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I've always thought going def was worst than going blind. Music and sound in general is just so inetgral to me. That's terrifying news, ves. You may. May. May be going deaf.
Fucking doctors.
Not a helpful post, really. May is a big word though. You may be going deaf. May.
Generally speaking, the more specialized they are, the bigger assholes they are. This guy is some hotshot vestibular specialist in Boston. Total weirdo. Doesn't deserve his paycheck. Couldn't figure out why I might find this news somewhat alarming. To him, I'm just an intriguing case with multiple variables to puzzle over, and while the statement "may" is accurate in the sense that it's not a certainty, he must realize the inherent stupidity of saying something that amounts to "either it will happen or it won't". That's a fucking tautology, which means it's completely fucking useless.
I'm becoming more and more convinced that prospective doctors should have to take a "humanity" test before being given their license to kill. If they don't reach a certain baseline of compassion and interpersonal skill, then they don't get to practice medicine. Those people can go sit on a bench and puncture rats all day long. But they've got no business "taking care" of me or anyone else.
On the bright side, he did say there was "absolutely nothing to be done about it", which lets me massively off the hook, in a gloomy and fatalistic sort of way. At least I won't have to go talk to any more overpaid assholes like him anytime soon, at least not till I go to get fitted for my hearing aid and/or sign up for ASL.
Hugh laurie, who plays "house" on fox was on fresh air with terry yesterday.
What a fascinating interview. I love fresh air on npr.
Delightful.
Anyway, his father was a doctor. He was going on about bedside manner. What a delicate balance it is. The truth is so harsh. But some of these doctors are just so...locked. no passion. Its sad.
Hugh went on to describe how he induces leg cramps four times day be
Who knows?
Terry called him weird. I do the same thing tho!!! He started in elementary school. So did I!!! Fuck you, terry!!! You brilliatn interviewer!!! But anyway, not a fan of house. Huge fan of hugh laurie after the interview. What a fucking fascinating man. Love him to bits now.
He made a lot of sense, ves. Good to know these people exist. Thank you npr. Thank you terry.
Stupid fuckng phone. Seriously, what an amazing leap these phones are nowadays. But they still lack basic.....keenness. fuck it. There went half my post. And I end up looking like even more of an idiot. I got looking like an idiot covered. Don't need sprint or my worthless phones help.
I was just turning in for an early bedtime in a frail effort to shut away all the horrors of the week that is now lifting anchor and leaving port when what did my eyes behold, but a little soft package in my mailbox. Inside that little soft package was a little soft pair of silken peach rompers, smooth and airy, ephemeral and diaphanous, teasingly sheer yet cunningly constructed. I have for the past half hour been flitting about like the happiest of little wood nymphs, just loving loving loving the sensation of sheer cotton draped artfully over my lower arms. In this outfit, I am a member of the pantheon, a siren on the seacoast, a modern Helen of Troy who still remembers that to be feminine is to be delicate, yet possessed of that power which causes men to go weak in the knees because, you see, beauty trumps brawn each and every time.
Delicacy is king!
There'll be times When my crimes Will seem almost unforgivable I give in to sin Because you have to make this life liveable But when you think I've had enough From your sea of love I'll take more than another riverfull Yes, and I'll make it all worthwhile I'll make your heart smile
Strangelove Strange highs and strange lows Strangelove That's how my love goes Strangelove Will you give it to me Will you take the pain I will give to you Again and again And will you return it
There'll be days When I'll stray I may appear to be Constantly out of reach I give in to sin Because I like to practice what I preach I'm not trying to say I'll have it all my way I'm always willing to learn When you've got something to teach And I'll make it all worthwhile I'll make your heart smile
Pain will you return it I'll say it again -- pain Pain will you return it I'll say it again -- pain
Pain will you return it I'll say it again -- pain Pain will you return it I won't say it again
Strangelove Strange highs and strange lows Strangelove That's how my love goes Strangelove Will you give it to me
Strangelove Strange highs and strange lows Strangelove That's how my love goes Strangelove Will you give it to me
Strangelove Strange highs and strange lows Strangelove That's how my love goes Strangelove Will you give it to me
I give in Again and again I give in Will you give it to me I give in I'll say it again I give in
I give in Again and again I give in That's how my love goes I give in I'll say it again I give in
Sometimes I try to make jokes with the human beings who occupy my little city. I hope that my capering and japing will show them that I'm just like them, not the vaguely sinister outlander most of them seem to take me for.
