Last Build Date: Fri, 31 Jul 2009 18:40:40 GMTCopyright: NOINDEX
Fri, 31 Jul 2009 18:40:40 GMTLast night I was surfing the web and had the TV on mute. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a plumber bending over and animated green "stink smoke" coming out of his butt crack and the plumber behind him went crosseyed. Yep…that says BUTT ODORI had to rewind it to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I even said out loud "No effing way I just saw that", but I did. I saw a REAL commercial for a butthole spray! I don't even know what to say. I mean, where do I start? I guess first of all, I gotta say en garde, society! We have officially crossed into "Idiocracy" territory. Life has truly imitated art. "The years passed, mankind became stupider at a frightening rate. Some had high hopes the genetic engineering would correct this trend in evolution, but sadly the greatest minds and resources where focused on conquering hair loss and prolonging erections." We Americans will buy anything advertised on TV. I remember personally owning a Ronco Record Cleaner when I was a kid. It was this huge plastic monstrosity with a vertical slot that spun your record through a fan. ”The Ronco Mangler”Did it clean your LP's? Nope. Did it scratch them? Yep. Up until my late teens, I didn't know The Police's song "Wrapped Around Your Finger" had the lyrics "Mephistopheles is not your name" because my Ronco Record "cleaner" scratched my Synchronicity album! That was my first lesson in "caveat emptor", and the lesson was hard-learned because Synchronicity is quite possibly one of the best albums ever, or at least it was to me in 1983. I can't remember ever buying anything 'as Seen On TV" after that. Through the years, there have been countless things advertised that we Americans just HAVE to own. Common sense has nothing to do with these purchases. Our impulsive nature compels us to believe that a Thighmaster will get our asses in shape, even though if we just stopped to think about it, it was a stupid concept. But no, we had to order it, use it for a day, THEN decide that Suzanne Somers was full of shit and throw that cheap piece of junk in a closet. We made George Foreman a millionaire. We believed that we could eat healthy and lose weight by “knocking out the fat” if we purchased the George Foreman Grill. I’ll repeat this: We took some FAT, bald, washed-up boxer’s advice that we could be healthy and lean if we bought his product. And you know what? We bought it. But hey, at least that thing actually cooks your food. It’s not totally useless like BluBlocker sunglasses. We are so mesmerized by commercials, that we have spent MILLIONS of the ugliest sunglasses ever produced just because we were told they “Block all of the UV light and all of the blue light so colors such as red and green are more vibrant!” We’re so stupid that we think that walking around looking through yellow lenses is the way to go. I mean, when’s the last time you said “Fucking blue light! There’s got to be a way all this calming, beautiful color can be eradicated from my sight”? And yet, you knew what I was talking about. I’ll bet money you didn’t have to google BluBlocker, and I think it would be safe to say you have been curious at one point in your life what it would be like to see so “clearly”.”These thangs are FAN-CY. Take mah picture!”My grandfathers post-cataract surgery glasses are awesomely cool compared to these things, and they’re actually polarized to block out harmful UV rays, not “harmful colors that you didn’t know were harmful until some schmuck TV told you so”. So yes, we’ll buy anything. We believe that what used to be called the “cathode ray nipple” told us. (“Plasma Nipple” just doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?) We made a star out of Billy Mays, a man who by all accounts should have died in obscurity. Instead, his demise overshadowed the deaths of an accomplished and respected actor like David Carradine, a pop culture icon like Farrah Fawcett, or whoever else died that week who’s name escapes me, but has more cred than Billy “Full Volume” Mays. (This has been the summer of de[...]
Thu, 28 May 2009 20:50:07 GMTSomething funny happened yesterday. Someone wrote me to tell me that “I'm gonna go ahead and remove you from here. We are just Facebook friends, not friends in real life, so I think that's ok.” (I made a harmless sarcastic comment on a song quote they posted, and they took offense to it.) That didn’t bother me at all, but it made me wonder why this person didn’t just delete me without any fanfare. Oh, I see. They had to tell me why: “I hid your posts a few months ago because some of it is so bitter it makes me squirm. I know you have a sucky life story so I leave space for that. I don't like snarky things on my page though. That hurt my feelings. It's not the first time. Take care!” At that point, I WELCOMED this passive-aggressive wimp to erase me. They had their precious feelings hurt, so they had to make an attempt to make me feel bad about myself, then have the balls to tell me to “take care”. You know what? Eat shit. I got it, you find me offensive! You don’t wanna associate with me. Big deal, I’m not hurt so don’t try and start some sort of incendiary dialogue with me by listing my perceived faults and sugar coat it with "take care", because you will definitely not like me after I deconstruct you. I told them nicely that I wasn’t upset, and to please just erase me if I make them feel bad. After all, no one needs to associate with anyone that bums them out. I can totally understand that. I told them that judging by their reaction, I’m glad I didn’t comment on something they wrote the day before, or their head would have exploded. Oops, I forgot I was dealing with a sensitive titty-baby, and they took it as some sort of jab at them personally and just HAD to write me back to say “Man that was a low blow. I'm sitting here stunned still”. Oh Jeezy Creezy….just switch off already!Sit there stunned all you want, drama girl. Just don't share it with me. I’m not shy. I’m not reserved. I say what I think and feel, and I don’t give a damn if some people don’t like some of the things I say. I know a lot of people say that for different reasons without really meaning it. Some say it just so they can have an excuse to be a total dick for no reason other than to just be a dick. Others say it so they can project the image of being tough or cool. I say it because I honestly DON'T care if people don’t like my worldview. I invite anyone who gets offended by my cynicism, my occasionally salty language or my candor to just erase me from their lists. If you are easily offended, then we probably don’t need to pretend we’re friends. There are several people in my life that don’t take the rawness of my viewpoints as a personal affront to them. I am not a cookie-cutter type of personality. I’m an alpha-type and I’m a survivor, and I married an alpha-type and a survivor. I don’t live blindly in a rose-tinted world of rainbows and lollipops and I don’t bury my head in the sand and eat whatever I’m fed. Because of that, I point out the ridiculousness that we Americans are surrounded by. Sometimes I feel like Roddy Piper in "They Live". All I'm trying to do is stay sane and get people to put the goddamn sunglasses on every once & a while! I am full of as much love and compassion as I am with disdain for idiocy and injustice. Just because I point out the fallacy of our world doesn’t make me a bad and constantly negative person. If you always plug your ears to the things you don’t want to hear, you’re doing yourself a great disservice. You are not a complete person, you are a faker and you will crack some day. You can’t live your life without the balance of the good and the bad, trust me. If you are one of those people that want to go through life without being challenged, then be my guest. I just am not one of those people. I’ve been through hell, but [...]
