlands on a rubber tree plantation, Fancy lived a life of spoiled opulence. Fast, furious and fierce, Fancy burned brightly and left her mark on the world. Whether maneuvering on the Indiana dunes in her converted Subaru ATV or hunting celebs with her trusty Helga hanging from round her neck, she grabbed the world with both hands and shook it til it puked. Known as much for her well publicized rehab for Red Bull addiction as for her short lived stint on days Of Our Lives, she was also a well traveled raconteur that was equally at home at the bar as she was in front of the television. She will be missed.
Jackie Mittoo - Fancy Pants
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
In the words of Twain
To whom it may concern:
Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I'll live for now. And I get to keep the leg too.
Thank you for the well wishes.
And now back to our regularly scheduled bullshit.
Bob
Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I'll live for now. And I get to keep the leg too.
Thank you for the well wishes.
And now back to our regularly scheduled bullshit.
Bob
Friday, January 23, 2009
Dead Rising 2
As a big fan of horror, particularly zombie movies, I have typically always had a plan in my head. A zombie escape plan. You know, for if the day ever comes. I had a great one for my old house with Bob that involved walking over roofs and utilizing trees, but that plan is no longer. I have no new plan.So, give us your zombie escape plan. Or your plan for when the apocalypse comes. Or your vampire/serial killer/Frankenstein's monster escape plan.
I once asked my friend Dylan why it seems that I gravitate toward post-apocalyptic entertainment. I love the Road Warrior movies, Damnation Alley, even the one two sucker punch of Kevin Costner's Waterworld and the Postman. I just finished reading "Eternity Road", about a group of survivors, centuries in the future who have lost all sense of history, except for a tattered copy of "Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court". And don't even get me started on the amount of time I've lost recently playing FallOut 3 aka, "the greatest game since GTAIV".
But I digress. i asked Dylan why i seem to gravitate toward this stuff. He looks me in the eye and replies "Because secretly, deep down inside, you want the shit to hit the fan. You want chaos, you want road warriors, you want zombies, but most importantly, you wanna survive, so you can be around to see it."
Well, those might not have been his exact words, but that was his exact sentiment. Can't say he's too off the mark. I mean, it would suck to lose the advantages of all the modern conveniences that I'm addicted to. And okay, all that destruction and loss of innocent life would be BAD. I'm not arguing in favor of Armageddon. Plus, we might lose our best chance for total annihilation after inauguration day. (Does anybody get the feeling that Bush is watching the shit hit the fan in the MidEast right now, wishing he had a chance to get in on some of THAT action)
All I'm saying is IF the Zombies come, I'm ready. At the very least, more ready that the average bear. Most people move into a place and wonder where the couch will go. I think about Zombies. Most people picture the wall fixtures, I picture Zombies. Bedroom sets. Zombies. My last apartment was absolutely Zombie proof. it had bars on the back windows and door and there was really only one weak spot in the front living room window, but upending a couch and pushing it against the window would help fortify it. It was perfect protection against Zombies, thieves, hoodlums and damn fools. Flood waters were something else altogether, but I guess when the fan is covered in shit, you can't choose how you go out. You just have to be ready.
My new apartment is flood ready. The third floor will keep the water away for a while. The Zombie proofing needs work. Not that I haven't contemplated it.
Firstly, the complex itself is fairly well suited for fortification. It's gated for one thing, and has minimal foot access. You need to type in a code to drive in or use a key to get in through a walk in gate. Now this is by no means perfect. The gate opens automatically as you drive out, thereby allowing shambling Zombies to come in as you attempt to leave, but I'm thinking in the long term. Eventually, after the panic, the runners will have fled, and those that have chosen to stay and fight can get to the business of securing the homestead.
Living on the third floor gives me the advantage of a slight head start. Zombies, or at least classic Zombies don't climb stairs too fast. If it's a plague of those new post modern running Zombies, then we probably won't make it. But, if the new dawn of the undead shuffles and crawls and shambles as God and George Romero (I know, redundant) intended them to, then I should be able to fortify my abode until such time as I am able to mount an offensive. But I can't do it alone.
