EXCUSE ME I’M KINDA LOST

As many of you know I spend a great deal of time identifying and following patterns and trends as they unfold. This morning as I started my second pot of green tea I came to a not-so-starling realization that I am no longer socially relevant by today’s standards. I don’t Tweet, Twerk, Tweak or Toke. I don’t own an I-Phone or I-Pad and don’t feel compelled to camp out on a sidewalk overnight to get the latest and greatest (which, more often than not,…isn’t) or buy my music online. I don’t fully understand the need to buy overpriced clothes to appear younger than I am and seem to be unable to grasp the importance of patronizing some trendy new “IT” restaurant and eat make believe food at obscene prices. I’m OK with that. In fact, I’m rather proud of my ignorance. I LIKE the age I’m at, it gives me a perspective many “IT” people don’t have… it’s called a life and life experiences. When my phone rings it doesn’t have a ringtone that annoys even dogs at three hundred yards…it just rings and when it does I say “Hello” not this is Alan. I don’t text. Texting is for the lazy and socially inept. It’s hard to have a meaningful conversation or relationship with a screen. I upgrade my technology when it makes sense for me to do so… not to impress anyone. I like rummaging around in shops talking to people while I seek out music, art objects, interesting clothes and those strange things people used to by to take up space on shelves and prop doors with… I believe they were called books. I’m always amazed how many of them I find never opened and imagine the opportunities lost by the previous owners. I love food. Let me rephrase that… I love REAL food. Well prepared food that doesn’t taste like someone hasn’t emptied an entire spice rack into always makes me smile. Fast food and chain restaurants rarely do the trick… even though we’re all forced to eat there from time to time. I would love to have the space for a garden where I could grow as many fresh fruits, vegetables and herbs as I could to cook and eat with rather than some overpriced specialty store or local market. As it is I cook more at home more than I do go out because frankly… I do a better job cheaper, healthier and flavor wise. I have become a culinary snob. TV and the Internet has turned everyone into “foodies” who, in reality, don’t know shit from Shinola about food but because some celebrity chef told them this, and that is what they should be doing and eating right now they follow the chef right off of the cliff like the Lemmings they are. Taking the time (or having the time) is a foreign thought to most people these days… it gets in the way of being fabulous. I, on the other hand, am ignorant and apparently out of step with the world at the moment so I find myself with an abundance of time on my hands to investigate such food related issues. This has somehow made me a defacto food snob… I’ll take it. If being out of touch with the mainstream is such a horrible stigma to have… why do I feel so good about it?

"THE" Wine Meet & Greet for November

The Holiday Season is upon us and we’re already feeling stressed. What better way to “De-Stress” than some fun times with those sexy people we know and love before getting invaded by family that may never leave soon enough… Join us November 16th at Terroir Wine Pub and help make your pleasurable experiences come true again! It’s comfortable inside and on the patio, the people hot and the adventures endless. You’ll definitely want to be a part of it all. People have started making travel plans from around the country to be here each month for this M&G. It just keeps getting bigger and sexier every month and you won’t want to miss it. The last thing you’ll want to hear from your sexy friends and playmates are …”You should have been there.” If you need Hotel accommodations check our website at http://arizonalifestyles.org for a list of hotels near Terroir Wine Pub. So join us Saturday November 16th at the classiest and longest running Meet & Greet in the Valley for the most enjoyable first part of an evening a Lifestyler can have with their clothes on! And speaking of clothes… Dress as sexy as you dare! AS ALWAYS…THERE NEVER HAS BEEN A COVER CHARGE FOR THE EIGHT PLUS YEARS WE’VE HELD THIS EVENT…AND THERE NEVER WILL BE! A SPECIAL NOTE: As long as you’re having a good time the staff at Terroir will keep the place open for us so the closing time is now flexible. ALSO: If you find yourself in the mood to have a party afterwards and you want everyone to know…let us know and we’ll get the word out for you. WHERE: Terroir Wine Pub 7001 N Scottsdale Rd In the Seville Shopping Center (NE corner of Scottsdale & Indian Bend) FROM: 7PM to ??? WHEN: Sat. November 16th 2013 DRESS: Casual Sexy Please register so we can let Terroir know how many to set up for. KEEP THIS ON YOUR CALENDAR FOR THE NEXT FEW MONTHS TOO FOR THIS EVENT! 12/31/13 YES WE’RE GOING TO HAVE OUR 1ST NYE MEET & GREET AT TERROIR!

