Pancreatitis chapter 2

Time for an update. I know I said I was ramping down the whiny blog posts, but damnit all, this thing just came at me from the blue. Rather than go on and on to live people, those interested in my latest quest for medical contentment can read this at their leisure. I have found that like journaling, typing out my thoughts here is very helpful in putting the pieces together.

After I got out of the hospital I found that I just didn't want to eat. I would get pangs of hunger but nothing sounded appetizing. I got by with nibbles a few times a day. I made gluten free mac n cheese and other comfort food. That went down fine. After a week I went to a salad bar and had a decent meal for lunch. It was 4 weeks till I had several days of having a normal, for me, appetite for at least one meal. Overall though you could say that I am still "off my feed". Ironically since I am back to cooking all my own meals, small and infrequent as they are, I have run the dishwasher more than I have for years. I was getting tired of restaurants and prepared packaged food anyway.

A week after I left the hospital I had an appointment with one of the Drs as a follow up. This was yet another intern or resident or . . . I never have caught on to the labeling. Student Dr lets say. They should issue flowcharts. As soon as she entered the exam room she asked how I was doing with the AA meetings. "What, what are you talking about?" "Your primary care Dr has on your chart for you to go for Alcohol rehab meetings." As you know from the last post I was worried that this might happen. I protested and even though I had never seen her before in my life she argued with me because of what was in the chart. The more I protested the more I could tell that I was in one of those vicious circle things where no matter what I said it would be interpreted in such a way that they can say later "Oh yeah he's an alchy"

I had been having an attack of gout (often linked to drinking also BTW). I asked her for a refill of my prescription of colchicine. Colchicine in one form or another has been used for gout for 1200 years. I have been taking this stuff for 30 years. The old bottle said take one then one in a hour then one.  It can take several days for a flare up to subside. She wrote the Rx for 3 pills. I have never gotten less than 30 pills that often last for a year. WTF? Are alchies know for taking too many colchicine pills? These are not pills you feel in any overt way. 

Besides the involuntary anorexia my whole abdomen remains tender. Hoping it isn't my imagination I feel a number of familiar and some strange sensations in that area as well. None of them pleasant, only occasionally harsh. I know something is still not right but I have been hoping it's just a matter of recovering from the hospital stay. It was 3 weeks before I felt I could try the gym again. I did the easiest workout possible and felt kind of good when I left. By the time I got home I began to have a deep feeling of fatigue and slept for hours. This was not the usual after a first workout tiredness. I haven't been back yet. I still feel weak and it's been 7 weeks so far.

I guess I had been home for 5 or 6 weeks when my regular Drs appointment came up with my primary care Dr. Most people see the Dr once or twice a year. I see him every 3 or 4 months to check my diabetes and other blood tests. I went in a few days early to get the labs done but there was no record of him ordering labs. I left him a note asking why. He called me the next day to tell me since they took so much blood it the hospital that those tests would do. Since I was feeling not so well I did not like this idea.
When got to the clinic just a few blocks from my house I was met by a lady from my psychiatrist's office. He's the one that prescribes Adderall for ADHD. She was there to coordinate my primary Dr in writing those Rx's since I have been using Adderall for 5 years or so and am stable. After a brief visit to the parking lot for a fire drill (or bomb threat or they never told us what) she, another coordinator and me were packed eyeball to eyeball in a tiny exam room to wait for several awkward moments. Dr finally arrived with a student of his own in tow. Being the patient I sat on the exam table while they stood and talked. He balked at their request but wrote the prescription.

My primary care student Dr is an interesting character. Asian american, mid twenties perhaps, one of those hyper know it all kind of guys so he could be younger. A classic nerd that seems unaware that all the information in his head has yet to filter down to being wisdom. He has some self confidence issues over this and tends to overcompensate.  As we waited in the parking lot earlier for the fire drill I saw him in the distance with the stereotype posture of an elder asian. Wide stance, belly sticking way out, thumbs stuck in his belt loops. He seemed to be pontificating. 

After the interdepartmental coordination ladies left I asked him about the pains and concerns I had about my eating and fatigue. He dismissed them out of hand. Drs, I have observed, will often tell you what you are feeling is nothing; to either weed out whiners or as a kind of placebo to get you over what will pass anyway. However since I made such a point of shooting down his alcoholism theory he should have addressed it in some direct way. The student he had with him was a nice looking blond woman; he was in full pride & posture mode. I picture the earlier student Dr's report starting either an embarrassment for my Dr or a consensus that "well since he is in denial about being an alcoholic, fuck him" or words to the effect. It could just have to do with the Drs being overworked. Whatever the case I was not at all satisfied. The lack of resolution to this pancreatitis thing is frightening. 