The top floor of my building is arranged in such a way that there are four units per floor, with two units in symmetrical opposition to the others on each side. Each end has it's own staircase that serves the units at that end. The problem presents itself at the top floor. Rather than merely ending at a front porch landing in front of the top floor units, a common walkway extends across the front of the building and connects both sides. So, every unit above the bottom floor becomes accessible from two different entry points, making fortification more difficult.
But, this same weakness can be exploited to an advantage.
Assuming that I have enough of a head start to begin fortification, the first order of business is open my front door and push my couch onto the stairwell. Zombies tend to not be particularly coordinated and don't possess the necessary agility to easily maneuver over large obstacles. Depending on time, additional furniture can be stacked as needed. The next step is the key to the entire defense.
The walkway that extends in front of the building, and passes before the front windows of the adjoining apartments is made of good old fashioned wood. Beginning as far over on the other side as possible, I use a cordless power saw to cut the boards at each end point, enabling the removal of the board for possible alter use. As I work my way backwards toward my own apartment, the rift not only grows wider, thereby preventing zombies from walking across (they're crap at jumping) but beginning the gap as close to the other side as possible eliminates the need for my neighbor or myself to fortify the front window since they will no longer be immediately accessible.
After this, it is simply a matter of playing for time. After the first 24 hours, most of the initial panic will have begun to subside and the situation can be reappraised. At this point it becomes a matter of head counting. Since the vast majority of the legions of dead will head for areas of high population, having the University of Texas at he center of town is advantageous. Still, there should be a fair number of Zombies meandering throughout the apartment complex. These will have to be dealt with, in a series of fast hit and run attacks. The idea is to deal with them quickly, without getting bogged down with any ONE zombie. Repeat after me. ALWAYS GET 'EM IN THE HEAD!!! My biggest disadvantage is that i don't own any guns. You don't need guns to kill people and you don't need guns to kill Zombies. Bats. Hammers. Knives. Canes. Scissors. Any of these things can be used. The idea is to thin the herd as much as possible. Hopefully, by this time, other resourceful neighbors can assist. If everyone does their part, the Zombie count in the complex can be brought down to zero by the end of the third day with only a minimum of lives lost in the process.
Now this plan of action should be effective for an outbreak lasting no more than a week. Ideally, by that time, the military should be well on it's way toward dealing with this problem. Having an Army base in Kileen assures a fairly quick response time. If, however, the Army proves incapable of dealing with the situation, then this initial plan of defense becomes less than ideal. However, if that's the case, then the odds of humanity in general surviving are fairly slim, so perhaps a strong rope, a razor blade or a fistful of Vicodin and Vodka might be the way to go.
Fela Kuti - Zombie
The top floor of my building is arranged in such a way that there are four units per floor, with two units in symmetrical opposition to the others on each side. Each end has it's own staircase that serves the units at that end. The problem presents itself at the top floor. Rather than merely ending at a front porch landing in front of the top floor units, a common walkway extends across the front of the building and connects both sides. So, every unit above the bottom floor becomes accessible from two different entry points, making fortification more difficult.
But, this same weakness can be exploited to an advantage.
Assuming that I have enough of a head start to begin fortification, the first order of business is open my front door and push my couch onto the stairwell. Zombies tend to not be particularly coordinated and don't possess the necessary agility to easily maneuver over large obstacles. Depending on time, additional furniture can be stacked as needed. The next step is the key to the entire defense.
The walkway that extends in front of the building, and passes before the front windows of the adjoining apartments is made of good old fashioned wood. Beginning as far over on the other side as possible, I use a cordless power saw to cut the boards at each end point, enabling the removal of the board for possible alter use. As I work my way backwards toward my own apartment, the rift not only grows wider, thereby preventing zombies from walking across (they're crap at jumping) but beginning the gap as close to the other side as possible eliminates the need for my neighbor or myself to fortify the front window since they will no longer be immediately accessible.