TURNING IN…TO THE STORM

Planes try and fly above them, cars try and run away from them but ships… turn in towards them hoping to minimize the damage and possibly avoid sinking altogether. All are occupied by people yet, depending on their circumstances and what space they happen to occupy at that moment in time, they can behave quite differently when faced with an impending storm. Some will try and rise above it, some will run away from it but, most of us will simply turn in to it and try to ride it out with no clear idea of how to do that. The best they can come up with many times is a foolish notion that they are impervious to the storm around them by staying small and quiet allowing them to get through it all unnoticed. The stench of death will grow stronger as we go deeper into the storm but rather than deal with it we’ll whip out some Febreeze to try and mask the smell. “That’s someone else’s problem…” we’ll smugly think to ourselves and then, assuming we survived, get mad at everyone else for not taking care of it for us or, worse yet if they did, not fixing it the way we wanted it fixed. I have come to realize we have all grown accustomed to standing in quicksand glaring at each other waiting for someone to figure out how to get us out of it! Worse yet, we want someone to plant a tree for us so that we can have shade while we drown! We have ceased to be humans. We have become the “Raptor” of our age devouring anything and everything that gets in our way in our quest to be the last being standing when everything is gone. We cannibalize buildings, machines, ideas and people in an effort to “re-invent” everything without really doing much of anything because the effort needed to do something new takes too much time out of our desire to satisfy our hunger for wealth, power and the choice cuts of food. Nobody wants to work for it… they just want the rewards and they will lie, cheat and steal to get them… well intentions gone wrong aside. I don’t know a single person on this planet that hasn’t done that at one point or another in their lives… including me. Hardly something to be proud of yet, in spite of our moral bankruptcy, everyone likes to beat their chest and proclaim how Godly and moral they are. They are aghast that the rest of the world doesn’t see it THEIR way and will kill those that disagree to prove their right and attempt to challenge and regulate those who choose to peacefully live a life different from their own. Our government (along with many other countries) is bankrupt… not because they don’t have any money, but because they’re incapable of managing what they have smartly. They insist working on a nearly three hundred year old economic model filled with band-aids, staples and duct tape. It has never occurred to anyone to create a new one in spite of how many Nobel Prizes on the subject has been given out over the years. I’m not clever enough to do that but there MUST be SOMEONE out there who has the skill set to take it on and help us. If they don’t… sooner than we might think, this house of cards we all call an economy is going to permanently collapse with no chance of resurrecting it. If that happens those so-called “One Per-center’s” won’t be able to sneak into the front of the line at Disney World anymore because it won’t be open. No one will be able to afford to go there. In spite of that absolute… the government wants everyone in the country to pay for health insurance they can’t afford if they don’t already have it… hmmm. I can’t help but wonder who had this brain fart and why they thought it was needed. It’s not a Democrat or Republican thing… it’s a stupid former human thing. Change is coming… whether we like it or not. You can see the storm clouds building on the horizon. It will affect us personally, socially, communally, professionally, nationally and globally. Being quiet and small won’t be an option anymore, Febreeze won’t hide the reality around us, we can’t run from it, we may not be able to rise above it either and it clearly won’t allow us to ignore it. Forcing change through violence only proves how inhuman we’ve become. Change, as often is the case, starts with one person. Many changes have happened in my life over the past few years… some by choice, some by necessity to stay alive. Regardless of the reasons more, I fear, are still to come yet I find myself cautiously optimistic of what the changes may bring. For one thing hope. A hope that I (and everyone else) will figure out a way to regain our humanity, compassion, understanding and tolerance towards peoples uniqueness. For another, a way to reduce or eliminate an obscene desire more of everything than my neighbor has and a way to appreciate the simple things in life once again like good food, friends, family and life. There are many other hopes and aspirations to be sure but they’re personal and specific to me. The changes will, hopefully, be faced privately and positively as well as with those close to me that might be affected in some way. You, I would hope, will have your own laundry list of potential changes to deal with. Regardless of that fact we will ALL have common issues to deal with and the only way there will be some resolution to the change is if we get together and talk it through. That conversation can happen anywhere at any time. All it takes is a “What if?” instead of a “------- is to blame for this” rant accomplishing nothing but possibly proving one’s ignorance. I, for one, am willing to fully participate in that conversation. The important thing is to try… right?