The rest of the exam went as usual. Including the obligatory dramatic announcement that I need to lose weight. I asked him what I weighed when leaving the hospital then what I weighed that day. I had lost 20 pounds but he dismissed this also. "You need to lose more" I know that, Fuck him. I have been dieting and reading about dieting for over 40 years. Slow is the best way to lose weight. Before dismissing me he stopped and listened to my heart like they do. He then asked the student to listen. He asked her what she heard? They settled on skipping every 3rd beat. Fuck me. 
I am to get new labs, an EKG and be back June 3rd. 
It could have more to do with the Rx for Adderall than what he heard, but we'll see. 
This week I reapplied for the KMC health plan, fingers crossed that I get it again.

Meanwhile back at the homestead I am spending even more time by myself. The guys I play darts with haven't played since the night I went to the hospital. My other usual companions have been unavailable. My sister came for visit last week. I couldn't stop talking. For the most part I am used to this, it's been my way of life since I can remember.  Something is different about this latest medical misadventure, the need for the life affirming closeness of a woman has never seemed so necessary or so far away. Skanky, hyper neurotic, profane or otherwise undesirable women are circling like vultures. They smell blood in the water. I am Physically and financially compromised, my house always in a maintenance deficit. Even taking this into consideration I am better looking than most guys my age/size. I am also clever, funny and have all those massage skills going to waste. I should be able to do better. 

I have been spending most days flat on my back or napping. Fatigue settling in as soon as I try to do something. At least whatever the problem is with the pain in my glutes it hasn't gotten worse with all the rest.  

I like this picture of the pancreas because it
 looks like an erect penis lounging under an umbrella.

As I said I have tenderness even a bit of pain in the area of my abdomin. Other odd feelings too. I was getting back to feeling kind of normal when the pain of pancreatitis started coming back on May 2nd. 

The feeling like a tennis ball forcing it's way out just below my sternum. It was painful to lie down.  Sitting was not bad. Walking jostled things too much. I looked it up and found that many people find that leaning almost upright was most tolerable so I tried it and got some sleep. I was able to do my job. Sitting behind the wheel didn't make things worse. It was painful but didn't feel like it was getting worse. I didn't want to go to the hospital. I did what I could to repeat what they did in the hospital. No food (no appetite so that part was easy) and very little liquid. Stopped all my meds. No morphine unfortunately. It was tolerable by the 3rd day. Perhaps a coincidence but I had an episode of explosive and messy bowl movement, like had been quite often when I still ate wheat. After cleaning up I began to feel more normal. It's been a week, I had a big lunch and feel fine. Well, . . fine-ish.

Epilog May 22 2013 - Minor update not enough to warrant a whole post. 
I was nervous about filing the application to renew my County Medical plan. Last year I only had work for the last 5 months so looking poor was in the bag so to speak. This year I did the self employed newspaper distributor thing for the whole year. What with the newspaper losing popularity all the time and the cost of gas bringing my daily transportation cost alone up to between $40 and $50 a day a definitely qualify as a person in need. I got a new card and letter telling me I am covered through May of 2014. Which is good in two ways. Not only are my medical expenses covered but I will have coverage when the Affordable Care Act kicks in next year. I foresee paperwork nightmares for many people for the first few years of that at least. 
Otherwise The mystery pain like the pancreatitis hasn't been back but I still feel tired and weak most days. Could be that the heart trouble is worse than I know or just that with all that has happened recently the sleep apnea is making trouble. Or I just don't know and need to focus on what's going right till there's something I can do about it. 

Welcome back my friends,to the show that never ends . . .

It’s been 40 years since the song that starts off that way was first released. I was always a big fan of Emerson, Lake and Palmer. 

 This time it seems an appropriate lead for the latest installment of me logging in about my medical woes. This one should be a Duesy. Except the part about the Duesenberg being the finest money could buy at the time. The latest adventure was not the finest money could buy.

 If you have been following along you know that over the last 10 years or so I have ferreted out many sources of my dysphoria. Finding that the prescriptions for statin type drugs that started about 15 years ago were responsible for the deterioration of my muscles and also short circuits in my brain were key. Before that I had to quit cold turkey the cocktail of wellbutrin for depression and nortriptyline (a tranquilizer) I was given for the neuropathy in my feet. Between the two I don't think I had a thought in my head for about 2 years. More recently, finding out about the effect GURD has had on me was like a kind of revolution. ‘Oh you mean being tired and grouchy especially after meals is not normal?’ Removing wheat from my diet all but ended a decades old battle with bloating and diarrhea. 