Thu, 30 Apr 2009 21:29:15 GMTI just went to Richland College to get my transcripts during lunch, and it turned out being a continuation of the theme of “Silas’ spring of 2009”. I say “theme” because all of the huge things that I have experienced in my life can be categorized into themes or eras. There’s the “Burying Mom era”, the “Raising Alex and Tony era”, the “Action Man era”, the ”When I first met Amy era “ and so forth. When I look back and reflect on my accomplishments, the hurdles, the highs, the lows, the ups & downs, I get a certain feeling that I attribute to the themes and eras of those days. Are ya followin’ me? So yeah, the theme of my spring of 2009 is all about “change”. I am constantly evolving and changing, as we hopefully all do, and I always look back in appreciation of another page turned. However unlike in the past, this spring has been rife with a lot of deliberate changes and conscious decisions to make those changes happen. I’m a person that is pretty used to his life being shaken up in major ways every few years or so. In ’95 I buried my best friend Justin, in ’97 I buried Dad, in ’99 I buried Echo, in ’02 I buried Mom and adopted my nephews, in ’04 they ran away, and later that year I went off the deep end and became Action Man. Of course in May of ’05 I met Amy. All of those events changed my life in huge ways, and yet they were all events beyond my control (besides becoming a raging karaokeing alcoholic roller derby refereeing dating machine). All of those are eras that I remember fondly and cringe about at the same time. I consider the last 4 years since I met Amy an era unto itself. Although we have gone through so many individual challenges together with her contracting and finally being diagnosed with Dystonia (www.shakeyamy.org), rescuing and adopting dogs, getting married, learning how two Alpha-Types can nurture a symbiotic unity and all that stuff, I have experienced it all with Amy by my side, so I look at it and feel it as a single era: The era of my true adulthood. The strange thing to me is that it’s been FOUR YEARS of this era, and in the back of my mind I can’t help but think “What’s next”? My life has by no means gone stale, quite far from it. I’m just so used to major changes that occur beyond my control that I don’t know how to handle things when they are running so smoothly! SO….I knew the only thing I could do to feel like my life was balanced was to MAKE major changes happen and to shake my own life up. I have always been very adept at rising to the challenges thrown my way and overcoming major obstacles in my path. It’s all I know how to do. Because of this, I have no patience for people that whine. Someone always has it worse than you, trust me…I’ve been the one that had it worse than you. Job sucks? Try planning a funeral. Your boyfriend or girlfriend doesn’t like the stuff you do? Yeah, try having yours leave you a month after telling your dying mother they would always be there for you. You get my point. Anyway, we all have it in us, whether we know it or not. The best advice I can ever give my fellow human beings who become discouraged in life is “You never know exactly what you can accomplish until you have no choice but to do it. You’ll be amazed by what you can do once you’re shoved out of your comfort zone”. That’s not a plagiarized quote, that’s a nugget of hard-earned wisdom I have gained from my experiences. So anyway, since life wasn’t throwing me any life-changing curveballs, I decided to throw myself a few. This was exactly what I needed to make me feel like myself again, and not some lucky bastard that was cruising through life without a care in the world. First on the agenda: start my damn website! I’ve been talking about creating one for a whil[...]
Tue, 28 Apr 2009 22:21:08 GMTI just realized I get my 2 month sobriety chip tonight at my AA meeting. Meh. I guess I should be excited or feel like I accomplished something, but that’s not the case. I’m more curious as to what color the chip is because I’m tired of looking at the red one on my keychain. I’m beginning to think it isn't very healthy to track the date when I stopped smoking pot or when I had my last drink. In the end, I just don’t think how long you have stayed sober really matters at all, only that you are sober. Of course, I’m saying that for me and not the people in my group. To many of those folks, it really matters. I really enjoy my AA group (White Rock), mainly because it’s comprised of people that live in my ‘hood”, and it’s an interesting mix of young and old. Everyone is cool in their own right, and there is ZERO douchebaggery to be found. Each and every one of them is also a true addict. Not just someone like me who merely decided to attend AA meetings because drinking was getting in the way of their life, but people that hit absolute rock bottom and have fucked their life up seemingly beyond repair. I have heard some crazy stories around the table, and I am thankful that I don’t have an addictive personality like that. There is a VERY cool young lady who just turned 17 last week, and celebrated her THIRD year of sobriety. Before you do the math, factor in the years she was using and boozing before she hit her rock bottom! Now tell yourself “holy shit”. I am thankful for her. I’m thankful for the fastidious little man who has been coming to AA meetings for 25 years, and always leads off with “I was brought to my first AA meeting in an ambulance”. I am thankful for the sweet guy that always sits next to me that lost 200 lbs after gastric bypass surgery, and has just found the strength to admit he was an alcoholic and a homosexual after a lifetime of his Mormon upbringing making him completely hate himself. I’m glad I’m able to share space with these amazing people. Yes they are flawed, but so am I. They help me realize that I’m flawed, too. While I’m not near as severe of a case as many of them, I am still an alcoholic. It’s all just a matter of degree. In this instance, it truly is a case of black and white. You are or you aren’t, and I AM. Anyway, I just don’t see the point of tracking the exact date of when I took my last drink. I enjoy the camaraderie and group therapy that AA provides, I just don’t subscribe to every single tenet of the program. And I think that’s totally OK. I am there for my reasons and not anyone else’s. I have read “The Big Book”, I’ve studied the steps, and I attend weekly. I came in with an open mind, and I have seen what I like and dislike about AA. I can’t say I really dislike anything about it except for the emphasis on GOD, especially reciting the Lord’s Prayer at the end. It makes me uncomfortable. Finding my higher power was the easy part because God is everywhere, but holding hands and saying the Lord’s Prayer is hard for me to do because I don’t believe in it. I don’t like the creepy feeling of “faking the funk”, and I am acutely aware that I am doing so every time I perform that little ritual. I think it’s because it’s such a dichotomy. On one hand, step 3 is to “Make a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God”, but then we end every meeting with a Biblical prayer! It’s hard enough for an agnostic to actually search for God to help him when he KNOWS he can help himself, but it’s another thing to just end up having it just be about Christ in the end. I don’t want that. I was raised with that shit all of my life, and I don’t want it invading my life again. I went to Bible Camp two times a summer and know the scriptures back to front, and that's why I'm NOT a Christian. So yeah, I DO know what the hell I'm saying, and I know I don’t want to have my life in the hands of “Gods [...]
