up2in2

Enough About Me; Let's Talk About What You Think About Me

2009-04-29T01:28:00.001-07:00

California 2009

I came back to my home state Christmas Eve, 2008... just about two years (to the day) after arriving in Nevada, I returned from my relocation-to-Reno experience. Since coming back, I've been splitting my time between San Diego and the Bay Area. Most recently I did a short gig (five weeks) for the U.S. Census Bureau in Alameda and Contra Costa County. My pleasure in returning to my home state of California cannot be over-stated. I agree that wherever I go, there I am... and I'm forking thrilled to be in California again.

I did learn some valuable things when I was living in Reno... for example:

1. 2-for-1 Prime Rib dinners at Baldini's taste a lot better than the market-rate prime rib dinner at some other restaurant. In addition, the cheap wine that is included with the 2-for-1 dinners is pretty good after the first glass.

2. Having California license plates and/or California ID increases the likelihood of being treated favorably by Nevada's or Reno's finest peace officers.

3. The deck is stacked heavily in favor of landlords and employers in Nevada.

4. My best friend from High School, Mike Haines, is still one of my favorite people even though he lives in Reno.

5. (Corollary to 4.) There is no substitute for old friends.

6. Winter in Reno is not as cold as Summer in San Francisco.

7. Nobody walks in Reno either (kinda like LA).

8. Casino gambling is not one of my vices.

9. Very few things that this world has to offer can be found in Reno.

10. Most of the all-you-can-eat sushi in Reno is pretty good, and sashimi is usually not included in the all-you-can-eat offerings.

11. To win at casino gambling requires 'leaving' while you're ahead. That is, if one continues to gamble when they are 'ahead' they will likely end up losing money... duh.

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I think that Barack Obama is doing a great job as President. I also hear plenty of people voicing there dis-pleasure with our latest President, but in most of these cases, I hear people expressing opinions without much sense of reality. In short, I hear a lot of predjudice in the minority these days... I don't mean 'pre-judging' because of Mr. Obama's race/ethnicity; I mean a simple committment to disapproval without any coherent reasoning. To those who find themselves in the minority as a function of Obama being President:

Try and be a good sport here. If you must judge situations and people, try considering some facts before engaging in character assasination. Also, it's OK to say, "I don't know". We don't always have to have an opinion on a given person or situation. Anyone can pick a side to throw in with - it's one of our more primative abilities. I wish people would make more effort to resist these primative urges to define the world in terms of 'Us vs. Them' and exercise their judgement in a more thoughtful and open-minded way.

For fork's sake, we're all on the same team. We all want to survive and progress as a species... I believe that we are too quick to engage in battles for the sake of fighting and winning... we tend to be too concerned with being right.

For God's sake, please don't confuse me with the facts; I've already made up my mind!

Seriously, try and support your President... and if you want to be heard, take a minute and write a letter to your congressional representative(s). Stop whinning and do something constructive.

Truly,

Your (Back in Neighborhood) Ugly 5-Man.

"Spooning leads to forking."
-- Letters from the (Razor's) Edge.

Reductionism and The Decline of Western Civilization

2008-06-21T16:24:00.000-07:00

Hello friends, enemies, and the rest of blogland! I come before the keyboard today with something semi-serious to say.

Let me begin with a few miscellaneous observations and semi-truths.

I am a highly practiced in the arts of logic, obsfucation, and obliteration, but I will endeavor to leave these credentials untapped for the duration of this article. ;-)

The second point to be made in advance is that I believe there are two types of people in the world: the type that believes there are only two types of people in the world and the type that believes otherwise. For those of you who may prefer a bit of mathematical framework, let's say that the set P = Types of People in the World (you get to decide what we mean by world); furthermore this set is not actually infinite, but in can be treated as such for sake of argument (and if you chose the World = the Universe then it is obvious or at least axiomatic that the number of elements in our set P is infinite). Therefore the set has a cardinality of the Natural Numbers {1,2,3, ...} For the type of person who believes there are possibly NO types of people in the world, which is a special case we use {0,1,2, ...). Or if you believe there may be net negative types of People in the World we use the whole numbers {... -3,-2,-1,0,1,2,3, ...} from which to describe the 'size' of our set P. The most important point here is that the set P is countable which is a mathmeticans way of saying that regardless of being infinite or finite the elements of the set can be organized so as to count them. (Yes there is such a thing as an uncountable set: e.g. the set of Real Numbers).