 Most recently, I was in a place where I could see an end to living by the limitations of my impaired constitution. 

•  I was dealing inch by inch with the daily ordeal of sleeping the whole night with my biPAP mask on. This provides REM sleep and oxygen. Both are required for life on our planet. This is not without it’s humorous elements. Since it all happens (or doesn't happen) when I am asleep my first indication of successful sleep is often morning wood. Other indications are a feeling of having a reason to get up at all, energy, confidence, strength, focus; just to name a few. 
• 
  
• I was having more and more days of energy and a feeling of well being. I had plans for the future. After years of neglect I was doing house work. The kitchen was more organized that it had been in years. A quarter of the living room was clean and the floor waxed. I had picked out new tile to finally finish refereeing the bathroom. The project that I never did finished 10 years ago had grown from just installing a shower to needing a new toilet, sink and faucets. I bought the replacement faucets a year ago when the 65 year old cold faucet froze up and died. The design was so old that even the rare and antique plumbing fixture web site hadn’t a clue. The new ones will be fun. 
• 
  
• One trouble that seems intractable is the thing of my experiencing pain when sitting for more that a few minutes. Very expensive seat cushions allow me to do my behind-the-wheel job. I have a flat on my back keyboard set up so I can type this without the distraction of pain. I went to Physical Therapy but this particular thing is not on their list of things they know about. I started going to the gym again. Since this started the same time as my other muscle problems I hypothesized that my glutes had also been damaged by the stains and the weight of my 300+ pounds was not letting enough circulation repair the damage. I was taking it very slowly but adding a little more weight and repetitions to the glute exercises. It seemed to be doing some good. 
• 
  
• I don’t want to sound too hopeful but even my long standing record of self sabotage at ever having a real relationship may be at an end. Or at least I know where I am starting from and can proceed.
• 
  
• If you have bothered to listen to my first podcasts you will have noticed how they are so lame that they are barely listenable. The point was for me to learn and I did. New approaches and even a way or two to monetize were in the making. (see most recent previous post)

What Happened?

For at least a dozen years my interest in booze and marijuana has been on a steep decline. I loves me some marijuana. I don’t know if it’s me or the way they grow it these days. The wonderful old euphoria slips away in a few minutes. Usually followed by hours of headache and disorganized thoughts. Similarly the warm loose feeling of drinking liquor, if it comes at all, is accompanied by a kind of nausea and general feeling of being ill. Liquor was always my 2nd drug of choice so letting it go was no big deal. 

 Still, as I said above, I had been feeling unusually well. With the annual St. Patrick’s day at Garry and Debby’s planned for the Saturday before St.Pat’s a bottle of Rye whiskey seemed to be just the thing. I brought it chilled and proceeded to pull it out of the freezer at intervals to share a pull with all of my longtime friends. After about 5 hours of lawn games (horseshoes, bocce etc.) too much corned beef and cabbage and a goodly amount of Rye I was very sleepy. Refreshed, a few hours later I was off to deliver the Sunday paper.
I felt a bit weird the next day or 2. There was nothing unusual about me feeling unusual. 

 On Thursday I was back at Garry’s house to play darts with the guys. The last few months have been spotty but for over 20 years we have played in some form of a garage nearly every week. Counselors always praise me for having a group of friends at my age. The taunting and teasing among grown men is quite usual. I have always thought it curious and not really in my nature. Reminds me if being teased by bullies as a kid. On the the hand It keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously. I have learned to play along after a fashion. Sometimes I even have some fun at the expense of the unwritten rules. 

 At about a hour in I began to have what felt like a softball just under my sternum trying to get out. The softball got harder and began to grow. After my turn to throw I went outside at first to just get some air. “Maybe if I throw up some of the pressure will leave” I thought. I tryed but it didn’t work. By this time I was bathed in sweat even though it was in the 50s outside. If you are not on the line for your turn to throw the routine is to be as quiet about it as possible so you will be skipped and lose your turn. After I missed a couple of turns Rob broke the dickishness rule and went looking for me. 

 By this time the pain had driven all but my most basic thoughts away. I asked if he could take me to the hospital. I could over hear someone suggest an ambulance if I wanted to be seen first. An ambulance costs too much. “Well maybe just order a hearse and skip the middleman” Smart ass.