TOP GUN

Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any stranger… I get another surprise. After the past, nearly, three years of being poked, prodded, x-rayed, electrocuted, videoed, and God knows what else when I was asleep or unconscious one would think there wasn’t much else to find out about me… apparently I need to stop thinking. It seemed like each time a test was run, something else was discovered that would lead to yet another series of tests. I spent a week in the hospital trying to determine if the seizures I’ve had since birth were epileptic in nature. It turns out they’re not. Exactly what they are nobody still knows BUT, as an added bonus, it would appear I have severe sleep apnea which meant…more tests. Now the fun really begins. Sleep tests are supposed to be the most mundane of medical tests this side of “turn your head and cough”. They put you in a quiet room; stick a bunch of wires on your head (again… I’ve had so many wires on my head lately I was beginning to think they were my natural hair and have started to try and style them), make you go to sleep, wake you up and send you home while they review their findings. Sadly… it took three tries to accomplish this, because I couldn’t fall asleep. Apparently I’m the only person on the planet who can FAIL a sleep test! In my defense, the gathered information said that I wake myself up or “have interruptions” 52-57 times an hour and it would appear I haven’t slept in fifteen or twenty years… I’ve just been “pretending” to sleep at night (no wonder I’m so cranky all the time) and not resting my body and brain at all. So now (courtesy of my insurance company) am the proud owner of a shiny new C-PAP machine to go along with the body armor I have to wear to bed at night. It now takes me more time to get ready for bed than it does to go out to dinner. The machine has its plusses and minuses. So far it seems to be working but it IS a little “testy” and I won’t be winning any fashion snaps anytime soon. Once I put on all of my braces I pop on my mask much the way a catcher puts his mask on but I end up looking more like a low budget storm trooper than a catcher if truth be told. Then I snap on the air line and everything changes… Suddenly the theme song from “TOP GUN” starts playing in my head and I begin to have imaginary conversations with “Goose” and throwing clever quips around about God knows what. The one thing I AM NOT doing about then is FALLING ASLEEP! Before I can complain to myself about it the air pressure changes and begins to pulse and I now find myself telling LUKE “I am you FATHER” and start looking for my light saber… I mean REALLY?! This is supposed to help me sleep? If it is… I need better drugs to help the cause and get me there.

“SO HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY?...

“How the fuck should I know you just woke me up!” was always the answer in my head as they roused me from sleeping at 7AM every day. As I fought to gain consciousness I would mutter something like “fine” and my day would begin anew… sort of. Let me bring this into perspective here before I go any further. It has all of the makings of a great “How I Spent My Summer Vacation” essay if I were still in school. My “Vacation” started Monday morning May 20th and would continue until Friday afternoon May 24th. During this time I would be subjected to a series of tests for epilepsy in an effort to find the cause of the seizures I still have despite the fact I’m taking enough anti-seizure medication to tranquilize an elephant. Seems simple enough right? But NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO… They fail to tell you a few things until you can’t escape. Shortly after arriving I was escorted to my eerily quiet room, changed into my PJ’s and then played twenty questions with a couple of doctors and nurses and being instructed to sit in a chair where they super glued thirty little wires to my head after drawing a jigsaw puzzle on my bald head in blue marker (they were thrilled I have a shaved head) then they put a yellow wrist band on me that said “Fall Risk” on it. Then they bound all of the wires together with that tape they use on you after you get a blood test which made me look like a really ugly Hare Krishna guy or one of those big blue character in “Avatar”. I didn’t know if I looked like a science project gone wrong or a piece of performance art, but it was interesting. After that I was buckled and LOCKED into a padded bed for the entire week. When I had to go to the bathroom I had to flag someone down so that they could unlock me long enough to do what I needed to do then re-lock me again. I’m pretty sure that wrist band was some sort of entertainment for the staff… I mean REALLY…where could I go? I’m plugged into a monitor with a bunch of squiggly lines on it and a live video feed of ME on it 24/7. It was like having my own personal podcast. Every time I blinked, burped, coughed or whatever one of those lines would do a different dance. When I moved the camera mounted on the ceiling for follow me to make sure whatever I did was visible. The tests were interesting… not. Sleep deprivation, Cognitive tests (boring), adding and subtracting meds, and (my all time favorite) flashing strobe lights in different speeds and patterns which are supposed to induce an epileptic seizure. All it succeeded in doing was taking me on a trip down memory lane to high school and college. (I kept waiting to hear Jefferson Airplane or Pink Floyd on the speakers every time they did that.) The only thing all of that managed to do was give me a case of the munchies and verify that neurologists use too many of their own sample drugs. Every day it was more of the same, always starting out with “How are you feeling today?” which would be asked again, and again, and again about a dozen times each day. Each day there would be fewer and fewer answers as to what the problem was, but I did get to learn a few things while I was there. The hospital I was staying in was Good Samaritan. For those of you unfamiliar with Phoenix it’s the hospital they used in the movie “Waiting to Exhale”. (I learned that by accident when it was being filmed. I was there to see some friend or relative and got off on the wrong floor and was me by two mountains masquerading as security and put back into the elevator to the right floor.) I had only been a patient there once… the day I was born. The first few days of my life was spent in the pediatric ward there in the old hospital. They tore that hospital down a long time ago and built what is there now. Interestingly enough, I was able to find out through conversations with my dad and hospital staff, we were able to determine that the bed I had been strapped into all week was about eighty feet directly above where I was born (give or take a few feet in any direction). There was something strangely comforting about knowing that. Other than that, all I learned that week was I don’t have epilepsy, I don’t have cancer, I visited where I was born but, now I have a whole bunch of other tests to take… lucky me. Well, I must be going. Next week I get to… you guessed it… start another new “Vacation”.