To review:

1. The number of types of people can be counted

2. There are either two types of people or some other number of types

Yesterday I received an email from a friend (thanks JA!) with a link to an article circulating the net about a passage from the book The Reagan Diaries. The article claims that Ronald Reagan said,

**********

"A moment I've been dreading. George brought his n'er-do-well son around this morning and asked me to find the kid a job. Not the political one who lives in Florida; the one who hangs around here all the time looking shiftless. This so-called kid is already almost 40 and has never had a real job. Maybe I'll call Kinsley over at The New Republic and see if they'll hire him as a contributing editor or something. That looks like easy work."

From the REAGAN DIARIES------entry dated May 17, 1986.

***********

Upon reading this article, I was amused. Furthermore, being a member of the local ThumbsDownOnBushAndTheRestOfTheRightWing coalition (yes, even in Nevada), I let my emotion run a bit further to the area of smug satisfaction and correctness (aka I'm better than, my Daddy can kick your Daddy's ass, etc, etc). After all, I don't really think Reagan was all that; but if HE is saying GW is a "ne'er-do-well" then it must be true!

After being done with my BetterThan Orgy I reminded myself that what Reagan may or may not have said isn't relevant. The point is that there is a lot of information out there about what's going on in the world we live in. I believe we have some serious issues to address as a species and a nation. And if we depend on our reductionist dinosaur mid-brains to guide us through our daily lives, I believe we may well find ourselves going the way of the dinosaur (beat out of of the evolutionary gangbang by a little fire from outerspace and some wiley little furry guys scurrying among the giant ferns).

I said to myself, "Self, trust but verify!" I went to snopes.com and I checked their offical statement on this Reaganism.

Check for yourself at http://www.snopes.com/politics/satire/kinsley.asp

Then ask yourself:

1. Are you predisposed to oversimplification and reductionist thinking?

2. To what degree do you indulge these coping mechanisms?

3. How many types of people do you think there are?

4. Which type (or types) are you?

5. Are you willing to step out of your comfort zone and do ask some questions you might not want to know the true answers to?

6. Do you believe that all generalizations are false?

I maintain that my mid-brain is healthy and alive, but perhaps somewhat on my forebrain's leash. My skin, on the otherhand, is thick like aligator

Finally, I believe someone else (besides me) said:

The ability to disagree without being disagreeable is the essence of the civilized (person).

As always,

U5M

That Outfit Will Make You Tough

2008-04-16T10:08:00.000-07:00

This post is in honor or one of my favorite people. His name is John (though I like to call him Jack); he's a WASP Republican with a nice house in the burbs, a loving family, and (evidently) some fancy for Local Food - he's had a nice vegetable garden over the years and now has plans for a chicken coop (hey, did you check the local zoning on this?). He named his son Jackson, and I like to think that his first choice was Duncan, but, this not being politically viable, gave me the nod with "Jackson".

John and I met over 20 years ago at UCD one October morning. We were gathered outside Recreation Hall for our first rowing workout - I accused him of being drunk; he thought, "who is this goofball? he won't last the week." Truth is, he was right - I could do twelve push-ups. Suffice it to say we've shared a lot of life together as friends over the years. I'm grateful for knowing him.

John's birthday is April 18th - that's this Friday. He has always made a point of remembering my birthday, and I still have to call him in early April every year (actually when he calls me on the 8th, I ask him when his b-day is!).

Here's a picture of my friend John;

if you think you know this man, please call him and wish him well on another year of life.

UN5M

Blinded By The Right

2008-04-12T18:35:00.000-07:00

There I was... having walked through the Valley of Death (not really sure what I feared - but pretty sure it wasn't Evil - the Tree People perhaps? Leticia the cleaning lady? I then struggled over to the Valley of Crap where "they" could not travel; here the smell of my fellows' waste permeated what was left of my body and soul - guilt and shame were my masters.