 I was racked with pain and probably in shock but noticed how my one by one thoughts were direct and to the point. When we pulled up to the hospital I carefully put my money, cards and keys in Rob’s hand. This was not my first visit to Kern Medical Center. I asked him to get a wheelchair from inside. It was an odd device, designed to be easily hosed down and not worth stealing. Once inside I was on the verge of passing out, my memories fade in and out as well. I went through some intake questions, the first of dozens. Once I told them I was on the Kern Medical Center Health plan that was the first and last time how I was to pay for this was mentioned. (I can still get something in the mail but doubt it). Since this is the second time the fine people of Kern county have saved my life this way. I have nothing but curse words for the people who reject universal health care for all Americans. 

 They were perplexed at first until I told them about drinking 8 shots of Rye Whiskey the Saturday before. For a real drinker like I had been once upon a time 8 shots would have been just a normal big night of drinking. These days with so many foreign born Drs and Drs who do drink having to keep it on the downlow 8 drinks is now a binge. Did they assume I have shame about drinking and figured that I underestimated.? Who knows?  This lead them to take some tests, ultrasound and some kind of full chest scan. They took blood of course. 

 “You have Pancreatitis Mr Parks” The treatment is dehydration. No food or water till the inflammation goes away. They started an IV of .09% glucose to keep me functional and a shot of morphine every 4 hours to manage the pain. My brain was still in survival mode even after the morphine. At no point in this whole experience was I afraid. Fear is something I save for irrational moments. I was assured by the simplicity and directness of the treatment. Since they didn’t even try a less provocative pain med I figured it must be serious. On the other hand after 150 years morphine must be out of patent and cheap.After I don’t know how many hours Rob and Teri had gone home. I love those guys so much. 

We all remember this lovely scene from the movie "Alien" 

Just like when I was at KMC in 2001 beds were scarce. Finally after long hours on the unpadded gurney the actual hospital bed felt like heaven. Just like when I was at KMC in 2001 I was placed in the same room on the 3rd floor. This part of the hospital is only opened when overflow is needed. It was a room big enough for 4 beds but there were only 2. Just like in 2001. 

 The first 2 days were pretty much a blur. Every 4 hours they would add the pain med to my IV and I’d drift off for an hour. The next couple of hours were kind of okay but the painful swelling in my abdomen would become progressively more uncomfortable. The last hour was a miserable time of never finding a comfortable way to lay there. Slowly, over days, the swelling went down some and the pain went from 10 to 7 then 6. 

 Then I began to be aware of my surroundings. The other person in the room was a filipino guy recovering from a broken ankle. I think. Most of the time he had the tethered TV/nursecall/speaker thing turned all the way up. Sports mostly. It may have been my lack of interaction taken as a snub or it may have been the guy down the hall bursting out in very loud moaning every 15 minutes all night long that motivated him to move to a quieter floor. I don’t remember much but my first day or so, I was mostly moaning. Though I don’t think quite as loud.
His bed sat empty for almost a whole day. Next was a biker looking guy with troubles that put mine in perspective. He was looking for a diagnosis to confirm bone cancer. Both of his arms held so much pain he slept sitting up with them extended straight out. His pain meds were very much stronger than mine. 

 This is about the time it really came home that this end of the hospital was just for the charity cases like myself. Housekeeping came in twice a day like clockwork to change the trash bags. Twice the floor was swept/mopped and three times I was called by housekeeping to find out if my room was clean. During my whole 5 days there, my sheets were never changed. Blood stains from the IV and all. Due to my swollen abdomen I didn’t wear a gown. I sat in the pants I came in, the whole time.  

 The staff was not their top notch people either. At nights I think I had 3 different asian nurses all of similar description. They didn’t display enough in the way of personality to tell them apart. I’d see them when the IV ran out, it was time to test my blood sugar or knock me out again. 3 days the nurse was a man about my age with an accent. One other (spanish speaking) male nurse called him German. Everyone else referred to him with the spanish pronunciation.  Over time it became harder and harder to find a nurse when the IV ran out. That damned thing beeping in my ear till I hit the stop button myself. (this only stopped it for 5 minutes) Once it took and hour just to find the nurse and another hour before he installed a new bag of sugar water. He nearly had to redo the IV just to get it working again. 
Even though the pain was less overall after about 3 hours I would start to get uncomfortable. It got harder and harder to get a new injection on time. The noise of the place got overwhelming. 

 I know I didn’t pay for anything better but at what point is cost cutting a deterrent to care? I said that the bed was like heaven compared to the gurney. Considering my condition, the 3 inch foam mattress on the hospital bed was not soft enough to allow me to sleep even briefly on my side. No sleep except drug induced must have slowed my progress. I didn’t have my biPAP machine and so no chance of REM sleep. This was not addressed except to remind me to keep the oxygen thingy in my nose. Shortness of breath was also a symptom. 