After this, it is simply a matter of playing for time. After the first 24 hours, most of the initial panic will have begun to subside and the situation can be reappraised. At this point it becomes a matter of head counting. Since the vast majority of the legions of dead will head for areas of high population, having the University of Texas at he center of town is advantageous. Still, there should be a fair number of Zombies meandering throughout the apartment complex. These will have to be dealt with, in a series of fast hit and run attacks. The idea is to deal with them quickly, without getting bogged down with any ONE zombie. Repeat after me. ALWAYS GET 'EM IN THE HEAD!!! My biggest disadvantage is that i don't own any guns. You don't need guns to kill people and you don't need guns to kill Zombies. Bats. Hammers. Knives. Canes. Scissors. Any of these things can be used. The idea is to thin the herd as much as possible. Hopefully, by this time, other resourceful neighbors can assist. If everyone does their part, the Zombie count in the complex can be brought down to zero by the end of the third day with only a minimum of lives lost in the process.
Now this plan of action should be effective for an outbreak lasting no more than a week. Ideally, by that time, the military should be well on it's way toward dealing with this problem. Having an Army base in Kileen assures a fairly quick response time. If, however, the Army proves incapable of dealing with the situation, then this initial plan of defense becomes less than ideal. However, if that's the case, then the odds of humanity in general surviving are fairly slim, so perhaps a strong rope, a razor blade or a fistful of Vicodin and Vodka might be the way to go.
Fela Kuti - Zombie
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Not dead yet...
My apologies for being away. I've got some shit going on and it's been distracting me more than I want. i just want it known that i haven't given up on this blog and I'll try to catch up with the missing posts. i think i got a decent excuse though.
For those who don't/didn't know...
A little more than 15 years ago, I came home from a nice leisurely bike ride from the near the Lake outside of Del Rio. As I threw my leg off the bike to dismount, I felt a sudden painful tear in the hip of the leg that was supporting my weight. The worst part wasn't the pain, but the sound. I heard the muscle rip. I collapsed to the ground and pulled the bike down on top of me. I floundered under the weight of the bicycle for a few minutes before I was able to crawl out from beneath it and attempt to stand up. I'm sure it wasn't nearly as dramatic as I make it out to be, but I pretty much felt like the only person on earth at that moment.
I limped inside and called my mommy. There was a doctor. There was an XRay. Diagnosis: A torn muscle, the result of strenuous exercise. I was told that it would heal in a short time and that I shouldn't worry too much about it. My limp would recede as the leg got better.
More than a year and a half later, I still had the limp. What's worse was that the tears continued. Never as drastic as the first one, they happened anytime that I experienced any unexpected weight shift that I wasn't braced for. Even something as seemingly harmless as not realizing that there was one more step left on the stairs was enough to pull muscle. Of course, I didn't realize what was happening at the time. I knew I was broken but, initially, lack of health insurance kept me in the dark about my condition. Eventually, you just learn to live with pain and discomfort. It was never severe enough to worry me. I just had a slight pimp limp. That suited me just fine. During Thanksgiving, my Grandfather commented that even HE didn't limp that badly and he was over 70. I laughed.
The final straw came on a Saturday in late '94. I went bowling for the first time. You can already see where this is going. It's basic physics, really. Tork. Redistribution of weight. A weak stress point. Another loud tear. First frame. First ball. Down I went again. I soldiered on in spite of the pain and managed to lead for the first five frames and even managed a couple of awkwardly rolled strikes. I went home, mindful that I had the following day off to rest my leg. By the following Monday, I still had great difficulty putting weight on my leg. I bit the bullet and went to the emergency room.
I was there for hours. Since I wasn't leaking any fluids, I wasn't high on the triage list. (As an aside, I do have to say that the people at South Austin Hospital run a decent ship. I would return there in 2000 for what would turn out to be emergency gall bladder removal. A nice man stuck his finger in my anal cavity while I was there. they run a decent ship.) Eventually I was admitted and X-Rayed. Reviewing the photo, the doctor used words like tumor and bone loss. I don't recall if he ever used the "C" word, but he may as well have. He did, however, admit that it was all beyond his expertise and said he would call for a consultation. He left me alone with my paranoia and made some calls. He returned in minutes and said that I needed to go immediately to the medical mall located across the street. There was a specialist there that needed to see me right away. He handed me the X-Ray, gave me a pair of crutches and told me I had to go see the specialist NOW.