I reached the top of the mountain over the Valley of Crap and found the Guru Bard (druid by night) in peaceful repose - the aroma of healthy exersion rose from his glowing skin.

I asked if how I was living was the 'right' way. He replied, "life is not a multiple choice question, it just is: I suggest that when it is a meadow, you should eat of it; when it is a highway, drive it like you stole it."

I then asked him if the Not A Super Hero Blog was too serious OR did he like it. He laughed and said, "yes, Grasshopper." He then added (as if an afterthought), "Remember, Satan means Republican. Vote early; vote often."

Norton Hears A Who?

2007-11-30T19:08:00.000-08:00

When I just tyke... (yeah! I was once just a wee human; "In this corner weighing a mere twelve pounds and eleven ounces..." OK! That's it for the self-promotion... ahem; on to more serious subjects!) ... a los gustan mi papa y sus amigos were many catchy bits of verbage that did stick in my mind over the years. One of note was whenever someone (no, not just the 'kid') would say "What?!?" then one of the muchas amigos would reply, "Watt? I ain't no light bulb!"

Now... ff to present day Reno, NV: the beautiful biggest little city in the world that I now call 'home' and introducing my neighbor, co-founder of the Pine Hill Wolf Pack of Wolf Rd of Western Nevada County, California, Michael Paul Haines (MPH)...

Of course, Mike is a dog; but these are pictures of two other fine canines: Barney and Shakespeare...

.... anyway (where's this going Mister?!?)

I say to Mike one recent day (a fine high desert evening) out in front of the our respective brick hovels, "You know what?". To which he replies, "no, but I know her stupid sister, Who."

If that isn't funny, then John Mundelius has too much to do!

As always,

Your Ugly (neighborhood) 5-Man

d.

KRAC

2007-10-13T17:40:00.001-07:00

My friend Steve Griffiths believes he and I should show up to compete in the Ergometer Sprints this season. Something I did a few times in the Nineties: it was silly fun then, and I think it might be silly fun now - perhaps a bit more painful than when I was younger; perhaps not, for loss of all that brain-power (used to feel said pain) since.

Anyway, it's good to show up to any athletic event in 'colors'. Since I'm no longer active in any local athletic organization (Gold's Gym doesn't count - sleazy capitalist venture), I've decided a club name of my own choosing is in order.

Topping the list of potential names is:

(the) Keith Richards Athletic Club (KRAC)

Really not much more to say on this subject.

U5M

- off to training session #2; then to the pub!!

Co-Miseration

2007-10-11T06:31:00.001-07:00

Inspired by a fellow lost in mddle-age, our hero heads off for a bit of pre-dawn aerobic training.

Yuck Foo - It's the Duncan Show

2007-03-16T08:59:00.000-07:00

Blah, blah, blah, blog.

That's what's going on here. Blogging is all the rage. What did people do with all of this energy prior to blogging? I don't get it... I mean I get it, but I don't get it. I get that it's a vehicle for expressing various things that beings like us are want to express; and I get that it's easy and convenient. What I don't get is: what is it other than a vehicle. Is it somehow replacing the good old email... which, if memory serves, replaced the good old hand-written letter? And where does the old phone call or post card fit in?

I have old hand-written letters from past love-interests and family members saved in files and boxes. I have post cards sent from friends who had travelled to far away places (or not so far away). I don't have old phone calls saved.

I hope I'm not committing a 21st century digital faux paus here, but every few years I get a new computer, and I get rid of the old one. I might have ATTEMPTED to archive some data including some personal emails at one of these hardware crossroads, but truth be told, I'll be damned if I ever figured how to preserve anything in digital form for use later other than my address book. And I was pretty good at this when I gave up my little black book (actually big and brown with funky little odd-size loose-leaf pages organized into sections alphabetically) and moved all my friends and family into my Casio Digital Organizer. Sure I can format and save to disc just like any fourth grader can; but what fails to make an impression on my future is ACTUALLY getting this data back into my life when I get another machine. Maybe all my old emails exist amongst the quantum foam on some floppy disk somewhere in my office... What's a floppy, anyway. My last girlfriend was saying something about my floppy just before she broke up with me.