JAZZ HANDS

I’m impressed at how silent the world is these days. In spite of the traffic, the sirens, the bombs, guns and the screams it’s become comfortingly quiet… because nobody is listening. We have become talking Mimes. Our mouth’s move, but nobody hears us. They’re blocking out our words as they attempt to talk over us… or through us. It becomes a battle of expressions. Jazz Hands moving in a pathetic game of “charades” as we strive to show our level of intelligence and righteousness while showing how unimportant everyone else is to us. We search for our mark under the spotlight and hold tightly to that space. A social filibuster until we run out of words and ideas. We walk down once noble streets that were then only defaced by the occasional dog marking its territory. The brick and concrete edifices that line the street are now marked by spray paint as young punks dressed like clowns with needles in their arms and guns in their belts lay claim to it as THEIR territory as they stand nearby and flash their Jazz Hands at people who show interest in claiming what belongs to NEITHER of them. People have turned their homes into fortresses to protect themselves, their families and their belongings from the violent vampires of the night who want everything you have… and more. They chant their vile poetry of false poverty while taking needles and putting more drugs and ink into their bodies before heading back into the night in expensive vehicles for more blood from all of us and blend in with the hipsters searching for their next victims. The disenfranchised, delusional or completely discarded will cower in the shadows of the doorways sometimes wondering why they’re still there and who forgot them. They hope only to be remembered and cared about like not so long ago. Once again the Jazz Hands will come out and lull us into submission. We will dance, we will sing… badly and if it happens to be a karaoke bar… sing even worse, because nobody is still listening really and being drunk is actually the important part anyways. It’s so much easier to forget we’re not human anymore when we’re that drunk. We will, eventually, find our way home to where we pretend to live normal lives. We don’t travel as much as we used to because, regardless of what country you’re from or live in, everyone HATES you. We pretend not to notice or hear, but we’re reluctant to venture out too far anymore. Instead we’ll stay in and watch how dysfunctional we’ve really become on TV. Life has become both a circus and a zoo; it all just depends on which side of the cage you stand on. We’ll reduce ourselves to becoming armchair critics and quarterbacks and stand in judgment of everyone and everything without hearing, seeing or researching a fucking thing before offering our opinion… but the Jazz Hands will still keep moving… even though no one is listening. We will continue to hate people not like us, justify our existence, maintain and armory of weaponry for our own personal use and belligerently explain why we shouldn’t compromise in the slightest, but those Jazz Hands keep dancing and our ego’s will continue to grow. We’ll pay exorbitant amounts of money for artwork the quality of a third grader and call it a “bargain”. We’ll also pay more for “VIP” treatment at parties and events while trying desperately to forget that if you really were a VIP they’d be giving it to you for free. We stress about being “Green” but only when it’s convenient to do so and have assumed that food can only be good if it costs three times what it should. Everyone has become a “gourmet cook” because someone showed them how to cook a recipe on TV but, as usual, WE know better than THEY do so it’s OK to over spice the dish. A restaurant can’t be great unless it’s owned by a celebrity chef and/or shown on TV. The hospitals, sanitariums and “rehab” centers will continue to be overflowing with people so over medicated, self-medicated, undiagnosed or misdiagnosed that half of the population cannot function and fall through the cracks and into the shadows. All the while the politicians of every stripe break out the Jazz Hands as they tap dance around the issue and do nothing… again. We didn’t have to stand up and recite “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening” or “Two roads diverge in a yellow wood” at our graduation. Partly because we don’t have snow or woods where I live, but mostly because Robert Frost wasn’t our guest speaker nor did we have to recite “Buffalo Bill’s defunct” because e.e.cummings wasn’t there either. It’s unlikely that students today will have to sit and listen to the poetic resonance of Russell Simmons, ‘Lil Wayne” or “Snoop Dogg/Lion” for much the same reasons along with the fact they can’t read anything. What they will probably hear is some “suit” tells them they’re under-educated, the most indebted generation ever and have no chance of getting a job in their chosen field but should “go forth and be happy”. …And the Jazz Hands will, once again, wave along even though they didn’t hear a word that was said.