This was the moment that stayed with me. This was when I knew I had Cancer and that I was going to die. I had the entire duration of the walk across the parking lot and the drive next door to contemplate my finite mortality and I came to the conclusion that I had lived a good life. I'd made some mistakes and failed to live up to certain expectations that I'd had for myself, but otherwise, I was happy. I could accept whatever came next.
I worry too much.
The reason the time rush was much simpler than a terminal diagnosis. As soon as I arrived, they rushed me to an exam room and told me to wait. The doctor came in almost immediately and apologized for the rush. He was actually in town from San Marcos and was late getting back. He agreed to see me on no notice because otherwise, I wouldn't be able to see him for another week. that was the good news. The bad news was that even he didn't really have a grasp on what the hell was wrong with me. He knew I had a tumor. But he didn't know what flavor. There's actually a variety. Time for another specialist.
This one was in San Antonio. Dr. Ronald Williams at the UTSA medical center. I've since been informed that if you have to get a tumor removed by anyone in Texas, he's the one to do it. Lucky me. I was diagnosed with a giant cell tumor. Not as scary as it sounds, but a pain in the ass nonetheless.
January 10th 1995 I was admitted into the UTSA medical center. 24 hours later, I had a 20 inch scar and a metal plate in my leg. They initially underestimated the area believed to be affected by the tumor. The projected incision of 10 inches was revised once the surgery was underway and they realized that the tumor was bigger than they thought. They hollowed out the femur, hence the metal plate.
I was off my feet for a month and used a crutch or cane for another two months. It was a fairly dark period. There was much brooding and introspection. Mostly, I just stayed on the couch and watched life pass me by. And eventually, I healed.
Late last year, I began feeling a slight discomfort in the hip socket of the same leg that was affected by the tumor. I was given a fistful of vicodin and a referal to a new specialist. A new set of X-rays showed slight abnormality that was possibly related with post operative healing, but without a set of interim X-rays to compare, it was near impossible to determine if the abnormality was recent or not. I was told to give it a week or two and if it got worse, then we would go from there. The discomfort has now meandered into the realm of pain and I'm back to using a cane for now. I look cool.
Because of the metal plate, I was told that I could have an MRI (not true according to the good people at Austin radiological), so I had a CTScan this past Tuesday. Horrible little procedure that involves the injection of contact dye into the blood stream. Stings like hell and burns your throat when it flows by there. As I walked around the exam area in my hospital pants, with an IV hanging from my arm, I suddenly had an overwhelming sense of Deja Vu. Kind of like when Jack Torrance arrives at the Overlook Hotel in The Shining.
I have a follow up on Tuesday and I suppose I find out one way or another what is to become of me.
This isn't a confessional post or even a biograpical post, really. I just wanted to explain my absence and provide some back story for when someone sees me with a cane and asks, "What'd you do to your leg?", like it's somehow my fault.
What can I say? It's complicated.
Anyway, I gotta go write about some Zombies.
Missy Elliott - Bring The Pain
For those who don't/didn't know...
A little more than 15 years ago, I came home from a nice leisurely bike ride from the near the Lake outside of Del Rio. As I threw my leg off the bike to dismount, I felt a sudden painful tear in the hip of the leg that was supporting my weight. The worst part wasn't the pain, but the sound. I heard the muscle rip. I collapsed to the ground and pulled the bike down on top of me. I floundered under the weight of the bicycle for a few minutes before I was able to crawl out from beneath it and attempt to stand up. I'm sure it wasn't nearly as dramatic as I make it out to be, but I pretty much felt like the only person on earth at that moment.
I limped inside and called my mommy. There was a doctor. There was an XRay. Diagnosis: A torn muscle, the result of strenuous exercise. I was told that it would heal in a short time and that I shouldn't worry too much about it. My limp would recede as the leg got better.