 I wasn’t able to focus on the Television till the 3rd day. Just like the rest of us I am spoiled to what I am used to at home. In my case I don’t afford cable TV but watch all I care to over the internet on Hulu and other places. All random access and with few commercials. At KMC they have this ancient technology of a single thingy at the end of a tether containing a speaker, volume control, call button and 1 button marked TV. Not even a clip or anyway to pin it near your ear. The one button turns the ceiling mounted CRT TV on and each press pushes it ahead one station. There is no real way to know what is on each station until you stop for minutes on each one till the commercials are over and the program resumes. The channel numbers went to 99 with over half blank or shopping.  I gave up broadcast TV 4 years ago all those commercials were a shock to my system. Next the lack of something playing that was not an insult to all I hold dear was another shock. Oh-my-god no wonder people are so ill informed and lacking in cooth. They let this inane crap pour over themselves day in and day out. At one point I thought “Cool Bugs Bunny, some old time simple humor” my roomie agreed and was on the same channel. Bugs & Daffy were talking about lattes and blowing off appointments. Some hipster asshole Tv producers ruined Bugs and Daffy. It made me sick.  I did find a few things that were okay diversions. Lacking my trusty iPod filled with audiobooks and podcasts I mostly tried to sleep. 

 The goal was to test my blood for amylase or lipase each day looking for a level below 200. (I don’t know what units). When I was admitted it was over 5000. Finally on Tuesday evening it went below 200, I was told I could try to eat dinner. If I kept it and breakfast down I could go home. Eating wasn’t easy. Everything tasted like crap but I ate it. 
Wednesday morning I had a new nurse a pretty Jamaican lady.  She was charming and friendly to my roommate but cold and officious to me. Mr German had been friendly enough when I could find him. All the others not so much. All I could figure was that since my problem was alcohol induced the mindset that sympathy is wasted is still an accepted practice. I have also encountered in my travels prejudice against white males. In this instance; since I am not minority, woman, or child I should not deserve public assistance.

 Once I literally got my walking papers I proceed downstairs to wait for my pal Teri to drive me home. Maybe it’s an old procedure but I though they insisted on wheeling you to the door. It may have been my imagination but black Jamaican nurse made the offer to be wheeled out with a tinge of disgust in her voice. It’s not like she would do it herself, they have a transportation dept for that. I only mention it because I was very weak and once I did make it to the ground floor standing to wait was difficult. 

 Recovery is slow. They say for each day you are in the hospital it takes a week at home to really recover. 
The minute I got home I went to sleep on my side and didn’t wake up till after dark. I didn’t go back to work that night. I mostly slept on my other side. Then my back etc.
I have been home for a week now and still nothing sounds good to eat. One day I went to Marie Callender's for the salad bar. It was good and I felt better for having eaten. Other times have not gone so well. Even deep hunger pangs result in “Yeah, but nothing sounds good to eat”. I feel physically weak and lightheaded much of the time. Each day brings a little improvement. I guess I’m just being impatient to get back to where I was. 

 After reading the wiki page I linked to and several others I find the risk to my insulin production concerning. The pancreas produces all manner of digestive juices that are at risk. Is this related to why I’m hungry but nothing sounds good to eat?

After thinking about it, the pain I had in the hospital was not that different from the pain I described last July when I started the Cookie Diet. No alcohol that time. While the pain and severe inflammation are new, many of the other associated experiences I have felt off and on for a long time. There is a whole shopping list of possible causes for this condition. 
Alcohol by itself is the most common suspect. It is also, but not necessarily, the trigger for a giant inflammation like it was with me. Gallstones is the next most common cause. I have never had gall stones to my knowledge but I am in the high risk group for it. My days of hard drinking began to slow dramatically after an unfortunate New Years Eve i Hollywood 20 Years ago. Tricking down to almost nothing the last decade or so, as I have said. Working my way down the list of possible causes I found my old tormentor. Statin. 

  It is going to take time to understand this new problem. I have a follow up visit with the Dr on Friday then my regular appt with him at the end of the month. Maybe he and the other Dr will have a working theory. Gallstones being the most likely cause if that should not be the cause and pancreatic cancer is ruled out. Until I have evidence of a strong case otherwise I will assume this is just another way my life and body have been damaged by Stains. I found many web pages with information like this and this. If studies are thin on this topic here is a site I have referred to before. 

 Anyway I am weak and disgusted/discouraged at this setback. Hoping it is only a set back. Work is something that has become so routine I gave it little thought. Now it seems to take forever to get to the end of my route. My butt starts hurting an hour before I get home. I had that tamed at least at work times. Just for fun yesterday I started getting an attack of gout in my left knee. By the time i got home the pain was . . i just hope the meds for that are not the cause of Pancreatitis. 