Mon, 23 Mar 2009 21:25:09 GMTAlthough “My Road Ro Sobriety: Part III” is half-written, I feel the need to put it on ice for a few more days in order to cleanse my palate. Although this is somewhat related to my sobriety, I’m in no mood for tellin’ stories. I feel like tellin’ OFF. So I’m working on 4 weeks of sobriety. For some, that’s a major accomplishment. For me, it’s not so hard. I am not missing being drunk, hangovers, etc. However, I AM missing a way to cope with my extreme form of cynicism and distaste for stupid people. I have never been a person that has suffered fools gladly. They don’t bother me as much if I can erase the memory of them and how I react to the asinine behavior of the public-at-large in a haze of the effects of sweet, sweet hooch. Since I can’t drink these irritating things away, I now have to deal with them. This is my challenge of my sobriety, and my way is to write about it. I have to get this shit outta my head, or I’ll slip into the old skin of “Cranky Asshole Silas”. I don’t like that guy so much. So yeah, writing cranky things is merely a harmless release, BEING a cranky asshole is just plain douchebaggery. So with that, I decided to go to Northpark Mall by myself yesterday. My mother-in-law stayed with us all weekend, and after being so accommodating and sober I was in the mood to make fun of people asnd gather fodder for some writing. Northpark is a great place to do that, because the majority of its patrons have no idea what it’s like to live in reality. It’s proximity to Highland Park insures that it will always be full of white people that have no concept of self awareness. They are the type to look to their left, then their right and adjust themselves in accordance to their peers. No matter what their age is, they are all jumping someone else’s train. I was in the mood to rip on those people, and I brought a pen and notepad. I wanted to surround myself with them, to be the subversive grain of sand in the desert of their retail oblivion…and buy some shoes. That was my thread of commonality, my way of saying “carry on, don’t notice me noticing you”. After all, you don’t infiltrate an enemy camp not be willing to wear their uniform. Or something like that.Instead of writing a story, I think I’ll just give the rants.The Ed Hardy Store: You will never find a worse hive of trendy scum co-opting a culture that was never theirs to take. I love tattoos. LOVE ‘EM. I love the art, I love the culture, I love looking at them, and I love getting them. I just love everything about them. Five years ago, I loved Ed Hardy and Sailor Jerry Designs, and I even own a few “vintage” pieces of clothing from both. Not because of the brand, but because I loved the art. I only purchased and wore designs that were unique, and I was sure I would be the only person wearing it. Yeah, I’m so cool. But seriously, I still have them, but you’ll never catch me dead wearing them. Know why? Take a stroll into the Ed Hardy store and your question will be answered. First of all, it’s full dufus. That’s right, chock full of Grade-A DUFUS. The patrons are clueless, you have to be if you’re shelling out $80 for a threadbare t-shirt that says “Love Kills”. What do you know about that, Junior? Tell me how your 15 year-old ass knows a goddamn thing about how love kills? Oh, that’s right. You don’t. I got a clue for ya, tough guy. GET A REAL TATTOO, you fuck. Not some clichéd piece of clothing just because has a tough dagger on it. Ugh, and the stuff has some douchey designers name on it, too. It says “Ed Hardy, by Christian Audiger” or something like that. All that says in MY mind is “Bad Ass Motherfucker, by Sissy Boy”. Second of all, holy fuck the art is TERRIBLE! They don’t even TRY to make cool looking art for those piece of shit clothes anymore! The just throw that brand on it, put some shitty bulldog on the front in gold foil, and cha-CHING! People don’t gi[...]
Tue, 17 Mar 2009 17:16:46 GMTSo my first chapter in my adult life ended with losing my co-pilot to an affliction that I didn’t suffer from: drug addiction. After all, I didn’t do drugs, I just like to get drunk. I identified I didn’t want to be a loser like Justin was, and I certainly didn’t have a death wish. I was a happy person by nature, and just wanted to enjoy my life and have fun. Only now, I wanted to move forward, get out of my rut, and move up in the world. As Hunter S. said, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro”, so I quit Dave and Busters and stepped on up to run my own bar. I found an opportunity to build and run a new local bar from the ground-up. The owners of a small country & western lesbian bar off of Henderson were looking to get into the business of running a local Tavern. Yes, I said, “country & western lesbian bar”. It was called “Desert Moon, it had no windows, and I suspect had never seen a beautiful woman brighten it’s door. Anyway, it was by providence we found each other. I saw an ad for a new bar looking for a bartender, so I drove on down to meet them. After I heard what they were doing to the place, I offered several solutions and ideas on how they could turn the place into a thriving local watering hole, not unlike what The Barley House around the corner was. They liked my attitude (suckers!), and were refreshed by my bright ideas and apparent know-how. I walked out of that interview as their new manager and pseudo-partner with all of the glory and none of the profit. (yet.) I waited tables to stay afloat while I spend 6 days a week painting, planning, and basically remodeling this dank little bar inbetween the I-75 service road and Henderson. Finally in the early summer of 2006 Vickery Place Tavern was open for business, and I was a full-fledged proprietor of my “own” bar. I immediately did the most dastardly thing I could by declaring Tuesdays “$1 pint night”, much to the ire of The Barley House who held “$2 Pint Night”. I basically saw what they were doing, undercut their prices, and gave the people something different: Cheap beer, NO Alt-Country horseshit on the jukebox, and whatever they felt like watching on the big screen projector. I made a solemn oath to never have the Jukebox in my bar plugged in again. I set up a blackboard with music requests, and would bring music from my collection to appease the patrons. It was a winning idea. My next feat was to utilize the dance floor in the back of the place. I can’t remember how I came up with the idea, but Space Rock Thursdays were born. Transona Five were my unofficial house band, with Trailer Park heading up the rear. The space was PERFECT for the droning shoegazing tunes those bands played, and so I found myself with two nights that were a lock. I enjoyed my new freedom to do and say what I wanted to customers after 4 years of working behind a corporate bar. The biggest perks were that I could drink with my patrons, and smoke behind the bar. That may seem like no big deal, but to me it was awesome. I was really on top of the world, folks. I could drink, smoke, curse, refuse service, give away liquor, and the best of all have FRIDAYS and SATURDAYS OFF since the owner worked the weekends. So not only was it the best of the bartending world, I also enjoyed the perks of a “regular job” with my weekends free! Well, that freedom went to my head. Since there were no checks and balances against the things I would do, there was no way of identifying that I was truly enjoying what I did. I became very surly and cocksure, and frankly didn’t ever stoop to the level of treating people nicely. The initial success of the bar began to wane. At that time, I was not fully aware of the “fickle 500” concept. For those of you not familiar with it, it goes something like this: The Fickle 500 are an amorphous group of “pretty people” (or in my case, hipsters) that descend on a new venue, and t[...]