More than a year and a half later, I still had the limp. What's worse was that the tears continued. Never as drastic as the first one, they happened anytime that I experienced any unexpected weight shift that I wasn't braced for. Even something as seemingly harmless as not realizing that there was one more step left on the stairs was enough to pull muscle. Of course, I didn't realize what was happening at the time. I knew I was broken but, initially, lack of health insurance kept me in the dark about my condition. Eventually, you just learn to live with pain and discomfort. It was never severe enough to worry me. I just had a slight pimp limp. That suited me just fine. During Thanksgiving, my Grandfather commented that even HE didn't limp that badly and he was over 70. I laughed.
The final straw came on a Saturday in late '94. I went bowling for the first time. You can already see where this is going. It's basic physics, really. Tork. Redistribution of weight. A weak stress point. Another loud tear. First frame. First ball. Down I went again. I soldiered on in spite of the pain and managed to lead for the first five frames and even managed a couple of awkwardly rolled strikes. I went home, mindful that I had the following day off to rest my leg. By the following Monday, I still had great difficulty putting weight on my leg. I bit the bullet and went to the emergency room.
I was there for hours. Since I wasn't leaking any fluids, I wasn't high on the triage list. (As an aside, I do have to say that the people at South Austin Hospital run a decent ship. I would return there in 2000 for what would turn out to be emergency gall bladder removal. A nice man stuck his finger in my anal cavity while I was there. they run a decent ship.) Eventually I was admitted and X-Rayed. Reviewing the photo, the doctor used words like tumor and bone loss. I don't recall if he ever used the "C" word, but he may as well have. He did, however, admit that it was all beyond his expertise and said he would call for a consultation. He left me alone with my paranoia and made some calls. He returned in minutes and said that I needed to go immediately to the medical mall located across the street. There was a specialist there that needed to see me right away. He handed me the X-Ray, gave me a pair of crutches and told me I had to go see the specialist NOW.
This was the moment that stayed with me. This was when I knew I had Cancer and that I was going to die. I had the entire duration of the walk across the parking lot and the drive next door to contemplate my finite mortality and I came to the conclusion that I had lived a good life. I'd made some mistakes and failed to live up to certain expectations that I'd had for myself, but otherwise, I was happy. I could accept whatever came next.
I worry too much.
The reason the time rush was much simpler than a terminal diagnosis. As soon as I arrived, they rushed me to an exam room and told me to wait. The doctor came in almost immediately and apologized for the rush. He was actually in town from San Marcos and was late getting back. He agreed to see me on no notice because otherwise, I wouldn't be able to see him for another week. that was the good news. The bad news was that even he didn't really have a grasp on what the hell was wrong with me. He knew I had a tumor. But he didn't know what flavor. There's actually a variety. Time for another specialist.
This one was in San Antonio. Dr. Ronald Williams at the UTSA medical center. I've since been informed that if you have to get a tumor removed by anyone in Texas, he's the one to do it. Lucky me. I was diagnosed with a giant cell tumor. Not as scary as it sounds, but a pain in the ass nonetheless.
January 10th 1995 I was admitted into the UTSA medical center. 24 hours later, I had a 20 inch scar and a metal plate in my leg. They initially underestimated the area believed to be affected by the tumor. The projected incision of 10 inches was revised once the surgery was underway and they realized that the tumor was bigger than they thought. They hollowed out the femur, hence the metal plate.
I was off my feet for a month and used a crutch or cane for another two months. It was a fairly dark period. There was much brooding and introspection. Mostly, I just stayed on the couch and watched life pass me by. And eventually, I healed.
Late last year, I began feeling a slight discomfort in the hip socket of the same leg that was affected by the tumor. I was given a fistful of vicodin and a referal to a new specialist. A new set of X-rays showed slight abnormality that was possibly related with post operative healing, but without a set of interim X-rays to compare, it was near impossible to determine if the abnormality was recent or not. I was told to give it a week or two and if it got worse, then we would go from there. The discomfort has now meandered into the realm of pain and I'm back to using a cane for now. I look cool.
Because of the metal plate, I was told that I could have an MRI (not true according to the good people at Austin radiological), so I had a CTScan this past Tuesday. Horrible little procedure that involves the injection of contact dye into the blood stream. Stings like hell and burns your throat when it flows by there. As I walked around the exam area in my hospital pants, with an IV hanging from my arm, I suddenly had an overwhelming sense of Deja Vu. Kind of like when Jack Torrance arrives at the Overlook Hotel in The Shining.