Anyway... post cards are cool. Just $.24 to send one. You can't even get a bad cup of coffee for $.24! And letters... just $.39. Ever get a break-up email? Thank God, I have yet to bask in the pleasure of this. I have gotten a few break-up voice-mails, but that's the subject of another post... maybe the kind one needs a post-hole driver to install. I just cut back on my cell-phone usage to the tune of $50 a month... saved almost as much as by not switching to Geico... so easy I was able to do it.

By the way... if you read this entire post, thanks. No... really, blogging reminds me a bit of what it was like to read Herb Caen in the Chronicle (decades?) years ago... yikes! It's not that I see anything that really compares to the wit one could find on the first page of the second or third section of the SF paper. It's that seems to be what many of us are shooting for... or let me just speak for myself.

Even John Carrol's recent journeys down Mondegreen Ln bring smiles and giggles to many I know. Maybe if you laugh at my blog, you should send me a quarter. If you don't laugh send me a quarter and a criticism. Might as well; it's a free country. But to be clear... no quarter, no criticism!

But I digress, once in Herb Caen's column he mentioned a report of a personalized license plate that read YUCK FOO. It just so happens that my father used that name to list our phone number in the white pages of the local phone company directory when I was a kid.

I suppose I'll need a larger mailbox to hold all those quarters.

as always,

love,

your not-so-ugly and definitely not-so-neighborhood FIVE MAN.

**********************

"Life is too long to justify having a shitty time"

- Postscripts From the Razor's Edge #42

Meanwhile, our hero...

2007-01-05T20:18:00.000-08:00

Who is your hero? For th0se of you who name the President, I offer up this bit of support for your opinion.

http://www.glumbert.com/media/roleplay

Anyway, the hero also known as Yours Truly has been stuck behind the Orange Curtain in San Diego for the last week. Prior to that I was in Reno, NV, Grass Valley, St. Helena, The Bay Area, Fresburg, and Oakhurst. I've been a travelling fool, and I have been remiss on my blogging. I'm sure all y'all have been hungry for news of your hero.

Not much of substance to report... the travels have been relaxing. I've seen all of my family members (all eight of them - including spouses) more than once and I've spent time with many of my good friends. You could say that I'm on the 'friends and family' tour. I'm currently in Fresno at my Aunt Cinda's place; tomorrow I'm headed to my father's place near Grass Valley; then, on Monday, I'm headed to Gaston, Oregon and the residence of Brian Marcy and Clare Carver. After a couple two tree days there, I'm headed to Choteau, Montana and the cozy home of Mike Johnson and Jennifer Swanson. Plan is to back from MT around the 20th of January.

Lately your hero has been contemplating his navel (a bit more than usual), and is preoccupied with the question of 'what to do now?'. As in, "Underdog, now that you've cheated death one more time, had 50% of your feet amputated, and successfully extracted yourself from Mission District Racetrack Hell, what are your plans?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked... at this point I'm going to continue my travels and try to keep an open mind about where to settle. I'm looking to not set up housekeeping for another six months or so, but that doesn't preclude me from spending time in one location. I've bought a throw-away Toyota van and outfitted it with sleeping accomodations. After Montana, I'll be taking a break from the road and spending some time at my Aunt Tamara's place in Reno. While I'm there, I may shoot a man just to watch him die.

One friend of mine suggested that the van (which has Tweety-Bird seatcovers) was similar to the type of vehicle favored by terrorists in the Middle East. He himself is a Canadian national and I have my suspicions that he may, in fact, be part of the big Q (mum's the word, eh?); after all, how would he know what a terrorist van looks like? Which adds credence to this inescapable feeling I have that he is planning to set off a snowball bomb here in our precious Homeland to combat global warming.

By the way, the guy in the picture with the van isn't Shawn or me; it's a computer generated image of how I'll look in twenty-two years.

I've been catching up on my blogging here (the Orange Curtain blocked my web access - damn Republicans). This includes reading the last few posts at Johnny Sprocket's Blog. He correctly points out that I have some stories that should be told while we still have freedom of speech in this country.