…”WHO ARE YOU?”

…Asked the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied very shyly, “I…I hardly know sir, just at present… at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.” “Alice in Wonderland” Chapter V By Lewis Carroll I’m sure it would be impossible to remember how many times people have asked us “Who are you?” not to mention how many times we’ve looked in the mirror and asked ourselves the very same question. Each time the answer was, more likely than not, different than the last time you were asked. If you’re a normal human being you’ve continued to grow and change daily… if not minute by minute. The interests and beliefs you had yesterday may not be the same as today yet sometimes some of us manage to never really know, or understand, who they are as a person. They may have a vague idea of who they’d like to be or who they think people want them to be but they really don’t know themselves or what THEY want in actuality. Sometimes they may catch a glimpse of their inner self and may be terrified of what they saw and done everything in their power to prevent that from rising to the surface even going so far as to lie to themselves and everyone else as to who they might really be. Sometimes people catch that glimpse and are shocked, but curious and cautiously explore that part of them, some just jump in with both feet and hope they don’t drown. Many of us do a mixture of all of that depending on the situation. Then there are people like me. I’m more of a “Damn the Torpedo’s” type of person which can easily put me in some interesting situations when I least expect it (and then I wonder why I have heart issues… but that’s another story). Regardless… life can only be an adventure if you know who YOU are and are brave enough and honest enough to follow the path you choose to take.

WISDOM OF THE AGES

They say that with age comes wisdom… well… it appears that may be true. After several days of people exploring what’s left of my brain the following has been confirmed: I am a MENSA level genius… with the memory of a gnat and the dexterity of an arthritic chimpanzee. I am officially an “Idiot Savant” and must still wear a helmet when I ride on the short bus. There’s something strangely comforting about knowing this and means… I have no fucking idea what it means… it must be the meds…now, where was I? There’s always that surreal “What does it all mean/Waiting for Godot” period of time from after you leave the doctor’s office and when the cab arrives these days. A timeframe where you find yourself reflecting on what just happened and, in some cases, over-analyzing the situation with statements bouncing around in your head like “You don’t have dementia or Alzheimer’s but….” “but” what!? It thrills me to no end to know I’m going to lose my memory “just because”. That’s a “thrill” I can do without, thank-you very much! Then I get home to find out some nutbag blew up a bunch of innocent people in Boston… suddenly I can’t lose my memory fast enough. The next day I had to meet with Manny, Moe and Jack the Gastrointestinal boys. It appeared from recent tests I’m a little over a quart low in the blood department and everyone was a little curious about how and where I was leaking fluids from. I know my body pretty well and when something isn’t right (and something hasn’t been right for a while now). You don’t survive two dozen heart attacks without having a better than average idea of what’s going on inside. Needless to say, it came as no surprise that they want to take a look inside next week. Procedures seem to advance at a speed equal to the changes in smart phones. Instead of having to drink great heaping gobs of that awful stuff before surgery they simply scare the shit out of you by looking serious and asking “Has anyone in your family ever had Colon cancer?” and BOOM… clean as a whistle. Thank God there was a Target next door or I’d have had to ride home naked. I find myself dreading the surgery. Not because of what they may find but… of what some knucklehead might have blown up while I was in there this time around…what a fucking world.

CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF 03/02/2013

It’s been a wild a wooly past few weeks. All of the weather changes around here succeeded in giving me a cold and/or a sinus infection even though I refrained from as much public contact as possible hoping not to get the dreaded flu that was going around. I thought my hermit-like existence would protect me from that as I smugly walked around humming Simon and Garfunkel’s “I am a rock” in my head which just goes to prove that massive amounts of drugs make you delusional and give you shit for brains. (Which can often give you the side effect of spending a great deal of time in the bathroom playing solitaire on your smart phone a lot until your brain starts functioning again.) I became very adept at fighting with myself during this period of time which actually delighted me in an unexpected way. I have become so good at it that while following the “Sequestration” comedy on TV I could get the feeling I was watching a game show filled with stupid third graders. I kept waiting for someone to push a buzzer and tell the bureaucrat of the moment “Sorry…wrong answer, but thank-you for playing”. The only thing missing from Obama’s wardrobe the past few weeks is a big red nose and a band leader’s baton. It’s not because he’s a Democrat, they’re all guilty of stupidity on this one, but because he’s as delusional as I am at this moment in time. The talking heads “analyzing” all of this are just as pathetic as everyone else. It took me twenty minutes the other night to figure out they were trying to explain how to make an In-N-Out burger instead of how to resolve the potential collapse of the Government. Living here in Arizona we have front row seats to the Jodi Arias trial which, sometimes, makes me wish I could still drive. Then I would go out and buy a Jodi Bobble head and put it on my dashboard and watch it go up and down and side to side all day…it would be just as entertaining as just as real as she is! I mean COME ON PEOPLE…how much time and money are we wasting on this already? Talk about CRAZY! Speaking of crazy… I get to go to Barrow’s soon and play 2000 questions with, yet, another Neurologist finally so they can determine just how far my dementia has gone so far and if anything else needs to be addressed along those lines. I’ve been “approved” for disability and given me an obscenely small monthly stipends with the thought that in three years I might be able to go back to work. If what little memory I still have serves me correctly that will be 2016. As it happens… there’s a President’s job opening up in D.C. that year…I just might be crazy enough to qualify for that position by then… what was I talking about a minute ago?

CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF 01/26/13

The plague arrived at our house this week. We made a futile effort to avoid it but, it came in spite of our best efforts. Everyone in the house has come down with it at least once which has caused us to avoid each other as much as possible. This drove me into more of a hermit-like existence then I’ve already had the past few weeks. I don’t dare venture into public for fear of contaminating more people than this flu already has. It’s sadly comforting in a bizarre, unexpected way. This has also provided the added benefit of having a reason to sit on my hands for a while. Since our great and all powerful President has implemented his useless healthcare plan people get to sit and wait while doctors and healthcare providers argue over the necessity and cost effectiveness of any and all medical procedures from giving someone an aspirin to MRI’s. Needless to say many of my tests are now on hold for the moment while they continue to collect monthly payments from us hoping not to do anything in return. So here I sit talking to myself, drinking my green tea, taking lots of naps and trying to remember or decipher my dreams. Dreams… small word… big meanings, it seems like, in many cases, the bigger the dream… the harder we chase it. The unfortunate part is we seldom really make solid, realistic plans for when and/or if we catch them. A great many people insist the seldom, if ever, dream. According to most all researchers we dream 4-7 times a night but rarely remember all or part of any of them and the ones we do remember have some degree of significance to them. Small children don’t include themselves in their dreams until the ages of three and five due to their limited life experiences. Here’s another interesting tidbit if you’re going to be on Jeopardy any time soon… the term “nightmare” was created in the Dark Ages to support the claim that they were the work of female spirits messing with your head… doesn’t that make you feel better guys? Also… everyone has “wet dreams” and interestingly enough, they seldom have anything to do with sex. This disturbs me on a number of levels. I would really hate to think that on those rare occasions I was woken up by a raging hard-on was because I was thinking about mowing the lawn… that would be a supreme verification as to just how pathetic a person’s life is at times. I did have an interesting dream the other day though. It involved a group of people I respect and admire all sitting around drinking and talking in, what I assume is my studio that I have yet to find and occupy. Some of the people I know (or knew at one time or another), some I would like to know, some I’ll never know because they’re already gone. An eclectic group of bombastic free thinkers who seldom color inside the lines and could give a shit if you don’t agree with them and, apparently, have gotten together often enough we have named ourselves “The Curmudgeons Club” and proudly accept that moniker. People like writers, poets and essayists Jim Harrison (Legends of the Fall…among others), Henry Miller, Richard Brautigan, Shel Silverstein, Allen Ginsberg, James Thurber and Hunter S. Thompson (just because he was Hunter). Musicians like Joe Walsh, Sting, James Taylor, Marilyn Manson, Trent Reznor, Michael Stipe, Dave Brubeck and Cole Porter. Painter’s Chuck Close and Picasso and Photographers Robert Mapplethorpe, Helmut Newton plus newcomer chef and writer Anthony Bourdain, others would roll in and out from time to time like Nicholson and so on while we drank, bantered and joked about while periodic arguments would break out over art, philosophy, politics, social changes and more with terms like “asshole” and “bastard” being thrown at each other with good natured love and affection of brothers having fun. Songs would be played, statements would be made, pictures would be taken and then suddenly… out of the blue, Thurber would quote a passage from one of his own books… “It is better to have asked some of the questions than to know all of the answers.” Everyone nods in agreement and the magic stops and they all grab their coats and head out the door leaving me to contemplate on what had just happened alone in my studio. The quiet is as comforting as my real life “hermit hole” yet I find myself anxiously waiting for the next get-together. Is this a Bohemian dream or a glimpse into my own future? Time will tell.

CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF 01/18/13

“I’m going to say four words and I want you to remember them. Banana, truck, apple, cat” …and so began my visit with young doctor “Spooky” my Neurologist (although he isn’t as spooky as he used to seem to be to me anymore). I’ll be honest right here…I really don’t remember the words he said at that time but for the sake of this missive let’s pretend those were the words. As we’re talking about how the seizure meds are doing and if the dosage should be increased he scribbles a pentagon on the back of one of the forms and hands it to me and says “I want you to copy that for me” as we continue talking. “This is a piece of cake!” I’m thinking to myself, “I’ve been a fucking artist my whole life! What’s this going to prove? It’s like that old ad in magazines and gum wrappers when I was a kid…”If you can draw this YOU could have a career in Art” it would proclaim.” I indignantly think in my head as I draw the shape…sort of. A pentagon has five equal sides, all connecting. Mine was a little shy of equal and one side didn’t connect. Perhaps it was a “deconstructed” pentagon or just after 9/11…who knows. We keep talking about this, that and the other thing while he looks at my drawing and then without warning he asks “So what were those four words I told you to remember?” The look on my face must have spoken volumes. I desperately try and remember the words and the only word I can come up with is “apple”. “OK…I’m fucked” I think to myself as I try and gage Dr. Spooky’s expression. “I’m going to refer you to a specialist to run several more tests.” He finally says. “But aren’t YOU a specialist?” I ask somewhat befuddled. “Yes, but they have the right equipment to run all of these tests accurately” was all he said rather matter-of-factly. As he walks me over to the scheduling desk to set up my follow-up appointment and my referral scenes from “Rocky Horror” dance through my head, “What twisted “experiments” am I going to be subjected to now?” I nervously wonder. “If this “specialist” turns out to be a transvestite who looks frighteningly similar to Tim Curry I may decide to take up marathon running in spite of my health issues. During the cab ride home all sorts of potential scenarios are bouncing around in what little brain I seem to have these days. Suddenly…in the middle of all this internal angst the word “banana” pops into my head. “Oh that’s just fucking great! I couldn’t have thought of that sooner? I would have at least gotten a 50% on that stupid test!” I think to myself. I didn’t want to say it out loud and scare the hell out of the cab driver. And so the adventure begins and what is typically the case in my life these days, it’s not on the right foot… so what else is new. One only wonders.

CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hamlet: Act 1, Scene 5 William Shakespeare This won’t be as disturbing a rant as you might think. I will be the first person to point out that I do talk to myself…a lot even though much of it is in my head. However I don’t have imaginary friends or hear voices that tell me to do (or not do) things or think I live in an alternate universe. It’s not that I think I’m the only one capable of understanding what I say and it certainly isn’t because I like the sound of my own voice. I actually hate my voice. For these reasons my conversations tend to be more internal rather than bad public theater or an opportunity to show the world just how egotistically ignorant I could possibly be at times. I don’t suffer fools well and have a highly developed bullshit detector so I often come off as arrogant. The word diplomacy and my name have seldom (if ever) been used in a sentence together and have been known to insult, hurt or otherwise burst someone’s bubble or call them on their shit at a moment’s notice without remorse. My blunt delivery sends even the bravest of verbal adversaries running for cover from time to time. Even at that…I’m wise enough to realize when an apology should be genuinely extended and do so without any sense of false pride, expecting nothing in return. I enjoy a good conversation (even an argument)…probably more than most. As a student of philosophy I find myself more driven every year to search for the truth in everything and less likely to buy into party rhetoric and agenda or bigoted, poorly thought out opinion generally filled with hate and egotistical bullshit. Far too many people actually have no clue what “Hedonism” really is anymore today because of this thinking and more. Needless to say…a good conversation is difficult to come by for me these days and has brought me to an unusual conclusion and the topic (in part) of this rant. This is a New Year. There is much that is going to happen in the next twelve months on a personal level as well as the world at large. I plan to approach things differently than I have in the past. I have always been a social person and the lifestyle I live in has always given me more outlets for interaction with interesting and creative people. Something I probably haven’t fully made use of so far in my life. Some think like I do, some don’t but, regardless of that fact, I intend to engage and observe them more closely than I already have and find out what really makes them tick. Then I will dutifully record my findings in my “brain” to be used from time to time as additional information for the series of rants I will, no doubt, do this year. After I’ve had time to digest, filter out the BS and run them through the truth tables that is. I have already had more lovers and “friends with benefits” than most so, I expect, I will be more concerned with quality than quantity this year. I have nothing to prove in that regard anymore but the intimacy is still seductively intoxicating and worth seeking out and validating the body, soul and mind still exists and functions. There’s another reason or two for taking this approach in the upcoming months. One is to establish a “benchmark” for myself. I will need to know with a great amount of certainty that I know what I think I know as I travel through the maze ahead of me as I am being scheduled to undergo tests to determine what is quite simply memory loss, my Cerebral Palsy is coming out of hibernation, perhaps dementia or worse. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate medically let’s add to the fun…right? I already can’t drive, stand or walk great distances anymore. I voluntarily decided owning a gun may not be in my, or others, best interest as I journey through all of this silliness so why not! Hamlet had his moments of uncertainty and so will I. The other reason is I want to chronicle this transition so that at some later date I can look back and see where and how I got to where I am at that moment in time. It’s bound to be a surreal ride anyway so pop some popcorn, sit back and enjoy this adventure with me. It won’t be boring I’m sure.