In full-on chum mode, I went my merry way yesterday to the hair salon. At the front desk, I noticed they were selling Autism Awareness bracelets for a dollar each. These bracelets were rainbow colored, and I freaking love rainbows with the same ardor a gay person feels for change-up time in the locker room after gym class. But I'm not gay. What a queer idea...to be turned on by your own anatomy. That must take an incredible degree of self-love or at the very least unconditional acceptance, to be fully versed in all the gross peculiarities of your gender, yet to be sufficiently undeterred by these to continue hunting for some representative of this same gender who is likewise also blessed with the same squeamy ick-icks. But I digress.
I wanted one of them bracelets. Because I support causes. And I love rainbows. Period.
So I said, with my broadest, most (or so I thought) obviously jokey-happy smile to the lady at the front desk, "You know, they used to think I was autistic. Then they realized I was just incredibly antisocial. Tee hee."
Now this woman is someone I have known for a few years, albeit lightly and socially, but well enough I thought, to try out this somewhat tasteless joke on her. She looked confused for a minute, then she put on her grandmotherly face, reached out and patted my hand, saying,
"Well you seem very friendly now, my dear." After saying this, she turned the jar of candy upside-down and dug out the ones she knows I like best, as if it were all a big consolation prize for my brush with near-autism.
In response I believe I blinked once. Maybe twice.
It's a strange feeling you get when someone is being perfectly well-intentioned or nice towards you, yet simultaneously doesn't understand you at all and is only behaving nicely due to a misconception. For all you know, if they knew the "real you", they might come to work armed and dangerous and decidedly ungrandmotherly.
Maybe I'll just sew my lips shut. I don't see how enforced muteness could make my current communication batting averages with the outer world any lower than they already are.
l was late on rent all winter. Modus operandi chubbyteletubbius. My old land lady never cared. She knew winter was a hard time and id pay her back in full with late fees. The new fat fuck landlord is this kenny roger looking simpleton. So we were talking the other day. "Its either feast or famine doing what I do," said I. "Ive got more work than I know what to do with now. This last winter tho I was about to stand on the corner with a "will work for food" sign. Nature of the beast."
He looked at me with that blank look. "Were you really?"
I'm having lots of stoned perceptions these days, which is funny considering I've been abstaining long enough for the gub'mint to consider me Special Agent material.
As if.
My latest unsolicited vision is of End Master, sitting in one of those nerdy little D.A.R.E. classes rolling his eyes because those classes were just as wasted on straight little arrows like him as they were on the other 90% of his class, all of whom are now sans address and living from crack hit to crack hit.
So the DARE officer starts talking about date rape drugs, and then rape in general (did anyone else notice that DARE and sex-ed seemed to have a LOT of overlap? All we did in 5th grade was talk about boners and gonorrhea).
Annnyway...so the officer gets to the topic of rape and suddenly this quiet kid in the back who looks vaguely Mexican (jot down a note) starts guffawing like a hyena on firecrackers, punching his desk, squeezing out tears of amusement that run down red, excited little cheeks, maybe even falling on the floor and actually rolling around in glee.
The teacher can't understand what could possibly be so funny. Did he mishear? Did this young man think the word was "cake" or perhaps "ape" or "jape"? Everyone simply waits for him to finish his convulsions which, eventually, he does, returning to his seat and resuming his prior look of stony indifference.
But then it happens again!
In an exciting and dramatic monologue about the infinite evils of Rohypnol, the officer once more cries out, "raaape!". Though his reaction is more guarded this time, because he knows all eyes are upon him him, our young hero still cannot suppress a mighty snort, his cheeks puffing up plummy purple.
What is wrong with this twisted little boy?, the DARE officer asks himself. He does look slightly chicano...
But because this twisted little boy never actually does anything, no one else can do anything in response. It just becomes a quietly known fact at school, a skeleton among skeletons in the rusted, cracked-out closets of Detroit.