Here's a preview of topics to come:

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How I wasn't busted for interstate transport of narcotics.

Old Milwaukee; broke my neck.

Deaf-Mute with Torrets Syndrome.

Most high-maintenance road-biker award.

How I almost killed my would-be assasin during an episode of The Streets of Sacramento.

The June Swoon, and August and September are great back-packing months also.

I too, slipped off the Fish.

****

Always, live early, live often, don't drive too fast, and leave an oldwornoutcouldn'tpossiblytakeanotherstepyetgo0dlooking corpse,

Ugly (Neighborhood) 5-Man.

My Grandma, She's 85; she drinks; she steals; she's still alive.

2006-12-01T19:22:00.001-08:00

My mother's mother is my only surviving grandparent. Her name is Gertrude Marie Allison and she's a sweetheart. For as long as I can remember I have called her "Granmarie"... at some point I started abrieviating her name as "GM" when I needed to write her name. GM caught on with the my mother's two sisters and now we use "Granmarie" and "GM" interchangeably in speech. This picture is of her and me at my Aunt Susan's house on Thanksgiving Day this year.

Anyhoo, about 10 years ago GM started to show significant mental changes. She started seeing a doctor at Stanford named Skallabrin... I decided that since GM was showing the signs of age-related dementia that I would refer to her doctor as Doctor Scatterbrain. What can I say? Joke 'em if they can't take a f*. GM's condition has progressed to the point where her once lively and engaging personality has faded to such an extent that one has to know her and be willing in order to still see the Granmarie that once was. That is, to the casual or impatient observer, she appears disoriented and absent. In fact, she still recoginizes her daughters and her grandson - that'd be me :-) and she will occasionaly rattle off a quip or give a look that only GM could create. It's true that she doesn't say much and she's lost track of time as we know it. It's also true that she's built like a tank (sturdy, that is). She motors around quite well without assistance, and will occasionaly 'go on tour' from the assisted living facility where she resides.

My mother's two sisters are named Cinda and Susan. Cinda is married to a man named Joe. Joe is part narcoleptic (which doesn't have anything to do with this story, but it does explain the pose he is striking in this picture).

Cinda and Joe have been out of town since Friday, and Joe left/forgot his cell-phone at home. I'm staying at Cinda and Joe's house off and on while I recover from my recent ills, and Susan came over and spent the night here Tuesday. Wednesday morning she went and picked up GM and brought her back to Cinda and Joe's place. The three of us kicked it for a couple of hours... had some lunch, puttered, sat around, etc. Before Susan and GM left I went to take a nap; when I woke up they were gone.

Thursday morning I get a call from my Aunt Susan; she says, "I've got two questions for you." I say, "OK; what are they?"... "have you seen a small white sock around? I think I left it there" "no" "are you missing a pager-looking thingy? maybe a cell-phone?" "no... oh for two" "Hmmmmm... I found this thing in the trunk of my car; it says Cingular on it... it's not a cell-phone, cause it doesn't have a place to talk into." By now I'm totally lost, and saying to myself, "self, this is just further evidence that my Aunt Susan is out of her mind." She then says that this device she found has been buzzing and beeping all morning, and then I look over on the end table where Joe left his cell-phone and I say, "AHA! That's Joe's cell phone." Then Susan says, "Gee Tennessee, how did it get in my trunk??" To which I reply, "Maybe the same person who stole your sock also stole Joe's cell phone and put it in your trunk."

I can only hope that I provide this much entertainment to the world when I'm GM's age. And to my Aunts Cinda and Susan, I'm so pleased that we've gotten to spend so much together the last three months... not the circumstances we would have chosen, but what's done is done; and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love you both.

d.

Bovine Bingo - Part II

2006-11-30T19:52:00.000-08:00

In one of my recent posts we discussed the issue of bovine tissue heart valves being used to replace defective and damaged valves in human hearts. Here is a picture of a bovine tissue valve after it has been prepared for insertion into a human heart. In the same post I showed a picture of the UCD Men's Rowing Team Varsity Eight... well the guy in the 'five-seat' (counting from the bow of the boat - that's the front for all of you unfamiliar with rowing backwards to get ahead), recently fell ill with an infection in the lining of his heart and recieved a bovine tissue valve replacement for his aortic valve (that's the valve between the heart itself and the main artery leaving the heart, the aorta) and a repair to the mitral valve between the left atrium and left ventrical.