Wed, 11 Mar 2009 22:01:39 GMTAs of February 26th 2009, it’s been two weeks since I’ve had a drink, and so far I don’t miss it. Of course, I still find myself wondering what to do in certain situations where I used to have a beer in my hand, but it’s just a 2 second attitude adjustment and all of the sudden it’s not an issue. Drinking has been a huge part of who I am as a person since I was about 18 years old. I love to drink. I always have. I love to get drunk and silly. I never tried to fool myself with any horseshit like “I love the taste” or any nonsense like that. I have always freely admitted I like to get blotto. Of course I DO love the taste of a good beer or a stiff cocktail, but I never lied to myself and tried to justify why I drank with any lofty reasoning. I never let the thought cross my mind that I may have had a drinking problem. In my teens I was just an amateur, just testing the boozy waters as it were. I liked drinking, but it wasn’t really “my thing”. My love affair with pot and LSD was far too strong (and easily attained) to really do any drinking of note. Alcohol was a pain in the ass to obtain, it was way too obvious to enjoy without the specter of being busted, most the people that I knew that drank were boorish and obnoxious, and frankly the effects paled in comparison to the star-spangled splendor of good clean blotter acid. Beer was pointless when you’re sitting in the dark with headphones on in your room in mom’s house. Once I lost my connection to buying tickets to the weird world of LSD (and I got old enough to look 21), I continued smoking copious amounts of ganja and graduated to the sophisticated art of drinking.In my 20’s, I was a serious drinker. We’re talking World Champion Drinker®. My roommate Justin and I were two boozehounds with a special kinship that hinged on our affinity for the sauce and our abiding love of good times. When we first moved in together in 1992, I rode a motorcycle that immediately broke as soon as we got our apartment. He used to have to pick me up from my waiting job at On The Border in the West End so we could get our drink on. At the time, we had a fondness for “Nazis From Hell” which was a shot that consisted of a now shudder-inducing mix of Jagermeister and Rumpleminze. Being 20, we had not yet graduated from the “drinking shit with a stupid name” school of boozery. The shot was layered in a fluted glass, with the Jager floating on the *gag* Rumpleminze. When he would arrive to pick me up from work, he would have an Igloo Li’l Playmate cooler with one bottle of each over ice, with two of the requisite printed Jager glasses. (Imbibing from the “right glassware” was a testament to our growing love of paraphernalia). We’d do a few, and get our evening started. This was a comfortable ritual. When the glasses inevitably broke, well…we just took a slug of each before swallowing. We drank these putrid shots because we wanted to get our swerve on before going to get DRUNK. We also fooled ourselves into thinking we were saving money, although in hindsight I think we spent more on the bottles than we would at any bar that would let us in at 20 years old. However, when I turned 21, it was ON.I remember my 21st birthday very well. Anyone’s 21st birthday is really the only milestone that you can celebrate until you turn 30. Like a small girl that would comb her Barbie’s hair and daydream about her Sweet Sixteen, I envisioned my 21st birthday would be a magical evening filled with a delicious freedom and an unquenchable thirst for drinks I never had the balls to order before. Justin and I started out at The Lizard Lounge, the reason being that we were ejected for underage drinking on the preceding weekend. I wanted to go there first not so much get revenge on them, but more to atone for the embarrassment of being treated like a schlub in front of complete strangers. Not to mention the fir[...]
Wed, 11 Feb 2009 20:55:22 GMTThere has been an overwhelming demand for me to write my true ghost story for all to read. It happened about 23 years ago during my freshman year. Excuse me while I take a moment to weep for the proximity of my youth vs. the present….*sigh*OK, I need to set the scene for you. I grew up in Carrollton. We moved there in 1976 when I was only 5. I lived on the Southeast corner of Josey and Trinity Mills on a street called Hightrail. When we moved there, it was pretty much undeveloped. It was a burgeoning little town in those days. With the exception of a 7-11 and a Buddies/Winn Dixie store there wasn’t much to it. On the Northeast corner of Josey & Trinity Mills was a huge field of scrub and mesquite trees on the edge of what could be construed as a valley of sorts. When we moved to Carrollton, it was undeveloped and unremarkable. Then in about 1980 when I was 9, a huge sign was erected on Trinity Mills that declared it was to be called Nob Hill and was to be developed with Fox & Jacobs homes. It was quickly developed into an area with steep, winding streets and homes much larger than ours. Once it was done and the houses were filled, it was dubbed Snob Hill, as evidenced by the spray-painted “S” in the sign. (Which oddly remained that way for quite a while.) I never knew anyone that lived there, I only knew that it had the BEST street sledding you could find. The “for sale” signs that were interspersed around the perimeter of the development made perfect makeshift sleds (since they don’t even SELL those things in Texas), and the streets were fairly empty and very steep. So there you go…(s)Nob Hill. Fast-forward to 5th grade. I began hearing spooky stories about Nob Hill from my older cousins (who lived 4 houses away from us) and my neighborhood friends. I was too young to grasp the concept of Urban Legends, so I believed the whole “It happened to a friend of a cousin of a friend” premise that perpetuated these oral “histories”. The first thing I heard was that the house at the top of the hill was haunted. The house in question looked eerily like the two-story house from Psycho, so it made perfect sense to me that it would be haunted. I don’t remember any specific stories about how it was haunted, but from there it evolved into “Nob Hill is haunted”, and that it was built on a graveyard. Despite the fact that there was fucking graveyard there when we moved to Carrollton, it still gave me the heebie-jeebies. In hindsight, I should have realized the correlation between that nonsense and the then-current movie “Poltergeist”. Although I was entertained and a bit unnerved by the things said about Nob Hill, I didn’t refuse to pass through it on my bike. Perhaps my cynicism began at an early age. In 6th grade, I finally met someone that actually lived there. His name escapes me at the moment. No, wait. I think it was a dude named Kenny. I met him at The Galleria Townhomes (where my mom’s then-boyfriend lived) on the opposite side of Nob Hill on Frankford road. Anyway, he claimed that he and his family used to live there and were forced to move out due to inexplicable goings-on that resulted in physical harm to their family members. I remember the guy being kind of a tool, but his stories were mighty convincing. The first event was quite bizarre, but the second event was downright SCARY. Event number 1: One night they were woken up by the sounds of his baby brother screaming from his crib. Not just a regular crying sound, but a blood-curdling screaming. He said he remembered his mother shouting “Oh my God!” which prompted the whole family to come running. What they found was the baby completely covered head-to-toe in black ants. I mean, completely covered. Ants were in the crib, on the wall next to it, and on the baby. They rushed the baby into the bathroom to rinse the ants off, all the while the baby[...]