"Hey, you see that kid over there?"
"The one in the polo shirt eating by himself?"
"Yeah, him."
"What about him?"
"He's really into rape."
"Dayam. That is one cold mothafucka. Betta not fuck wid' him!"
Thus I present to you my vision of a moment, broadcast in panoramic technicolor HD awesomeness incredibility.
My 2nd grade teacher was forever telling us stories about people he knew when he was younger doing drugs and winding up dead the next week. Actually ALL of his stories involved someone winding up dead next week. Didn't matter if it involved drugs or not.
We had a few DARE moments at my elementary school, but not a lot. I actually never minded when we had speaker of any kind though because it meant we didn't have to do any real work for a while.
Sometimes we had speakers come in and talk about drugs for part of homeroom, but no separate classes for it and I don't think they were all DARE related. I think we got some DARE folders and some papers with funny little cartoon characters high on various drugs. I remember being amused by the different facial expressions they displayed. Like the guy on speed was bug eyed and smiling, the guy on heroin was sleepy eyed and burning his hand on a candle, the LSD guy was...wait for it...thinking about flying! (Presumably the window he was inevitably going to jump out of was off panel)
We got a coloring book called Captain Detroit who stopped some drug dealer. He was a pretty pathetic broke ass drug dealer since he only managed to threaten Cap with a baseball bat before he got his ass kicked. He didn't even have a fucking Tec-9 (Which was the style at the time)
Oh and we got a sheet of paper which had a rap on it called the Wizard of Crack!
I'm the Wizard of Crack
And you know me
I come to your school
Without proper ID
Sadly that's all I can remember, it was much longer though. The thing that stood out to me though was beside the rap lyrics was a relatively good drawing of a skeletal figure in a cloak who I presume was the Wizard of Crack. I thought he was cool looking since he looked like a D&D Lich.
Anyway my dad had already told me all I needed to know about drugs since he had done them all at some point (either before or after he met my Mom) The basic message at home was if I was going to experiment with any sort of drugs I should do them at home where they could keep an eye on me. (Though my dad said he'd kick my ass if I ever started sniffing glue because he said that was just fucking stupid)
All drug warnings were sort of pointless though since I never did any sort of drugs and it wasn't really due to any propaganda. It was mostly due to first hand viewing experience and knowing too many genuine low lifes and losers on drugs for one thing.
Second of all I never had any friends or went to any teenage parties where I was ever in a situation where I was getting offered any drugs by anyone. The few that I actually did attend were after graduation parties and those were pretty tame since every one of them was being held by the persons parents. There weren't any "drug people" in my class anyway, I assume the most drugs any of those people did at the time might've been weed and alcohol and even then not to some large degree. (They all probably went hog wild in college though) As for college, I took classes and then I went home. Repeat. Any minor socializing I did was in class or between them so no wild drug parties there either. (No wild parties period. Lol)
Now when I was young I was in many locations where drugs were, but those were usually at places like my dad's friends houses where a party was being thrown or a place like a punk rock hang out, but since my parents were playing at those places or in attendance, there weren't any drug dealers offering me anything because well they had better potential customers for one thing, second most of them were also hopeless drug addicts themselves and doing their own stash and third, a lot of them were afraid of my dad, so they probably didn't want to risk it. Wouldn't have done them anyway though, since I never saw any of the good effects from it. Even the people who I saw were doing drugs never seemed like they were having all that great of a time or if they were they were acting like complete idiots to the point where I didn't see any benefit to the experience.
Alcohol? Yeah saw the effects of that legal drug more than any other thanks to my dad playing guitar at bars or those animal worship clubs on a regular basis (That's what my dad always called those "Moose lodges"), and later on when I was helping him do sound for other bands at various bars and club so I wasn't going that route either. Though I probably would've been more inclined to be an alky than anything else though due to my tendency towards solitude. You can just go to the nearest liquor store, pay your money to Ackmed and go home and drink by yourself. You don't need to bother with seeking out a reliable dealer or most of the other scum that usually comes with having to acquire illegal drugs.