 This has been going on for so long I don’t really let it get to me. Displays of anger are like a cough that throws off the worst of it. All my study of Buddhist philosophy and Taoist texts have given me perspective. My own unique relationship with that which is beyond words and forms has grown strong over the decades if enigmatic. 
For now, muddling through my days looking for the good side of my moments. Hugging my pups is always good therapy. Looking forward to finishing the house cleaning and tiling the bathroom. Heck then I might even be ready to have company over. 

Slacker.me

I have a post noodling in my brain.
More personal crap and health breakthroughs.
I may actually get the house clean and the bathroom re did. That's progress.

The first podcasts were basically just to get it out there. I am upgrading my set up and will be taking a more dynamic approach.

Seeing if I can get my pal Rob to play along a Google hangout broadcast to the whole world. Two old geezers, like a million other old geezers in coffee shops and barber shops around the world, discuss (our own crackpot views on) the day's news and whatever else we find in the paper.

Problem to be solved: conversation is less popular than it has ever been in recorded history. Conversation is the principle way we know and relate to one another. And so, it is by extension, a link to the way we know ourselves.  For a growing number of people the roll of religion,  peer group and personal interaction in forming self identity is being replaced by various one way media.

Possible step in the right direction: Since anyone with a laptop or tablet etc. can participate in hangouts, in theory, the phenomenon of people just soaking in the rants of talking heads (I'm looking at you FOX news, Rush, that crazy blond crew cut guy Beck) can be at least somewhat ameliorated. The problem is the people activated by these fear mongering entertainers don't know the difference between what those guys do and useful conversation. The difference between fact based commentary, opinion and emotionally manipulative rants based on fallacious hypotheses are all the same in their mind. So the people already indoctrinated that way are not the target audience. The challenge would be to facilitate real conversation and grow an audience of people who respond to that.

To be overcome is that even the casual user of media has already been indoctrinated, to some degree, to having their emotions and not reason peak, and keep, their interest.

Rob has years of experience doing radio talk. While he did have a fan base and one reason I was a fan was that he made an effort to express what he actually thought. This rose to the level of emotional expression from time to time but never to my knowledge in such a way as to be manipulative. I didn't always agree or understand his reasoning but I don't recall any comments made just to get a rise out of the audience. I still enjoy conversation with him.

While in some quarters I still have a reputation as a bullshitter this is usually based on the fact that I have represented something that others consider fantastical or foolish. This has rarely been the case except in the context of telling a joke. Most of the time I have felt that causing laughter is of greater value that strick adherence to fact. In not trying to get someone to laugh situations what has happened is that for a number of reasons I see the world from a different angle than most people. I discover concepts and ways of thinking about things that are not apparent to most people. Rather than do the mental stretching required to understand what I am proposing I am dismissed as being full of shit. Then, just like everyone else, some times I am full of shit.
By comparison my radio experience is essentially non existent. While I do have experience on stage and at times I am known as garrulous none of this is current. Except the times I did my comedy Hypnosis Show and a few weeks of an improv competition last year. I learned from the podcasts seen below that I am out of practice and that I do much better with someone to bounce off of.

To get people to log on to be in the hangout he and I have to be interesting on the ball.

People are already using the hangouts feature in some other fun ways. So if COOF (couple of old fucks) never happens (I was thinking something with coffee shop in the title, but hey COOF is catchy) there are lots of possibilities for using this tool for broadcast.

So till I at least get to the part where I am demolishing the old bathroom here is an old song that would be fun to sing as a punk song like The Fools did.

PETER PAN:

Are you ready for today's lesson?

ALL:

Yes, Peter!

PETER PAN:

Listen to your teacher. Repeat after me:

I won't grow up,

(I won't grow up)

I don't want to go to school.

(I don't want to go to school)

Just to learn to be a parrot,

(Just to learn to be a parrot)

And recite a silly rule.

(And recite a silly rule)

If growing up means

It would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree,

I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up

Not me!

Not I,

Not me!

Not me!

I won't grow up,

(I won't grow up)

I don't want to wear a tie.

(I don't want to wear a tie)

And a serious expression

(And a serious expression)

In the middle of July.

(In the middle of July)

And if it means I must prepare

To shoulder burdens with a worried air,

I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up

Not me,

Not I,

Not me!

So there!

Never gonna be a man,

I won't!

Like to see somebody try

And make me.