Here's some diagrams to help all y'all out...

OK... so now all y'all are on ur way (to sleep?) to being doctors; that's good. Meanwhile, back in Fresno, our hero (me) was in pretty bad shape. On Sunday the 3rd of September I started to have ventricular fibrillation. I was in heart failure and on the verge of cardiac arrest. On Monday I was given an angiogram to figure out what was up... on Tuesday I had open heart surgery to replace my aortic valve and repair the mitral valve.

Then things got interesting. I didn't wake up Tuesday after the surgery. In fact my health continued to decline. It turns out that not only did I have bacterial endocarditis (bacterial infection of the inside lining of the heart), I also was in septic shock and cardiogenic shock... there are good explanations of all these terms at http://medlineplus.gov , if you're interested.

Then things REALLY got interesting. I developed pnuemonia, my feet filled up with blood clots, and I had numerous cariac arrests (heart stopped). I was a mess... according to my heart surgeon, Dr. Peter Birnbaum, "you were tettering on the edge of death; you were on the verge of kidney failure and there was nothing more we could do. I expected you to die."

Suprise! Then things got better. After all but leaving me for dead on Friday, I started to show improvement on Saturday; my kidneys did not fail and I started to regain conciousness. By Sunday afternoon I was coherent; that evening I was watching TV... on the anniversary of 9/11 I was so out of my mind that I thought there was a sniper in the tree across the street (turns out that paranoia and other strange behaviors are not uncommon for people who have been unconcious for any length of time); on Tuesday the 12th I ate my first meal in over a week and was moved out of the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit; on Tuesday the 19th I was transferred to a physical rehabilitation hospital where I spent sixteen days while recieving IV antibiotics and attending 3 hours of physical therapy each day. During this period I went from being unable to walk due to my gangrenous feet (remember those blood clots I mentioned?) to performing light weight lifting exercises and spending time on the stationary bicycle. I continued to eat as much food as I could manage as my weight was down to 185#. On Thursday, October 5th I left the rehab hospital and went back to my Aunt Cinda's house.

I spent the next week finishing up IV antibiotic therapy and eating as much food as I could. My weight was still below 190#, and I could barely climb a flight of stairs without getting dizzy. The antibiotics made me feel like shit and the everyfourhours schedule kept me from getting more than three hours of sleep at a time. I was constantly exhausted and extremely week. I did some reading, but mostly I slept and watched TV.

On Friday, October 13th I was admitted to the hospital for partial foot amputations. Put down your sandwich and have a look at the dorsal view (that'd be the view from the top - like a shark's DORSAL fin)!

Not so bad, you say. It's just your toes...

Now check out the plantar surfaces (that'd be the bottoms).

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew... yep, it's true. Those are my size sixteens. My dogs and all my piggies after holding their breath for a few days. No more '15 feet' license plate frames for me... no saying I have to row in the six seat because the rest of the shoes in the boat are too small for me... no more going toe to toe... no more tip-toeing around uncomfortable situations... no more troublesome toenails... no more toe jam (or jambed toes)... no more fancy toe-nail polish. It's over folks; my toes have been thrown in the trash.

But I'm alive, and I haven't been in a wheelchair for ten days now... the future so bright, I've gotta wear shades.

U(N)5M

p.s. walk walk walk... ridin the stumpy... liftin weights... hittin the road... could be worse; could be rainin!

d.

WD-40... say no more; eh?

2006-11-28T14:38:00.000-08:00

WD-40 is a wonderful invention... (or perhaps discovery). Today I used some to fix a couple of problems in my truck. I also used some to loosen the screws on my mountain bike shoes so I could adjust the cleats therein. Maybe I could use WD-40 to loosen up some human minds that are stuck in a rut.

Ahem... sorry, I almost forgot my committment to row my own seat. Or as my Aunt Susan is wont to say, "Hey! I'm screwing this chicken... screw your own chicken!"