So never got offered drugs and I never saw the point in taking them hence the drug free life. Unless you're going to count caffeine from soda (Never drink coffee), but I stopped drinking that too recently. (And I had a MASSIVE fucking headache for the next two days after I cut off from it completely. I'm guessing that was my withdrawal phase. Ha ha)
As a footnote to this time wasting tale, I did get approached in college once while I was in the video game room one time asking if had any weed to SELL. I'm not sure why though since I was just playing Mortal Kombat at the time and I didn't think I looked particularly like a drug dealer, but maybe they were an undercover cop looking for a bust or just clueless.
Then again I was dressed all in black and wearing a hoodie at the time so maybe he mistook me for the Wizard of Crack.
Last edited by End Master; 04-29-2012, 01:05 AM.
Reason: Because I'm the mothafuckin' Wizard of mothafuckin' Crack!
Writing: It's more fun than a barrel of Ebola ridden monkeys!
What the hell I'm in a talkative mood tonight, if the rest of you can go on about your Dionysian drug orgies, I can certainly go on about my mundane youth.
Since Ves brought up talking about rape in a school setting, I might as well talk about something related to that.
Let's see...
We had some speakers in school talk about the basics of sex in 4th and 5th grade. I remember most people laughing when then showed a giant display of the penis on the screen. Less laughter about the female anatomy for some reason, but I guess that's why they call them "dick jokes" and not "pussy jokes." I didn't really find any of it funny though, I just sort of listened and watched in a bored manner since I wanted to play dodge ball instead. Not to mention my dad had once again told me some of the stuff before that time so I already knew what the basics were at that point.
I have to say the major thing they spoke to us in elementary school wasn't drugs or sex ed, it was mostly about avoiding pedos. (STRANGER DANGER!) Seriously I think we had like a talk about pedos once every other week. The way my school told it there were child molesters hanging around every damn corner when that really wasn't the case. (We did see one guy who looked like Freddy Krueger hanging around the school once though!)
The best part was when they showed us movies. One movie they had some guy luring a kid with candy and then pulling a gun on him and stealing him away in a car. The best one they showed us was "Big Bear and Little Bear". The whole fucking thing was hilariously creepy with a children's setting and productions so low that it could've easily been a modified set for child porn. It didn't help that Big Bear and Little Bear were a kid and adult running around in bear costumes.
Big bear first hugs little bear and that was a "good touch".
Big bear then got pissed at Little bear for some reason and gave him a crushing hug. Little bear considered that a bad touch.
Big bear then said he was sorry and hugged him again, but wouldn't let go, which left little bear confused.
Finally he hugs him a fourth time and fondles his dick balls pretty graphically, like the camera pans down to show this. Then he quickly pats his ass after he's finished. (Being an observant sort, I pointed this out when we were all having a good laugh about the whole movie afterwards)
Naturally Little Bear cries and tells his friend Little Moose about this event, and then he tells Big Moose who goes to seek vigilante justice on Big Bear. But nothing happens except Big Bear threatens to lock up Little Bear when he finds out he told on him, but Big Moose stops this and Big Bear takes off running, then Little Bear and Little Moose play baseball and it goes into a monologue with Little Bear who tells all of us that we should always tell a trusted adult if someone molests us.
Fortunately despite all the losers/lowlifes I knew, none of them were pedos (or if they were they must've preferred little girls instead) so hence my molestation free life and thanks to Big Bear/Little Bear I still maintain my healthy loathing for furries to this day.
On the "molester" side of things, I did get accused of sexual harassment a few times, but since it was middle school and high school, I think some of the girls were just blowing it out of proportion.
I came dangerously close to being charged with sexual harrassment in high school.
I doodled a lot in high school. Because, unfortunately, I had virtually no interest in anything. My drawings got me a lot of attention. And I liked the attention. Usually they were of gnomes smoking weed and frolicking around their mushroom villages in an awesome, psychedelic landscape. My suns were especially good.
Well, there was a girl named tiffany. A bit of a loudmouth and a ditz. A "friend" of mine comes up to me in math class and nudges me. "You should draw something sick!" He says.
"Of who?" I ask.
He motions at tiffany.