ANTS MARCHING

Fear not friends… I am not about to break into a classic Dave Matthews song (although I may refer to the title of that album later on). January 2013 has arrived and, so far, not in the overly dramatic fashion 2012 had done for me. New Year’s Eve was spent at our favorite wine bar with one of our daughters and her boyfriend. It was a surprisingly quiet, but enjoyable, evening and my evil twin came out for only the briefest of moments (to the relief of my family and friends). The evening was hardly the noisy chaos of NYE’s past…and considerably cheaper than past experiences as well. A few days later Wendi & I went to see “Le Miz” with our eldest daughter “Typhoid Mary” who happened to have what was believed to be the waning remains of a bout of bronchitis. The movie was spectacular from the opening scene on. The sight of the prisoners pulling on the ropes to drag the ship into dry dock reminded me of watching ants climb vines in search of food and water when I was a boy. The movie was everything I expected from a Dumas story…anger, obstacles, betrayal, love, selflessness and eventually…redemption, all on a grand scale. The company made the evening all the more special. As our daughter returned us to our cozy little cave I noticed as we hit a high point on the freeway the cars going and coming in front of us. Red lights heading in one direction, white in the opposite direction. Everyone headed somewhere as if their destination was of maximum importance…ants marching…to survive. Our daughter dropped us off and in her wake left us a reminder of her presence. Less than forty-eight hours later I came down with a serious cold and sinus infection and Wendi ended up with bronchitis and so begins the first, no doubt, of many visits to all of those lovely people with initials behind their last names. On the appointed day I got up to shower and get ready to go see Howard. I’m standing in the shower trying to get myself to smell less troll-like than I had been earlier when I noticed a line of ants marching back and forth along the back edge of the tub. This is not unusual here in Arizona. When the weather is hot and dry ants will seek out water from any source they can to survive, but this is the middle of the freaking winter! Not only that, it’s been a reasonably wet one. What do these measly little ants know that WE humans don’t? Granted the major internal waterways of this country are damned near dry and the short term prognosis isn’t rosy, but I couldn’t help wondering if somebody isn’t telling us the whole story here as I got dressed to leave for my appointment. Howard did his usual superb job and prescribed heavy duty antibiotics for both of us strong enough to tranquilize an elephant. I’ve been taking a lot of naps the past year or so… now a coma seems like a power nap yet, I am happy to say, Wendi & I are on the mend. While we sat and waited for our cab to return us home (not being able to drive sucks big time) I thought about Dave Matthews and the album “Under the table and Dreaming”. Interesting title…I don’t remember being under the table as a child with one slight exception. I was in that age group where we had to endure Civil Defense drills where we had to hide under our desks or tables when that awful siren went off…that, ultimately, protected us from absolutely nothing. As I grew older being under the table meant I had succeeded in drinking one or two more drinks than I should have and would pray I woke up the next morning alive and in my own clothes instead of someone else’s. In either case…dreaming wasn’t involved. Maybe I’ve just picked all of the wrong places to dream during my life. Our cab driver finally arrived and we merged on to the freeway to head for home. The driver did his best to keep from getting us killed by the other unconscious commuters in a hurry to get nowhere in particular as quickly as possible. Once again I found us, as I often will this year, in a steady stream of red lights and white lights. All of us “Ants Marching” too…