WD-40 is an amazing product. It claims to clean, displace moisture, lubricate, penetrate, and protect. Sounds like a succesful date to me - except for the displacing moisture part. Perhaps this hole in my knowledge contributes to my ongoing bachelorhood.

My truck is seven years old and has 120,000 miles on it. My truck's name is Hugo, and Hugo has served me quite well over the years. Recently I noticed that the overdrive switch wasn't working and I also found that the headlights would go off when turning off the high beams - which made night driving a bit more interesting than usual. The overdrive switch is located in the end of the transmission selector lever (on the right side of the steering column); the high-beam switch is on the "ear" (on the left side of the steering column) which also controls the turn signals and windshield wipers.

My dog is nine years old; his name is Barney. He's a loyal and gentle companion. He's got a weakness for "food". I made a promise to The Big B that I would never punish him for indulging in food. After all, he is who he is and he can't help it. I do discourage him from going astray into garbage heaps and such things that are not in his best interest, but when it comes to expecting him to 'just say no' to something tasty left out and within his reach, I don't do it. It makes our lives much simpler and we both function better. I never have to scold him for doing something as natural as licking his own balls (actually, I'm pretty sure Barney prefers pizza to his own genitals - I digress severely... Barney will eat just about anything most humans consider to be "food"; he'll also eat, relish even, some things that wouldn't qualify for "food" to a human under the worst of circumstances... I'm not talking about canibalism; no... think Feline Roca... ya'know, like Almond Roca).

So what's the point? Far be it from me to tell you... I'm screwing my own chicken here. I keep extra-curricular 'edibles' out of Barney's reach, and he keeps me honest by eating anything I leave in his reach. Oh... and all that dust and dirt that Barney brings into my truck probably has something to do with Hugo's switch issues. (we can discuss other switch issues another time).

As for Hugo, a liberal application of WD-40 to the overdrive switch and to the base of the ear where the high-beam switch along with a sensitive and prolonged exercising of each switch cured both problems. Now the overdrive responds as designed and the headlights keep things illuminated without pesky surpises. Which makes lubing and penetrating much better.

U(N)5M

2000 Weeks to Graceland

2006-11-12T23:55:00.001-08:00

I was born April 8, 1965 in Berkeley, California. That makes me 41 now, (and the fact that I lived there until after my thirteenth birthday provides some of the explanation for who I am - and who I have become). I certainly have accumulated a great (wealth?) of personal experience over the years, and from time to time I can even remember some of what I've been through. Here's a a bit about that ...

I'm fortunate to have had a relatively intact family over the years. My family is small by many standards, but the family I do have is present and available to me. Of course, one doesn't get to be 41 without some significant loss in the family department, but, with one exception, I was extremely fortunate growing up; my four grandparents lived into my adult years, my father is still healthy, and my three aunts are also alive and well. My mother died just before I turned three and tho many might rightly judge this as 'not so fortunate' this particular circumstance has greatly influenced my life - often times in positive ways. Don't get me wrong, dear readers, I've spent many a dandelion wishing for mom, but the world doesn't turn on a child's breath. And along the way I've done my share of living (and almost dying).

About 25 years ago the older of my mother's two younger sisters married Joe. My Uncle Joe is 65 years old... he says that given another 10 years of
'living' he's got only 520 weekends left in his life... that's 520 weeks to get everything done.

Cynical? Fatalistic? Realistic? Pragmatic? Short-sighted? Optomistic? Who's to say, really. It's Joe's perspective and I think there's something of value in it... food for thought anyway... I love food.

And I'm not that picky either. What's a good food metaphor for life? Sandwich? For Erma Bombeck it's a bowl of cherries? For Forest Gump's mom a box of chocolates? Do you have a metaphor for your life?

How's about a salad bar? A cornucopia of contemporary life layed out before me under a sneeze guard... some of the items are a bit out of season, some of them are all but gone, the pineapple has turned - steer clear of that - definitely going to write a note the management when I get home... well anyway, there's still plenty of good fresh vittles in good supply; that tempurasushirollthingy is looking pretty good from here.

If I can keep my health until I'm eighty (hey! it's my blog... I can say whatever I want!), I've got roughly 2000 weekends left and 2000 weeks to git'r done.