Fair enough, I think. So I draw tiffany getting fucked by a dog while she sucks off an old man. In a room full of used syringes and....
You know the drill. Wow, I haven't changed much. Unfortunately it. Came out really good. Like, it really looked tiffany. My friend grabs the pics and it starts getting passed around class, much to my horror.
When it finally gets to tiffany, the rest of the class is roaring with laughter
Tiffany, of course, bursts into tears, screaming, "Oh my god you guys, that is not funny!!"
And it really wasn't. My kindly old math teacher looks at the picture and bursts out, "whoever did this will get charged with harrassment!!!!!!!!!!!"
Well, no one told on me, amazingly. Even though everyone knew it was me.
Tiffany did tell her older bother, though. He proceeded to give me an ass whoooping after school ill never forget. My "friends" just stood around, frozen in terror as this jock pummeled my poor face. Chipped a tooth of mine and my nose never quite healed right. Looking back, that was a horrible year for me. A week later columbine went down. Living in colorado, it hit especially close to home.
The next Monday tiffany walked into class with a huge smile. "I just want everyone to know I had nothing to do with that."
When I picture her bursting into tears it still makes me feel like shit. But I have remind myself she got her revenge. And I never did anything like that again.
At first I read that as "meth class". Then I had to remind myself that even Chubby once posed as a member of normal society.
Moral of the story: Don't pick on chicks with big brothers or uncles named Bruiser.
I think I might have a dream tonight about the Wizard of Crack/Lich Lord Skeletor. There's something very evocative about him.
Rant to make this post worthy of this thread:
Last night I had a dream about Farmboy. Yes, that one. The one who left me sexually frustrated, which was extra sad given the fact that we were fucking like bunnies for two years straight. In the dream, though, he might as well have been anyone. He was trying to sell me plates from a lemonade stand. Maybe his generic characteristics in the dream were suggesting that I never really knew him, and maybe there was nothing to really know. The ego always believes that no one else is as real as itself. Just ask my dad. He's always assumed I was just a facet of his own personality, so it kind of freaked him out when I started making demands to do things that didn't involve him. Farmboy was like that in a way too: a total ego-case yet amazingly vacant. How does that even happen? I sort of miss his plaid shirts and his Old Spice aftershave. At least he had the decency to smell well. That is a non-negotiable criterion for me in the dating-and-humping world. I will not touch anyone with a ten foot pole who smells like a mulchy pigpen after the rainfall.
Speaking of dreams, I am, like, totally convinced that dreams do in fact offer clues to past lives. For instance, I know for certain that I was once an English gent who had both a grand pile in the country and a house in the city. In one dream I was playing polo. I knew all the rules, I could feel the horse beneath me, feel my virility and my power and perspiration oozing from every pore. The strange thing was that I didn't know a thing about the game of polo when I went to bed that night, yet come the morning, I had learned all the rules (verified on Wikipedia). Unfortunately, I later died in the London Blitzkrieg, which is why I go ape whenever I hear sirens.
Speaking of sirens, I was being menaced last week by a big red fire truck and of course I had the ill luck to be stuck on a narrow little street with a whole lotta clusterfuck going on and nowhere to hide. I drove by a cop who was gesticulating angrily at me, shouting, "STOOOPPP!!" I shouted back "I'm tryyyiinnnggg!" Why do so many cops have to be thuggy little assholes? He could see as clearly as the big potato nose on his face that there was nowhere in the immediate vicinity for me to go and that if I had in fact stoooppped at the moment he told me to, the engine would never have gotten by me. They'd have had to send the dalmatian ahead on foot with a hose wrapped around its tail while they worked on dynamiting me and my car off the road. (That's how they do it here in 'Chusetts, you see.)
Speaking of cops, I thought I was beginning to like them last year when I took a nasty fall on a railroad track of all things, and there just happened to be a cop right there to swoop me away in his big manly arms at the very moment a train was barreling forward to disembody me. He said, "You okay, buddy?" I'd never been called "buddy" before, and never since.
Speaking of being held in big manly arms, I insist upon being carried across the threshold on my wedding day.
Speaking of being carried across the threshold on my wedding day, look for more action in the immediate future on the "AnorexiVes" thread!
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