Anyone who wants to try 

And make me turn into a man,

Catch me if you can.

I won't grow up.

Not a penny will I pinch.

I will never grow a mustache,

Or a fraction of an inch.

'Cause growing up is awfuller

Than all the awful things that ever were.

I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up,

No sir,

Not I,

Not me,

So there!

I won't grow up!

(I won't grow up)

I will never even try

(I will never even try)

I will do what Peter tells me

(I will do what Peter tells me)

And I'll never ask him why

(And I'll never ask him why)

We won't grow up!

(We won't grow up)

We will never grow a day 

(We will never grow a day)

And if someone tries to make it

(And if someone tries to make it)

We will simply run away

(We will simply run away)

I won't grow up!

(I won't grow up)

No, I promise that I won't

(No, I promise that I won't)

I will stay a boy forever

(I will stay a boy forever)

And be banished if I don't!

(And be banished if I don't)

And Never Land will always be

The home of youth and joy and liberty

I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up

Not me!

Not me!

Not me!

Not me!

No sir!

Not me!

Actually I believe 'not me' is the proper grammar. Oh well.

Love•Desire•One

As the center of the universe it is my pleasure from time to time to make a proclamation.
Stand by . . .

I have this desire.

The Dalai Lama tells us that desire is the source of all suffering.
He and those who share his philosophy desire to end suffering.

They acknowledge this paradox as well as the paradox that for there to be light there must also be darkness.

The Wizard of Oz tells us that a heart is not judged by how much you love but by how much you are loved by others.

It is common wisdom that you know that you love someone because when you are with them, or simply because they exist, you are a better person?

Many belief systems hold that we, meaning sometimes all self aware beings, other times all life, or simply all that exists, are one.

Other systems insist that we each, as individuals, direct and fulfil our own individual destinies.

For this to happen trade and exchange between individuals must occur.

The concept of property, of ownership, is a very new concept in the very long history of human beings.

The concept of possessions have made possible exponential growth and development. Also the source of an exponential growth of suffering.

I, as an individual, desire.
I, as one expression of all that exists, desire.
To live, is to desire.
To love, is to turn away suffering.

What to name the new dog?

So after the death of Muffin it occurred to me that for over 40 years 1 or 2 Dachshund dogs have been a component of my life. Sugar & Fancy, then Apollo & Thor, then Muffin & Crickett. One would always outlive the other and we'd have only one till someone got a puppy to bring home. I have posted about them in the past.

I got Lit'll in March to keep Muffin company; now Lit'll needed a playmate. Something in her size range, 8 pounds. One Chihuahua is enough. After Apollo & Thor I am sold on female dogs being lower maintenance. Ones that have been spayed at least. Since I have always had the red (Thor, Crickett & Fancy with black and brown trim) Dachshunds I was thinking black this time. White maybe but just like white carpet it would always look dirty. Mom insisted on Dachshunds because of the short coat that sheds little. Dachshunds also have more of a full size bark.

The search was on. The County Animal Control office had a deal that included Shots, spay/neuter, tags, even a chip for $20. I went several times but the place is so disorganized and survival rate so low that I had to look elsewhere. (They do a have a big job to do dealing with every unwanted animal in the county).

The local SPCA has an adoption center that runs only on donations. It is a nice place and, if anything, is too compassionate. They also have many fewer dogs to choose from. I spotted a little black Lhasa Apso/Mix. She was as cute as a bug but I was told she was an escape artist. She could climb out of the kennels over a 6 foot fence. They had to keep her in a cage and I was talked out of her as my new dog.. I also had made a little bit of a connection to a scruffy little girl dog. Before an adoption can be processed any dog that lives with you currently has to come and meet the new dog first. If they get along you go to the next step.

Lit’ll has lived with just me for a couple of months and except at the vet’s and the spay clinic has had almost no contact with other humans. Considering how out of it Muffin was, no contact with other dogs since she left her mom and littermates. We went into a small room and put the 2 on the floor. Her version of a low growl of warning would change pitch to one of hopefulness as she also desperately wanted to play with the strange creature. Everything she does is so cute. The new pup was friendly enough but Lit’ll just couldn’t get over her fear that quickly. Me and the volunteer helping me were convinced that they would become fast friends since no real aggression was present. I filled out some paperwork and was told I’d get a call in 3 to 10 days after the new girl got spayed and checked out by the SPCA doc.