U5M

Bovine Bingo

2006-11-07T23:29:00.000-08:00

You may recognize this illustration as that of a cow. Bossie (not her real name) provided this image for free in the hopes that people would pay good money for an actual picture, video, or one-on-one interview... in fact, she does private parties by special arrangement. Of course, I'm a God Fearing Member of the Grand Old Party and I categorically oppose Bossie or any other living thing from prostituting itself to make ends meet. I think that we should all send whatever we can afford to:

Bossie Cow Cow
c/o Save Bossie From a Life of Shame
General Delivery
Western Nevada County, CA 95949

This is a picture of a human heart... it has come to my attention that contemporary human technology has made it feasible to replace defective valves in the human heart with bovine tissue valves. I'm pretty sure that Bossie and the rest of her species are unable to survive the necessary trauma involved in such a procedure. Suffice it to say that it would behoove Bossie and other domestic bovines to contact PETA and moo their case against bovine heart valve harvesting.

I think that there is an effective campaign just waiting to be waged here. It's a 'one-two' punch "No Heart Valves, No Hamburgers" platform. Get involved folks... one billion Indians can't be wrong!

Moving on...

When I was a member of the UC Davis Men's Rowing Team we initiated an annual fundraiser for the program called Bovine Bingo. To play Bovine Bingo one would buy one or more of 10,000 "bingo" cards where each card represented a 1' by 1' square in a 100' x 100' area of the UCD Quad. Once all the bingo cards had been sold, Bossie Cow Cow (not a psuedonym in this case) would 'pick' a square by a process known as Random Bovine Defecation (RBD). RBD was developed by two UCD Undergraduates, Heather Tiernan and Duncan Moyer.

Except for it's licensed use by the Men's Crew once each fall, this proprietary algorithm has been kept secret by powerful communist elements of the administration for fear that the silent (and moral) majority of Americans would apply it to gerrymandering effort s in key battleground states. This is just the tip of the iceberg people! One minute those lefties are merely smarter and more mature than us... the next thing you know, Nancy Pelosi is the Speaker of the House - taking crystal and having gay sex with underage male members of the Congressional staff. God Bless America: land of the fruits, home of the nuts.

But I digress... Bovine Bingo was a huge 'shot-in-the-arm' for the Men's Crew - just look at these guys!

To be continued...

U5M

The Journey of 1000 Miles...

2006-11-06T22:52:00.000-08:00

... begins with a single step (or perhaps a single revolution of the wheels on my wheelchair).

It seems that I've managed to almost get myself killed again (stay tuned for further postings for details on my unabashed brushes with death over the years). I've spent five and one-half of the last nine weeks in a hospital; the previous six weeks I spent lying down because of a back injury; and for the last quarter of 2004, most of 2005, and the first half of 2006, I was avidly practicing the art of self-destruction.

The last four months of my life have been filled with physical pain and emotional uncertainty. Sometime in September I reached a life-long nadir... some will to live smoldered deep inside in me: what to call it I don't know, but IT has surely carried me through these times.

It is often said, "What does not kill, will make one stronger." I would like to amend this to "What does not kill provides an opportunity to learn and become stronger." To accept the popular version is to reduce life to simple if-then proposition that depends little on how we respond to what we experience. I counter this with the postulate that life is, in fact, choice; that is, we are not defined merely by our past experience... but the degree to which we exercise our will and ability to choose in this moment determines who we are.

So, at this low-point in my life, I will be more interested in blogging my responses in the moment than to looking back as if the past determines the now or the future. Of course the past is important for reflection and context... my hope is to know what's back there yet keep looking ahead.

If life were a motorcycle ride, I'd give respect to cops and traffic in the mirrors, and I would drive the road ahead... careful not to give too much energy to potholes and insignificant obstacles. Managing bumps and such is surely something worthwhile: just ask my friend Johnnie Sprocket http://www.beatsgriffracing.blogspot.com/ He hit a bump and somebody screamed... you should have heard just what I seen.

Here's a picture of my loyal companion, Barney. He's the yellow one. He's also a love-bug.

U5M.