Thu, 15 Jan 2009 22:55:18 GMTIf you are reading this, you’re probably an old friend from another life. I don’t know if anyone ever wondered what happened to me, but no matter when the last time you saw me was, I can say without a doubt that my life has been absolutely crazy since I last spoke with you. For the sake of brevity, I’m gonna omit most of the early to mid-90’s, which mainly consisted of bartending, lots of smoking, booze, concerts, and experiences being a fun-loving single guy. Good times, bad times. I lost the best friend any person could ever ask for Justin to an unfortunate heroin overdose; A scene I never got into, thank God. He was my brother and a beautiful partner in crime who died way too damn young. Also, for those who are wondering, I quit speaking to Adam Parker about 15 years ago. He did something VERY bad to me, and I decided that my life was worth a hell of a lot more than that psychic vampires, and I was going to BE somebody. Anyway, let’s skip past those chapters. They're mile-long stories unto themselves.Alright, the long & short of it is that my whole family has passed away. My dad Gary died in ’96, my sister (and only sibling) Echo got hit by a UPS truck in ’99, and my mom Barbara succumbed to Hepatitis-C in August of 2002. Some of you may remember my mom, and how cool she was. She was definitely the best friend and confidante I have ever known. She was ill for quite a while, and lived sick for over 10 years. She finally took a bad turn and ended up hospitalized until I had to pull the plug on her. That moment changed my life completely. What made it even more life changing was that she had custody my twin nephews after Echo passed away. Well guess who was next in line to raise them? Yeah, ME! Talk about WEIRD! Here I was; bartending, having a blast, being a semi-young single guy with a sweet place on Worth & Fitzhugh, and then I was immediately a PARENT to twin 14 year old boys. Well, as soon as I took the twins, my girlfriend at the time dumped me because she didn’t want to deal with my family problems. It actually ended up being a very good thing. After my mom died, life got pretty bad. I was already bitter and cynical, and it all finally came to a head shortly afterward. Raising the boys was cool for about maybe the first year, then the teenage crap started happening with the rebellion and all that nonsense. I tried to teach them about good music, and how to be themselves without being trendy. You know, all the crap I wished someone would have taught me when I was 15. Yeah, whatever. They still ended up treating me pretty badly, and at the time I couldn’t understand why. I thought I was a hero, but they didn’t see it that way. They were just doing what comes naturally as a teenager. Everything my mother said about “just you wait until you have your own kids” was true, and boy did it come back to haunt me! I never asked anyone for any help, and just I did it alone. I won’t lie and say it was a breeze. It ended up taking its toll on me, and I had a bad panic attack one day and was hospitalized. Looking back, I'm not surprised. I took on a lot of responsibility blindly, but I did it because I loved those boys. But I will say I’m glad for the experience, no matter how hard and scary it was. They’re both 22 now, and living their lives. While I am not too thrilled at their choices in life, I have grown to have the wisdom to know that their choices are their own to make. I raised them to the best of my limited ability and treat them with love and respect, which is all a child ever wants. I am now very close with them again, and since they've been living in the real world they have come to appreciate everything I did and tried to do for them. They both call me their hero, which means more to me than I could possibly express. I did my mom and my sister proud, it just took longer t[...]
Fri, 19 Dec 2008 17:01:26 GMTDuggar Family Welcomes 18th (!) Child
Wed, 17 Dec 2008 21:45:20 GMTSince the late 80's, I have always been a big Bongwater fan. They mainly consisted of the duo of Kramer (Of Butthole Surfers, Shockabilly, and B.A.L.L. fame) and Ann Magnuson ("Making Mr. Right" with John Malkovich, Anything But Love, etc). Their sometimes-drummer Dave Licht recently did the music for the show "Dexter", which is pretty cool. Anyway, their album "Double Bummer" is an unforgiving piece of psychedelic weirdness that I absolutely loved back in my acid-soaked days. It was heavy with weird samples that to this day, I am still discovering. One of the batches of samples that were very prominent were these ones with this little kid saying all these twisted and dark things. At the time I thought it sounded like Howie Mandel doing his baby voice (hey, that was fresh in the 80's), but the things he was saying had weird ominous Christian overtones. Their cover of Roky Erickson's "You Don't Love Me Yet" began with the sample "If you don't get saved, you're gonna go to hell! Aww, I shouldn't have said that. Daddy got up and began chasing me around the room!" as this really beautiful song gained momentum. Another had this sample "Aww, I hurt so bad! Markie? Are you ready to see Jesus?" that just freaked me right out.Anyway, I never knew what those were from until about 3 years ago. I completely forgot about it until I broke out my old Bongwater CD's this week and was reminded to dive in and look for some samples of the dude that did this voice. The voice is "Li'l Markie".Lil' Markie is a character created by evangelical Christian Mark Fox. He sings the good word in a high-pitched voice that supposed to sound like what I assume to be a duck-child, but it's just creepy. I gotta say, this is this most extreme thing I've ever heard as far as weirdo over-the-top Christian music goes. It's essentially a full grown man with a munchkin voice, singing terrifying songs about drug use, abortion and being a fat kid that fill the listener with a profound sense of dread, horror, and disgust. The worst/best song is probably "Diary of an Unborn Fetus", in which Markie sings from the point of view of an pre-aborted fetus. Listening to one of these songs is kind of like watching a train wreck, you want to look away but you just can't. Listen at your own risk. Words can't even begin to describe the freak show you will witness if you click that link. The other one is an uplifting story of him being killed by his alcoholic father rightly entitled "Story Of An Alcoholic Father... Something's Happened To Daddy"Now...if that wasn't creepy enough. You should SEE the guy! He doesn't even use a puppet, he just changes his voice into this THING! Hearing that terrifying voice coming from this yellow sweater, Wal-Mart pants and douche-mullet combo is the stuff of nightmares. I guess if I hadn't been so haunted by the samples for the last 20 years, it would be funnier. This guy actually exists, and it's not a joke or tongue in cheek! This is the aural equivalent of a Jack Chick tract. I love this world sometimes. It so interesting. Oh, by the way. I have the whole the album now. Whenever I want to feel completely uncomfortable, I'll just pop on my copy of "Music To Serve The Lord By"[...]