I have a follow up on Tuesday and I suppose I find out one way or another what is to become of me.
This isn't a confessional post or even a biograpical post, really. I just wanted to explain my absence and provide some back story for when someone sees me with a cane and asks, "What'd you do to your leg?", like it's somehow my fault.
What can I say? It's complicated.
Anyway, I gotta go write about some Zombies.
Missy Elliott - Bring The Pain
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Always Chasing Windmills
(today's assignment is less about the 'writing' part, more about the 'creative' part)Your fictional town has just won the rights to a sports franchise. Decide on what this team will look like: what sport it is, the name/mascot, team colors, star players, etc. How does the town react to the new team? Are they elated? Is there some sort of controversy?
Sport: It's a college team, so the name carries to all sports
Team name: The Quixotics
Team macsot: A thin frail Knight in ill fitting armor...obviously. And a fat squatty sidekick.
Colors: gray and light gray
Logo: A broken windmill
The average season starts with unrealistic dreams of playoff victories that end pretty much halfway through the first game of the season. Always finishing last. There are no star players, but the games are almost always sold out. Mostly, people don't come to cheer. They come to heckle and laugh and pour scorn and abuse on our woefully inadequate team. By seasons end, everyone quits, only to start again next year.
Journey - Don't Stop Believin'
Sport: It's a college team, so the name carries to all sports
Team name: The Quixotics
Team macsot: A thin frail Knight in ill fitting armor...obviously. And a fat squatty sidekick.
Colors: gray and light gray
Logo: A broken windmill
The average season starts with unrealistic dreams of playoff victories that end pretty much halfway through the first game of the season. Always finishing last. There are no star players, but the games are almost always sold out. Mostly, people don't come to cheer. They come to heckle and laugh and pour scorn and abuse on our woefully inadequate team. By seasons end, everyone quits, only to start again next year.
Journey - Don't Stop Believin'
What's in a name
OK, so I got chastised today for the topics being harder this round. Between that and my being so exhausted that I didn't go out tonight and am about to go to bed at 12:30, here's a doozy for you:
Write one of those dumb name poems. You know the ones, from second grade. Yeah, use your name. Let's make it challenging by making you use first and last. And while you're at it, write one about your favorite animal or what you wanted to be when you grew up.
Old school fa reals.
(p.s. I know these dumb poems have a name, but i want to go to bed. feel free to bitch or show me up in the comments section)
Actually
Remembered
That
Thoughts of
Hollywood
Indiefilm
Eventually
Failed to materialize
yeah, not as cool an anagram as Noone Ever Really Dies, but there it is.
Concrete Blonde - Still In Hollywood
Write one of those dumb name poems. You know the ones, from second grade. Yeah, use your name. Let's make it challenging by making you use first and last. And while you're at it, write one about your favorite animal or what you wanted to be when you grew up.
Old school fa reals.
(p.s. I know these dumb poems have a name, but i want to go to bed. feel free to bitch or show me up in the comments section)
Actually
Remembered
That
Thoughts of
Hollywood
Indiefilm
Eventually
Failed to materialize
yeah, not as cool an anagram as Noone Ever Really Dies, but there it is.
Concrete Blonde - Still In Hollywood
Cop Out
OK, so I am a little behind on my writing, so I am giving myself a freebie on this one (you should be so lucky that i would give you one-haha!) So, one thing you may not know about me is that I actually get paid to write horoscopes once a week. Sounds fun, right? It's actually a bit harder than it sounds. But why tell you that, when I can make you experience it? Write a horoscope for 3-5 zodiac signs for this weekend. Check out cafeastrology.com (or find something on your own) to learn more about signs and monthly horoscopes for each one. I often consider what is going on in my life and my interactions with my friends when I am writing (Cancers and Pisces are the easiest, lol), so that might be a place to start.
Hey Leo, stop being such a jerk.
Cancer, get over yourself you big pussy!
Pisces...You're Dead Sexy. Don't change.
Leon Russell - Pisces Apple Lady
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)