$100 later I was on my way home with my scruffy new friend. This business where they assume your dog is like a child to you is creepy. “Your new daddy is taking you home today”. Once or twice in my life I have been called a son-of-a-bitch to my face. That is as close as I have come to a mixed species bloodline. My dogs have always been like a pet dog to me. I talk to them in that sing songy baby talk and occasionally dote on them too much. Unless they are sick or something I don’t buy special food or visit the vet more than once a year. I think too highly of them to burden them with that kind of human neurosis and dysfunction. Just like we should be, they are perfect right out of the box. I proceed on that basis.

Now what to name her? She looks to be a mix of Chihuahua and some kind of Terrier. She has a long mostly red coat.
I have been hopelessly in love with women with hair that color.

So much, for most of the things I was looking for. Mostly she is sweet and friendly. She is bigger than Lit’ll but weighs the same. The best estimate is that she is about 10 months old. When she is all stretched out she kind of looks like a monkey.

I found out something I used to know but forgot about. When attempting to photograph puppies except when they are sleeping there is no such thing as a still photo. 


Looking at her flank I was reminded of something but couldn’t remember just what.

After about a day or so the two were on the bed with me still working out how to play together. Lit’ll is too timid and the new girl has spent god knows how long in a kennel fending for herself. New Girl is an okay name but I can do better. Giving dogs or Cats human names would be fun if I was the only one doing it. It’s like having your cell phone’s ring set to sound like an old time metal ringer. It was fun when I first got a cell phone in the 90s. Even better when those stupid music clips were the thing. Now everywhere I go I hear old timey phone ringers. Now what? Star Trek sound effects I guess. Cliche but I like them.
Sorry, I digress.

Laying on my back playing with them I got a full forward look in the muzzle of the new dog. Ooo Ooo that Star Wars thing. Chewbacca. I tried several variations on her but she really responded to Wookie. 

I just couldn’t manage to get a shot of her from the full front angle and to be honest it’s when I see her flank that really makes me flash on Wookies from the movies.  I wonder if I can get her a sash like the one Chewie wears?

I already have a couple of riffs I need to do for an audience about the dogs. I loved my 40 years of Dachshunds but who knew that there were dogs that are smarter and less stubborn and cranky?
Like I said I try not to anthropomorphize my animals but I find it so tempting to think of Wookie as a streetwise young girl. Noone has ever loved her. Cautious and quick to defend herself with a flash of teeth. Lit’ll the proper big sister (of 3 or 4 months older) wanting so much for the little sister to accept her.

Like I said earlier Wookie is bigger but weighs the same as Lit’ll. Under the halo of fur I can feel bones sticking out of her. I took her to the vet I usually go to. The SPCA included a voucher good for 1 visit to my vet. Dr. Utt suggested that kennel life is stressful and that dogs that live under those conditions often lose weight. I got some special food to fatten her up. (I know, I don’t like it either) They didn’t have cheap puppy food and none in cans. It took some repetition and doctoring of the food to add calories and make it smell like human food. After almost a week of lots of hugs and a day of high octane food the 2 are quietly wrestling beside me. No growls or fearful yelps. The big chasing game is noisier and outside or on the big floor.

On to the next step of my life with 2 new dogs. 

The other reason I had to get a second dog was for myself. I certainly don’t get enough human interaction. 2 or 3 hours a week are not enough, 10 or 12 would be healthier. Even more would be super awesome. However if 99% alone time is rough even 50% with other people would freak me out. People that live in big families are a mystery to me. The age difference between me and my sisters was such that we were like 3 only children. I have just never been in a living situation with other people always there. Even Crickett & Muffin lived outside most of the day. Since Muffin died Lit’ll has had to be in physical contact with me every minute that I am home. Having to fish her tiny self from where she wedges herself in the middle of my back every time I wanted to turn over in bed was making sleeping into work.

They are learning to live outside on the warmer days. Otherwise I have one or both in physical contact with me most of the time I am at home. Oy!

BTW - Any charming lady reading this who also might wish to cohabitate with me at some point can rest assured that I am a quick learner. I also have 10 years experience using human touch professionally as an art form. Quality time will not be lacking. Just say’in.

One more thing.
I was able to get Lit’ll to be still for one photo. You can see her here next to Yoda. Mostly her ears are up like this but she also has them pointing out to the sides lots of times too. Just not when the camera is ready. Take my word for it she has a real Yoda look to her at those times. Therefore for that thin excuse and in the interest of keeping with the Star Wars theme. (not that it’s my favorite space opera or space saga, I do like it however) I make her full name out to be “Lit’ll Yoda”.

Lit’ll Yoda and Wookie do not have the last name Parks. We talked about this already. Only humans have last names. Only humans need last names. Since Wookie's are supposed to be a species my Wookie might need a second part to her name. Then again what she answers to is what counts.