Thu, 30 Oct 2008 16:13:01 GMTI don't even have the proper words to introduce this big ball of 80's wrongness that has been stuffed into the musket of my memory.
Thu, 30 Oct 2008 15:35:14 GMTLet's face it, you know who you're voting for. You know the game, you know how this whole thing works. These "undecided voters" don't exist. You knew before these debates, and nothing you heard Obama or McFudd say swayed your decision otherwise. If anything, it only made you dislike the opposing candidate more. Who won the debates? That depends on who you already decided you were voting for! While entertaining, there was nothing in them you hadn't heard before. I mean NOTHING.
Fri, 17 Oct 2008 19:02:06 GMTLeah, you might appreciate this. LOL I woke up with the clucking Easter Bunny in my head, and it's been torturing me to madness all day! I hoped seeing the video would help me get it out of my head, but now I just keep watching it and laughing because I love this commercial.
Tue, 02 Sep 2008 19:31:40 GMTThought you guys might wanna read about something Amy had been able to do while she's on disability. Read on.....
Wed, 27 Aug 2008 21:24:55 GMTI can't stop watching this video! Not only is it a pro-art PSA, but it's very cleverly written. Guten-TAAAAAG!
Tue, 19 Aug 2008 21:42:57 GMTThis is pretty rare that Dystonia and other movement disorders get widespread attention, but ABC is showing the program "Medical Mysteries" tonight, Tuesday, August 19th at 9 p.m. CST , and the subject of the show is Spasmodic Dysphonia! (The type of vocal Dystonia that Diane Rehm from NPR has.) Although this show doesn't specifically deal with most of the other types of Focal Dystonia, it's definitely a start. The main types of Focal Dystonia are:Cervical Dystonia (Spasmodic Torticollis). This affects the muscles of the neck, causing the head to rotate to one side, to pull down towards the chest, or back, or a combination of these postures. Amy suffers from this typeGeneralized dystonia. This affects most of the body, frequently involving the legs and back.Amy suffers from this type as wellBlepharospasm. This affects the muscles around the eyes. The sufferer experiences rapid blinking of the eyes or even their forced closure causing effective blindness. Amy suffers from this type occasionally, but it is usually due to pain and hasn't been diagnosed with it specificallyOromandibular Dystonia. This affects the muscles of the jaw and tongue, causing distortions of the mouth and tongue. Amy suffers from this type in her sleep after a bad day of storms. Usually awakening to a bloody mouth from biting her tongueSpasmodic Dysphonia/Laryngeal Dystonia. This affects the muscles of the larynx, causing the voice to sound broken or reducing it to a whisper. Which is what tonight's show is aboutYou can go to ABCNews. com during the show for your chance to be the doctor and diagnose a disease. You know Shakey Amy & I will be spitting some facts on this website since we're veritable Dystonia experts at this point.This is a great opportunity for you to share this publicity with friends and family. Having others see a mainstream TV show about Dystonia will certainly lend weight to what you may have already told others after attending IWBAR and educating yourself (perhaps for the 1st time) about Dystonia! Read the corresponding article on abcnews. com.Although this show doesn't specifically deal with most of the types of Focal Dystonia that Shakey Amy suffers from, it's definitely a start. Amy & I have an extended family of Dystonia/Dysphonia sufferers in our support group that we care very deeply for, so all types of General and Focal Dystonia being televised nationally is a very exciting thing for us. After all, you knew nothing about it until IWBAR. Please watch and/or record this important program and educate yourself about it.Amy said it best at IWBAR: You all KNOW someone with Dystonia, it's just that you or they might not know it yet". It doesn't get any truer than that.We welcome your thoughts on it if you watched it, and feel free to ask me any questions you may have afterward. Amy & I are experts on Dystonia, as well as the heads of media relations for the Greater Dallas Dystonia and Dysphonia Support Group! Thanks, everyone.[...]
Wed, 16 Jul 2008 22:17:19 GMT5:10 The alarm clock went off much too early. This won’t do. *snooze*5:18 As I pour the big box of quartz crystals out onto the blanket I laid out on the sidewalk, I notice some of them on the left are colored pink, the ones that spill out into the middle are white, and the ones on the right are a brownish-orange. On closer inspection, I realize they are boneless chicken wings. As I wonder why the man at the shop would sell me spicy chicken pieces with my rocks, I begin to become increasingly aware of an extremely annoying sound.5:20 The alarm clock drones on while my probing fingers search for the elusive “off” button. As I throw a leg over one side of the bed and shake the fog of the boneless wing and rocks dream from my head, I realize what day it is and what will happen in a couple of hours. Today is the surgery. 5:31 As I begin the daily ritual of making our morning coffee the consistency of motor oil, a notion hits me. Amy can’t drink coffee before her surgery. The realization that our morning ritual of copious amounts of Java, petting the dogs, and listening to NPR will differ from the norm, and I begin to let myself think of the gravity of the word “change”. This is different, our morning will be different, and starting today…LIFE will be different. I decide to wake Amy, not knowing what to say since I can’t coax her from the bed with promises of fresh coffee. At least she has her cigarettes. Wait, we are supposed to stop smoking today too. Damn.5:50 I come out of the shower to the smell of tobacco permeating the air. We have a fresh pack to get through, who are we to just throw it away? The decision has been made for me: we’ll smoke ‘em while we got ‘em. Later, we quit. I like her decision, and I don’t argue with her.6:40 Without much fanfare we head off to Vista Hospital. In the car, we are silent. I ask Amy what she’s thinking, and she makes a humming sound. I say “How do you feel?” with a tone that suggests I am expecting her to say “nervous’ or “excited”. She simply says “eerily calm”. I can dig it.7:30 She is in her gown and paper hairnet thingy, and we’re sitting in the bright pre-op cattle pen, and she is smiling. Despite the old woman moaning in the bed across from us, all of our feelings of apprehension or fear have seemingly melted away. She is excited and chatty, and I follow her lead. We have waited so long for this moment, and now its here. She is beautiful, and I begin getting really teary-eyed. I begin to see our future in her eyes and her excited smile. The thought of Amy getting that sweet, sweet relief makes me laugh and cry. She just purses her lips and says “I Love You”. 7:50 The neurosurgeon that will be assisting Dr. Sloan introduces himself. I immediately like the guy. He’s older and has a sense of humor, and has an air about him that suggests this will be a piece of cake. The Medtronic rep comes in with Amy’s actual pump and catheter in boxes, and it’s as if she’s holding the Holy Grail. She showed us all a demo of the pump, and we get to fondle it and check it out. Then the neurosurgeon told her to bare her “Elvis pelvis” and placed the pump on her abdomen and marked where it will go, all the while smiling and joking. All this activity is really positive and gives us the feeling that this procedure is gonna be a breeze. The rep is bubbly and answered all of our questions, and we were feelin’ good. She says the procedure takes about an hour. I believe her.8:10 Dr Sloan comes in, and he & Amy make tons of jokes. He announces he’s “ready to rock”, and leaves us t[...]
Wed, 09 Jul 2008 17:12:09 GMTTeam Robot is proud to announce we have the official poster design with the
Tue, 08 Jul 2008 17:14:28 GMTHey boys & girls. I can't believe IWBAR is in ONE MONTH! This thing has grown from a germ of an idea to something very real, and quite frankly HUGE! There has been so much hard work done by everyone involved, it's staggering. Believe it or not, we've actually got things almost under control. The tickets have been printed, the poster design has been chosen, and so has the t-shirt design! the posters and shirts will have all the bands and donating artists names on it. S'gonna be pretty cool.
Thu, 26 Jun 2008 19:31:41 GMTBy now, just about everyone should know who Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church are, right? You know, the froot loops that picket every single fucking thing in the world with (ironically) rainbow-colored signs that say nonsense liek "God Hates Fags" and "Soldiers Die: God Laughs", etc. They usually pull this shit at funerals. Yeah, they're an intellegent, fun-loving group of people, no doubt. So I read that Westboro Baptist Church plan on picketing George Carlin's Funeral! This just made my morning. As a HUGE fan of Carlin, I think he would have loved this. How cool is that to piss off a group of people even after you are dead? That knuckleheaded BS jibes with everything he always said about organized religion and fundamentalist Christianity, and I think it's great. I was outraged at first, but then it made me think. Then I thought some more and began wasting a bit of time reading about these dangerous people. I say dangerous because anyone that spouts such unabashed ignorance is the TRUE danger to society, not vices, sex, and "pottymouthed language". I can wrap my head around dumbasses that "hate fags", as I am a Texan and have seen it firsthand. However, I always wondered what they had against dead soldiers, so I read about that. Then I read that they picketed Tim Russerts funeral last week, and thought "Whaa? But, but...WHY? The guy was just a journalist!" I know he was respected and from what I understand mainly non-biased, but in the end he's still just a meat puppet that reported the news. Why would God hate him?That's when I began to dig deeper. Past the picketing, past their borderline inbreeding of that "family", on to the true story of what the the WBC is all about.: Fred Phelps does not believe what he is doing. This is a scam.Fred Phelps is a disbarred attorney, so by proxy every member of his family is an ersatz attorney. It's a business. They travel the country, set up schedules on their lovely names www.godhatesfags.com telling you exactly when they'll be there. Then they use the most inflammatory statements they can conjure just to get someone to violate their rights for profit. Then they sue the military, the police force that was to protect them, and everyone that's around them for money. This is a sham, and it is a trap to get people sued. Phelps does not break the law. What he does is try to make you break the law by trying to offend your sensibilities so badly that you end up flustered and violate one of their rights. Yep, and then they sue you and everyone around them to the max.Whether he believes his posters or not is irrelevant. He's using this as a moneymaking scheme. Lay one finger on him, do one thing that violates him, and he will sue you, and more importantly, the city, the police department, the US Military, and any private property owner he happens to be standing on to make money off of it.Read all about it It just makes so much sense now. They probably file a boatload of civil rights violation lawsuits. If a police department looks at their well-publicized itinerary and says, "we're denying your protest right," KA-CHING!. They just got to sue a police department for the very thing that Americans can't stand: a civil rights violation. I am assuming that this is where they get almost all of their money.I must concede that he is pretty smart, and this is a well-crafted scam. However, he and his minions (mostly family and brainwashed children) are despicable people for many reasons. They're greedy to a ridiculous degree. They are hatemongers. (Wh[...]
Wed, 25 Jun 2008 19:18:23 GMTHey everyone. If you haven't already, you need to add I Wanna Be A Robot to your friends list. We've been getting a great response, and I can personally say that this thing is gonna be the one shindig to look forward to every summer. Remember those days? You know, when you wasted your whole summer just burning the days away in anticipation of the big multi-band show at the end of the season? Yeah? Well screw Lollapasnooza, that was childs play! (Plus, I dare you to sit in the hot Texas sun for 8 hours straight these days. Especially at your age!) Get with the future, man! It's ALL ROBOTS THESE DAYS! Everyone that's worth their weight in sheet metal (or sheet music for that matter) knows that this is the place to be, doing the right thing to be done. As if my taunting you with the "shoulda been there" factor isn't enough to make you add us and attend, I am personally challenging you to insist that everyone on your friends list add us. Still not enough? OK...Let's see....What if - and be-lieve me this is a hypothetical - but what if you were offered some kind of a stock option equity sharing program. Would that do anything for you? No? Yeah, it didn't work in Office Space either.OK, what if I held a small contest to see how many people you had add I Wanna Be A Robot? Wouldn't that be really cool? (Yeah, I know, I know. It wouldn't be that cool.) Let's say that if you have x amount of people add us and write to me at the I Wanna Be A Robot page confirming they are your recruits, I'll give you something very special secret gift that no one else will get.*So what do you say? Even if you don't want to enter my stupid contest (An actually clever contest idea that I wasn't even clever or cute enough to make up on my own), just please make everyone add us. I mean, really force it down their necks. Make the LOVE robots even if they are as frightening as clowns to them! Sooner or later they will have to bend to the will of their Robot Overlords, so they might as well get on board now to spare their humdrum lives now while the gettin's good. Makes sense to me. So....*Actual gift is neither special or secret, unless you count our gratitude as such. Warning: Pregnant women, the elderly and children under 10 should avoid prolonged exposure to I Wanna Be A Robot Caution: I Wanna Be A Robot may suddenly accelerate to dangerous speeds. I Wanna Be A Robot Contains a liquid core, which, if exposed due to rupture, should not be touched, inhaled, or looked at. Do not use I Wanna Be A Robot on concrete.Discontinue use of I Wanna Be A Robot if any of the following occurs: *Itching *Vertigo *Dizziness *Tingling in extremities *Loss of balance or coordination *Slurred speech *Temporary blindness *Profuse sweating *Heart palpitations If I Wanna Be A Robot begins to smoke, get away immediately. Seek shelter and cover head. I Wanna Be A Robot may stick to certain types of skin. When not in use, I Wanna Be A Robot should be returned to its special container and kept under refrigeration... Failure to do so relieves the makers of I Wanna Be A Robot , ShakeyAmy Incorporated, and its parent company Team Robot, of any and all liability. Ingredients of I Wanna Be A Robot include an unknown glowing substance which fell to Earth, presumably from outer space. I Wanna Be A Robot has been shipped to our troops in Saudi Arabia and is also being dropped by our warplanes on Iraq. Do not taunt I Wanna Be A Robot . I Wanna Be A Robot comes with a lifetime guarantee. I Wanna Be A Robot: ACCEPT NO [...]
Fri, 20 Jun 2008 19:22:02 GMTIn 1983, my mom remarried a loser named Mike Tighe. He was a crater-faced Irish Catholic Yankee who I actually liked at the time. For some reason, she decided that it would be a good idea to uproot her 12 and 14 year old kids and plant them in Staten Island, NY. I assume it was his idea, since his parents and TWELVE brothers and sisters all lived there. Every single one of them. Needless to say, the term "culture shock" doesn't begin to explain what this was like. His family welcomed us with open arms. Despite the stereotype of New Yorkers, I found them to be warm and genuine and they eased the trepidation of arriving in a strange land. What I was NOT prepared for whatsoever were the schools. Coming from DeWitt Perry Junior High in Carrolton, Texas, I was completely freaked out by my new School: I.S. 64. NYC Schools didn't have names, they had numbers. IS meaning intermediate school, HS meaning high school, and so forth. The experience was interesting and eye-opening, to say the least. Coming from Dallas Texas, everyone assumed I knew JR Ewing personally, rode horses, and should have tumbleweeds blowing by my feet at all times. One I convinced these terse, no-nonsense kids that I was from the 8th most populous city in the United States, and had consistently shown that I DID NOT have a southern drawl, I was eventually accepted. With the exception of the word y'all escaping my mouth all the time, I blended in nicely. The school was a 6-story monstrosity with marbled floors, ripe for the favorite activity of all of my peers: breakdancing. I was lucky enough to have lived in the cradle of hip-hop in 1983, and saw this burgeoning new style of music and expression as it unfolded. Run DMC had just released their first tape, the "Roxanne Roxanne" song wars had just begun, and Electro booming out of freakishly large boom boxes was the norm. Inbetween each period, no matter what floor you were on, there was always a "breakin' circle". Kids would keep the beat and take turns jumping in to show off their latest moves. Some could do the dangerous physical stuff (windmills, Headspins, etc.), but I stuck to what I did best: Poppin' & Lockin'. To have any cred, you needed a "street name". My name being Silas, I opted for the tougher, more succinct "Sike". I was 13, so I had no idea that I should have spelled it "Psyche". But then, no one busted me on it because 99% of my peers were dumb as a box of hair anyway, so they didn't bat an eyelash at spelling every word they heard phonetically. So yeah. I wasn't good, but I was good enough. I even had my own piece of cardboard with my self-styled graffiti on it. Word.Then the movie "Breakin" came out. Aww yeah. I must have seen it 4 times. Even then, I recognized the stilted dialogue and shitty acting as cringe-worthy, but holy smokes...the moves were incredible. This is the scene that more or less made a light switch flip in my head. Thus began my abiding love for Kraftwerk and electronic music. I think if I had heard this song without Boogaloo Shrimp's routine, I still would have loved it, but the routine and the song just brought it home for me. I rushed out to get the soundtrack tape and planned to play that song over & over and make up my own "fresh" routine (the words "rad" and "dope" had not yet entered my vocabulary). I didn't know who did the song or what it was called, so a cursory scan of the track list didn't help. I just knew it was on the soundtrack, and I was about to wear a hole in my ca[...]
Wed, 18 Jun 2008 22:14:59 GMTHey everyone. I haven’t written anything personal in a while because I have been so busy with work and life at home, so I haven’t really had any time to even think about if I am inspired enough to say anything at length. This spring and summer has turned out to be quite a strange time. There is so much going on, and I’m finding it a bit bizarre to be experiencing all of the things that have been happening. First off, I have been more or less promoted twice in the last 4 months. I got a raise in February, and since then we have canned several people and I have taken on a lot more responsibilities and duties. As of now, our titles are more or less just that: titles. They mean nothing because when you have less people, you do what you have to do for the better of your group and the company. I switch between three of them, though. I am the National Resource Manager, National Training Coordinator, and I’m also the Travel Coordinator. I do more or less of each one from day-to-day. I finally had to break down and get a Blackberry at my VP’s insistence. I resisted for so long, but finally had to succumb to the need for one. I actually like it now; I just don’t like how big it is. I hate wearing this device on my hip, so in my personal time I put it in my pocket since it’s my official cell phone too. Anyway, now that I carry that, I’m always working in one capacity or another. But then, I like being busy so I don’t complain. Of course the next big thing going on is life at home. Where to start? First of all, I have a STELLAR marriage. My wife is just the fucking coolest person I have ever met. We just marked our 3 year anniversary of meeting in May, and I can honestly say that I am just as enamored of her as I was when I met her. That’s a pretty neat thing coming from a guy that couldn’t hold on (or in some case didn’t WANT to hold on) to a woman for maybe a few months at most. We communicate really well, and she is patient with me when I let my guy side rear it’s manly head to say “Yeah, yeah, I KNOW, I KNOW! Can we stop talking about it?” She explains to me how and what she feels until she can put it into words that my brain can assimilate until I acquiesce to her line of thinking. She’s so good with me. However, we do have problems, as any normal married couple would. The only thing is we are far from being a normal couple, and our circumstances and problems are completely different than any other couple you know, or probably will ever know. Our problems don’t stem from failing to get along or communicate. No, our problems stem from two people trying to cope with a disorder that has turned their lives upside down. Our love is strong, but our tolerance threshold is getting weaker every day we don’t get Amy fixed. The level of frustration in both of us has been rising exponentially. Amy is frustrated because she has lost a huge piece of who she was when we met. Imagine going from being a brilliant, vibrant, independent person with a masters degree and a great job, to a doped-up cripple. Imagine not being able to do anything you used to do. Things like walking, driving without a chauffer, going out, shopping for groceries, etc. Imagine NEVER being able to make plans and keep them, because Dystonia always dictates at the last minute that you can’t. Imagine you having to only use tacky plastic cups in your beautiful house because you are guaranteed to drop them. Imagine being [...]
Thu, 29 May 2008 20:51:52 GMTHello fellow Roboteers. They put Amy's slideshow on the neighborsgo blog on Dallasnews.com. Here's the link: