Gan Mao Ling

 My boss always puts a Chinese herbal supplement called Gan Mao Ling down in the greenroom of the theater because she swears it helps people not get sick (and sick actors are a big pain in the showbiz-making ass of a theater company).  Last winter I started taking some when I felt like I was starting to get sick, and damn if the stuff doesn't actually seem to help.  For me, the effect is kind of like taking an ibuprofen or two and drinking a third of a Coke.  So now I buy my own Gan Mao Ling and I have an industrial sized bottle that I keep in my car and try to take every morning.  I think they help with my mood.  

U2 has a new song out and I was listening to it at the gym last night (my daughter likes to go to the YMCA with me because she gets to walk on an elliptical machine and watch Youtube shorts) over and over while I ran and I felt pretty exhilerated. 

Does this Blogger platform not have a spellcheck?  I don't know how to spell exhilerated!  How can this not have a spellcheck?

Anyway, I was at the gym, and running, and listening to this U2 song (yes, I know that I should not still be listening to U2, that they are way past their prime, that they are annoying, and rich assholes, and hipocrites [another need for spellcheck here], etc. etc. etc, but I still do.  And actually I love some of their most recent music) and feeling exhilerated, and the point is that I think the exhileration was about 30% due to the running, and about 30% due to the music, and about 40% due to the Gan Mao Ling.  

I today I thought that Gan Mao Ling would be a good subject for a blog post.  We all now know that I was horribly, horribly, wrong.  

After returning from the gym, I went for a walk with Sam, and it was absolutely perfect.  Every year I love my kids more and more.  He was making an argument to me (that humanity should go back to caveman times.  That we've lost our connection to everything that gives human life meaning and purpose) that I used to make.  I don't believe it anymore, but it made me smile, and I loved to hear his reasoning and passion as he argued.  I reminded him that he liked to eat 3 meals a day, and is not so big on the the killing of things or the farming.  And I gently pointed out that, while his argument isn't water tight (because of the aforementioned love of 3 squares a day and the aversion to killing/farming) it IS pointing him  in the direction of his own understanding of what's important to him.  What does he think is important that humanity has lost?  How can he try and get it back in his own, modern, life?  And that, if he understands what's important to him, that will help point him in the direction of a life he loves.  And then I said we should switch sides and argue again.  An old trick of my dad's whenever we used to argue:  "Don't hold on to your beliefs so tightly that you lose sight of the other side."

Flames, on the side of my face....heaving...breathless

The title of this post is a quote (paraphrased, probably) from one of the funniest movies ever, Clue.  It's from a woman describing how much she hated her ex-husband.  

It's apropos because today Jeannie and I will be having a meeting where she tells me many of the things that I've done wrong over the course of our relationship, and how those wrongs have affected her emotionally, psychologically, and physically.  My job is to listen and reflect.  The meeting, at the Jeanners' request, will be attended by both of our respective therapists. 

 I'm not entirely sure what's coming my way, but for the last couple of days, I've been filled with this feeling of radiance and lightness in anticipation of it.  I'm sure I'm not going to enjoy or agree with everything that Jeannie says, but I'm so glad that she'll be saying it.  I admire the strength and guts it will take for her to say what's going on for her, whether I agree with her reasoning of how/why she got to where she is or not.  I'm expecting that I will not.  But, I love her, and I don't think there's anything she can say that will change that.   I suppose I will find out.  I want to hear what she has to say and take it in.  

In a weird way, I feel like an athlete the night before the Olympics.  My job for the next 12-24 hours or so will be to be to put everything I believe about Zen, Taoism, Christianity, meditation, codependence, etc. into practice:  LET GO.  GIVE UP CONTROL.  BREATHE.  KEEP QUIET.  LISTEN CLOSELY.  MOVE LIKE WATER.  BE IN TOUCH WITH THE LOVE AT THE CENTER OF MY BEING.  

I feel like I've been training for this my whole life.  I learned from my older brother at a young age how to take a punch (or body slam, suplex, etc) and keep going.  I learned from my dad how to go through unpleasant things and keep smiling and finding the good stuff all around.  I think I will need both of those skills today as I listen and reflect.  

........….............................................................

This post is feeling both way too real, and way too woo-woo at the same time.  Therefore, let me ground things with a little bit of poop talk: My poop has been textbook lately.  I swear, Olipop is great.  The stuff WORKS.  Bristol 4's every day.  

WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?

I Hold the Line

           I'm a bit obsessed with this Peter Gabriel song lately:

I've always liked it, and I always knew it was vaguely Native-American themed, but I recently read an account of where the idea for the song comes from, and now I like it even more.  Apparently, it's a fictionalized account of a coming-of-age ritual where 14 year old Native American boys would accompany the Medicine Man up the mountain, where the Medicine Man would take a rattlesnake out of his bag and let it bite the boy.  The Medicine Man would then travel back down the mountain.  The boys would hallucinate for a few days, and then either make it back down the mountain and become a man in the tribe or they would die.   

I've been finding it very inspiring.  Strength and hope in the face of uncertainty and pain and fear.  Holding on.  Maybe failing/dying.   Plus I love that repeating sample pattern that runs through the whole song.  

I'm a different person than I was a year ago.  

Not better, not worse.  Or maybe both better and worse.  Happier and sadder.  

I've noticed that the songs I've written over the last few years all refer to feeling empty.  

I no longer feel empty.  I feel pain, I feel joy, I feel calmness, I feel anxiety, but I don't feel empty anymore.   I feel everything moving through me constantly changing.  It feels good.  Even when it feels bad.  

Why is this text center-aligned?

What am I holding on for?  

What comes next?

 

Yes, John Mayer, My Body IS a Wonderland

 Today in the car as I was driving from therapy to work, I was thinking about the seat warmers in my car, which I seem to enjoy using even on 80 degree days, and I decided that the two best physical sensations I have encountered in my life thus far are:

1.  In college, when I would save my first cigarette of the day until after an enormous breakfast in the dining hall.  Holy hell was that first cigarette wonderful if I could hold out until after breakfast.  

2.  The feeling of my car seat warmer on my butt.  If I'm being honest, it feels good on my butthole.  Perhaps that's a little too much information.  Let's pretend I didn't say that and I just said my butt.   It feels good on my butt.  The cheeks.  

I haven't written in awhile, and it's because life is...well....it's hard to write about.  It's hard to fit the enormity of all the things that are going on into one stupid little blog post.  Sam is going to turn 14 soon, which is nearly unbelievable.  He is a funny dude.  I enjoy his company more than I would've ever imagined that I could enjoy the company of my kids.  Same with Anna.  When I am with them, I feel love flow back and forth that is unlike anything I've ever known.   They are fun to be with, and I think they're well on their way to becoming good folks.  Time will tell, I suppose, but I'm proud of the work that Jeanners and I have done.  

What some people who read this (is there anybody out there?) might know, and other people who read this might not know, is that Jeannie has been diagnosed with a blood cancer called Myelodysplastic Syndrome.  About a year ago.  It has been scary and life changing and it has affected her energy level and the amount of oxygen that is available to her organs, and has turned life a bit upside-down.  Her time is spent shuttling between numerous therapies and mind/body practices, getting the kids to and from school, resting, managing an incredibly complicated diet and supplement regimen, meeting with friends, practitioners, and supporters, getting weekly blood draws and, when necessary, blood transfusions, and of course being a full-time mom and working on school applications and finding summer camps and the million other things that being a full-time parent entails.  It has also caused a deep examination of the things that she keeps close in her life, the things she holds onto and the things she lets go of as she moves forward.  The jury is still out as to which side of that equation I will end up on.   We don't really talk much about relationship stuff anymore, but it's pretty clear that I am not on the list of people she feels safe and comfortable with.  It is unclear (at least to me) whether that means she no longer wants to live with/be together with me.  Though, with the diagnosis, I am at least somewhat necessary to have around.  Maybe.  It is pretty painful to live in that place of uncertainty, but I am at least certain of how I feel about her and the desire inside of me to stay close and provide whatever support I can until she doesn't want it anymore.  I try and focus on the feelings that I have inside of me rather than trying to predict or guess or control the feelings she has (or doesn't have) inside of her.  I will keep showing up until I am asked or told not to.    

So the last 8 months or so has been an exercise in simultaneously holding on very tight through challenging times while at the same time learning to let go.   Relearning what life is like outside of a close relationship.  The last 30 years have been spent trying to figure out how to crack open my life in order to share it with another person, how to offer up what I have and how to take in and blend it with what they have.  How to compromise, how to try and make one shared life that serves two very different people.  And then try and figure out if they're interested in doing the same thing.  It has been difficult, and painful, and joyous, and scary, and sad, and rewarding, and often unsuccessful, and if you asked me today if I would do it again I would say 'in a heartbeat'.   Because I think, ultimately, it's what life's all about.  Though I wish the process of getting through it all didn't hurt so much. 

And then, when I get sucked into thinking about relationships, and feeling anxiety about it, and pain, then I think about the diagnosis.  And then that's what matters.  That's it.  Whether Jeannie and I are together or not, I want her Here.   I want her to feel safe and comfortable and healthy.  And it's something that I have very little control over.  It's something that's happening inside Jeannie's body.  So then what to do becomes very clear:  show up.  if you see that something is needed, do that thing.  if you're not sure if something is needed, ask.  find the good shit that is around and take it in.  make sure that you're paying attention to and really feeling that good shit.   take as much off her plate as you can.  listen.  let go.  rest when you can.  see the beauty of it all.  beauty exists outside of pleasant or unpleasant.  outside of easy or difficult.  beauty can exist in pain.  find the beauty.  show up some more.  hold on.  let go.  

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN!!!!!

Link to Jeannie's CaringBridge blog is here.

Three, three, three posts in one

 This is gonna be a special post.  You get three exciting stories of my life packed into one pithy post.  The stories will feature death, drugs, cannibalism, and maybe some other things but I'm not sure.  Let's dive in:

__________________________________________________________________________________

Post one:  Death

My dad died on Oct 12th.  Back when we visited in early August, he had just decided to stop treatment for the melanoma that he had been dealing with for a long time and that had slowly been spreading all over his body, inside and out, including a few spots of it in the brain that didn't seem to be responding very much to treatment.  When he decided to stop treatment, the doctors predicted that after 6-8 weeks he would experience a rapid decline, and then linger for a month or two.  That's pretty much exactly how everything went down.  

After being OK for 6-8 weeks, he started getting weaker and weaker, taking more and more naps and having much less interest in doing the things he normally did.  He lost his appetite and started eating less, which only fueled additional weakness.  After a few more weeks he started spending the majority of the day in bed, drifted in and out of consciousness, and stopped going down to meals.  As he lost weight and started getting out of bed less and less, my siblings and I knew that his death was imminent, but we weren't sure exactly how much time he might have left.  Days?  Weeks?  A month?  Two?  I started wondering if I should make a trip into St. Louis to see him and say goodbye, but I decided not to because when we had last visited at the end of the summer, we both knew that he had stopped treatment and that we might not see each other again.  The goodbye we had then felt good and it felt like enough.  I had a talk with my sister and told her how I was feeling about it, and she said that she and my siblings all supported whatever decision felt right.  

The day after talking with my sister, I was at work, it was a Friday morning, and I found myself crying all morning and wanting to make the trip to say a real goodbye.  To tell my Dad how I felt about him and that he would be missed.  While he could still be conscious (maybe) and hear me.  So I checked in with Jeannie and then my boss and decided that I would drive to St. Louis on Monday and drive back to Baltimore on Tuesday.   So that's what I did.  

I got to spend some time with my Dad, and I told him the things that I wanted to tell him, and we both cried, and we sang songs together (the killer, heartbreaking old songs about people dying horrible deaths in car crashes, or in war, or about kids dying from illness that he loved so much), and I sat and talked with my Mom, and my Dad drifted in and out of sleep, and I slept that night on their couch and listened to them talking in their bedroom the same way I used to do when I was 9 or 10 and laying in my bed hearing them talk in their room in the middle of the night.  It was spooky, and heartbreaking, and maybe healing in a way.  And the next day I said a final goodbye, which is probably the hardest thing I've ever done, and I ate breakfast with my Mom and then drove home.  And cried, and cried, and cried.  

And my Dad lived for another two weeks-ish.  And he was moved into the skilled nursing building a couple of days after my visit, and he pretty much stopped eating, and spent more time asleep.  And then he started telling people that he had died on October 1st, that he had stopped breathing and hadn't started again, and pressing the nurse call button because God was giving him messages to deliver to the nurses (who very kindly gave him a little shot of a sedative so that maybe God would send the messages a little less frequently).  And throughout this process, when he was awake and lucid he would assure everyone that he was comfortable and not in any pain.  

And then, on the morning of the 12th, a Sunday, I was driving home from fixing something at work and my brother called to let me know that he had just died.  And that my Mom, and brother, and oldest sister and brother-in-law had been with him, and that my other sister had just finished spending the night with him.  

And then we figured a day that worked for folks for a funeral, and my siblings did all the heavy lifting of planning and organizing it, and Jeannie and the kids and I made another drive in, and it was a beautiful day of family and friends and fall colors, and a lovely breeze, a beautiful cherry casket, and birds flying south overhead.  My dad would have loved it all.  

And what I am left with after everything is over is a tremendous feeling of gratitude.  I am so grateful for my siblings -- that we all get along, that we're all different in ways that seem to compliment each other, and that everybody just pitches in in whatever way they can.  I'm grateful for my Mom -- that in the midst of sadness and tremendous change she is able to focus on the positive, and the future, and keep putting one foot in front of the other with the faith that it will get easier (or at least, less hard).  And I'm grateful for the man that I get to call my Dad.  He was gentle, and kind, and reasonable, and fun, and he passed on his love of the little everyday miracle things in life that are given to us for free, without strings and without cause and without us deserving them:  sunlight, nature, music, people, hotdogs, diving boards, running, kicking, wood, rivers, ice, tears, children, hearts.

I have been enjoying the feeling of seeing my Dad in the things and places around me (especially the birds and trees and rivers on the drive back to Baltimore).  I have no idea if it's true but it sure is comforting.  

___________________________________________________________________________________

Post Two:  Drugs

I recently (legally) ingested a Schedule 1 controlled substance.  My first drug use except for alcohol, nicotine, and caffeine (and, I guess, ibuprofen and whatever Nyquil is).  And throat coat herbal tea.  Unfortunately, I cannot say much more about this except that A) it was legal. B) it was not pot (I promised Spiff a long time ago that if I ever smoked pot, he would be the first person I did it with, and I do not intend on breaking that promise without his express written consent). C) it was in a highly safe and controlled setting, and D) it has proven, so far, to have been a very profound and positive experience.   I would point out that I think (D) is very much related to (C).  I cannot really imagine the extent of the potential for negative effects if (C) hadn't been the case.  

That's all I can really say about that right now.  Maybe this will all get its own post later in life.  Maybe not.  For now it's what I can share.  

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Post Three:  Cannibalism

When we were in St. Louis for the funeral, my nephew (who works in the tech world) told me that whenever he encounters a new AI program/app/bot/whatever the hell you call it, he tests it with the prompt, "Tell me what you know about turkenboyden."  Often, the AI bot will respond with things that don't really make sense, but he said he recently tried one that must have found this blog and was able to return results that showed tremendous insight about my personal history, psyche, and dare I say, the contents of my soul.  

So, in an attempt to make AI eat itself, so that when in the future AI is searching for information about turkenboyden it will find information generated by a previous AI, I will include a copy of the AI results that it gave my nephew.  In the hopes that the whole thing explodes and we go back to being fucking cavepersons.  Here it is:

___________________________________________________________________________________

That's it.  I hope you have enjoyed these three posts.  I know I sure enjoyed writing them.  

Where fashion sits...

 The family and I have just returned from our annual summer vacation, 2025 style.  

We began with a drive from Bmore to Mossy Springs in southern Missouri.  Spent some balls-ass hot summer days sitting in the Gasconade river and visiting with family.  Dunking in a 55 degree spring.  Getting chigger bites.  Sweating at night.  Just like my people have been doing for over 100 years now.  

Then we spent a few days in St. Louis, staying with Jeannie's Mom and visiting various folks -- my parents, her Dad, etc. -- and doing some of our usual St. Louisy things.  Grilling meat at her Mom's new house, sweltering in the heat of my parents' apartment, going to the City Museum, playing Cards Against Humanity family edition, playing Rummy, hangin' with Jeannie's brother and his daughter.   I received an accordion.  

 

Then, the kids stayed with my sisters for a few days (and did wonderful things like Six Flags, disc golf, skatepark, frozen custard, etc) and Jeannie and I flew to Grand Cayman Island for a friend's wedding.  The friend and her new groom were treating everyone to the trip, so no expense was spared.  We were truly pampered for four days, and every need was catered to in a way that neither Jeannie nor I have experienced since we were babies.  We flew first class, we stayed at the Ritz Carlton, we ate from tremendous buffets for every meal, we frolicked on the beach, we slathered on gobs of sunscreen that was more like white spray paint than any sort of previously known body lotion, we rode (and repeatedly fell off of) something called an e-foil, we went on nighttime walks by the ocean, we enjoyed a private concert from a very British and enjoyable band, and disappeared from the real world in a way that was both very enjoyable and seductive and also very weird and didn't-quite-feel-right.  BUT -- I'm very grateful to have had the experience of a really memorable and unique four days.  I'm grateful to have had time away from the kids with just Jeannie and I, and I'm grateful that the kids were also having the time of their lives and getting four days of solid-packed lovin' from my sisters and their families.  

Then we got back and spent a few more days in St. Louis, visiting and relaxing.  

A big highlight happened for me on the drive back to Baltimore - while Jeannie slept and the kids were off in their own little headphone-induced worlds in the backseat, I listened to a new audiobook of Jack Kerouac's Lonesome Traveler and fell back in love with his writing.  To me his writing is the closest thing I've ever experienced to being inside the head of another person, and experiencing life in a different mind and body.  There have been a few of his books which have recently been put out in audiobook format for the first time (including my personal favorite, Desolation Angels, which I am listening to now) and listening to them has brought me back to a place of knowing and enjoying solitude and quiet contemplation and compassionate observation rather than getting caught up in things.  Hard to describe.  But it is a reconnection with something that feels very central to who I am and how I view the world.  But related in a more colorful and artistic and (dare I say) poetic way than I could ever hope to do.  

Anyway, today it was back to work after a strange morning involving clinical trials that maybe if you're lucky, one day I will relate the story of.  

What to say?

 Hard to know what to say.  Been dealing with some things that have come up over the last few weeks that have added stress to life.  But have also put things into a different perspective that makes a lot of bullshit drop away, too.  

For a few weeks now, we've had a nighttime ritual in our house where we all (or most of us -- sometimes one of the kids is off doing something somewhere) gather in the living room, and the lights are dim-ish, and we've got soft music playing, and everybody is kinda doing their own thing, and we're just sitting and talking.  One of us might be reading, two of us playing cards or chess, one of us drawing -  things like that.  And we have all remarked at one time or another how much we like it, how peaceful and calming it feels.  For me, it's a bit of a dream come true.  When I used to picture (before I had a family) what it might be like to have a family, I pictured a scene kind of like what's happening now.  

It's been a rainy summer.  

The drug of the nation

 For no particular reason other than I was talking about it the other day with Samuel, these are my top 5 television shows of all time (not really in any particular order):

Breaking Bad

The West Wing

Cheers

Black Mirror

Friends

Honorable mention goes to Little House on the Prairie, but I'll admit that I often have a hard time getting all the way through an episode when I go back and do a rewatch.  

No Bad Parts

 Here's what happened to me, and it's gonna sound a bit wacko, or stupid, or nonsensical, but I want to put it down so I don't forget it.  

Back in the middle of February, I was sick for a few weeks, and I spent a few days in bed with Covid, and then was working while still sick, but just generally worn out and feverish and spending a lot of time in bed.  And one night while I was in bed I had an experience where I could clearly see different parts of myself -- mainly a very young part of myself that was scared and sad and felt alone (but that also was a very young part that sometimes was wild and fun and full of joy), and then a slightly older part of myself that was angry and scared and loud and who's main job was to make sure that EVERYONE STAYS SAFE.  Especially that young part of me.  And I thought, "How strange that I can see these two parts of myself so clearly, that I can see what they look like and how they act and how old they are and how loud they are and what they like and what they dislike and how they feel about each other."  And then I realized, wait a minute, there's a part of myself that is seeing these other two parts, and has feelings toward them, and makes decisions based on what these two parts are telling him, and this part that is watching is ME, adult me, and doesn't really have an age, has been there the whole time, since I was little and through to today.  And I started noticing other parts of me that are in there as well but maybe not very loud, or standing in the background -- occasionally coming forward and speaking, and then receding or hiding.  

I woke up the next day feeling pretty amazed at what I had seen.  

Then a few nights later I had an experience where the ADULT ME part saw the little kid part, and was talking to it, and asking it why it goes away, and what's bothering it.  And the little kid part talked to the adult part (not out loud, this is all happening in my head).  And I cried for a few minutes in bed while I listened to it, and felt what it feels.  And after I cried I felt like a part of my chest had gotten bigger, opened up, and more air could get in.  I was able to breathe in a way that I don't remember ever being able to before, or at least not for a VERY LONG TIME.   

And since that time I've felt different, like a pain that has been with me for 30+ years has dissolved, been lifted, disappeared.  That all of these different parts of myself are being taken cared of by this ADULT ME in a way that they never have been before.  And they've quieted and calmed down and are able to relax.  And as a result I feel like a 100% different person.  I am walking around with feelings of lightness, happiness, gratitude, calmness, confidence, and enjoyment in a way that I haven't experienced for a LONG time.  30 years?  More?  

Then the other day the book "No Bad Parts" by Richard Schwartz showed up in my social media feed (coincidence?  I think not), and I downloaded the audiobook and have been listening to it over the last week.  And I'm amazed at how accurately the book describes what my experience has been, down to the ages of the parts and the feelings that arise as they are able to speak, trust, and relax, and I've also felt amazed at myself --  that somehow I was given this experience and naturally or instinctively did some of the exercises described in the book before I ever knew anything about the book.  

I'm not sure what's going on, but I have appreciated the weeks of feeling different.  I feel like I've been given a new life and new eyes with which to see the world and the people around me, and the different parts that are hanging out inside of me.  And that I know how to take care of all of them.  

Björk and Beans

 Sam and I have been watching Stranger Things together.  I watched it when it first came out, but I don't remember many of the details, and this rewatch is a good refresher before the final season comes out later this year.  He's never seen it before.  We are enjoying it SO MUCH.  We watch one or two episodes each week, and we both look forward to it all week long, and we get giddy when it's time to watch.  Yesterday we watched the season 3 finale, and I have had to go back and watch the ending again several times since watching it yesterday.  I was incredibly moved, struck by so many things about the ending that were done well.  The writing, the acting, the lighting, the costumes, the direction.   Everything came together perfectly and the result has left me bawling every time I've watched it.  When I am on my deathbed I will look back and remember watching this show with Samuel as one of the highlights of my life.  

I got pretty sick a month or two ago and for awhile was having semi-psychedelic experiences during the night.  I was left with a deeper understanding of how my psyche works.   No shit. 

Commando

 

I'm at work and I'm not wearing any underwear.  Scandalous!!!

See, I went to the gym this morning after dropping Sam off at school, and I forgot to bring extra underwear with me, and after my shower, instead of wearing sweaty, wet underwear for the rest of the day I decided to forego the underwear altogether.  I'll be honest, I'm not really happy with my choice.  Not that I would have been happy with sweaty, wet underwear either.  But I feel as though my dongbone is poking out of my fly even though it's not.  And I'm a little worried about chafing.  

Been rewatching the television show Sports Night.  It's a good show, though dated.  

Went and saw the new Tom Hanks/Robin Wright movie, 'Here', with the Jeanners on Saturday night.  The reviews I read were not very complimentary, but Jeannie and I both enjoyed it.  I thought it was a partially interesting story but told in a visually interesting way.  And the de-aging effects used on T. Hanks and Robin W. weren't as creepy as I thought they'd be.  

Aside from all that, life rolls along.  Problems arise, problems are dealt with in one way or another, joys arise, joys depart, problems arise, etc.  

A few months ago I started listening to an artist named Mogli.  Would recommend. 

Pestilence Descends

When I get a fever, I usually lay in bed and shake uncontrollably for a day or so, and it always makes me think of a Little House on the Prairie episode where Almanzo gets sick and they pack him in ice to get his fever down.  I remember him in a bathtub of ice, but in this picture I found online, he appears to be in bed.  

Such an event happened on Friday when I was struck down by The Covids.  Woke up feeling poorly, tested positive, then got worse as the day unfolded.  It was a really bad time to get sick because there's a ton of work to do on the next set before we tech this weekend.  So I ended up recuperating on Friday and Saturday and then heading into work on Sunday night despite being a sicky sick-o.  And working a crappy day on Monday, doing crappy work, wearing a crappy mask, and feeling crappy.  Then on Tuesday I was feeling a little better.  Then today I'm doing OK.  

And that is the story of me being sick.  

NOTE TO SELF!!

Last night we met A-Train for a dinner and stroll in search of ice cream in Pittsburgh.  I haven't been to Pittsburgh since I was a wee lad, and the rest of the fam has never been, and holy crap it was gorgeous!  Granted, we were walking along the water and it was the type of cool summer evening that would be gorgeous no matter where we were walking along the water, but Pittsburgh last night seemed especially gorgeous.  The moon, the lights, the bridges, the sounds of a baseball game coming out of the stadium, the people streaming out of the stadium when the game was over, the restaurants with serving windows that opened up to the street in front, the buildings all involving some version of the name HEINZ, the creepy Mr. Rogers statue that was larger than life and looked like it was crafted from turds (and its beautiful setting), the good company.  

On the drive from St. Louis we'd been listening to Matthew McConoughhey's (sp?) audiobook GREENLIGHTS.  It was entertaining, but we all agreed that his particular brand of whackness is a bit more whack than our particular brand of whackness.  

dear birds and snooks

I am currently sitting in an Urgent Care facility in Oakville, MO.  Jeannie dropped me off awhile ago, a little early for my appointment, but then after she dropped me off we realized that we were looking at the clock in the car, which was still on Baltimore time, so I was a LOT early.  Oh well.  

I have a low fever and am feeling achy.  Tested negative for Covid this morning, but I'm at Urgent Care because Jeannie and I went backpacking last week as part of our vacation, and we got covered in ticks.  So I want to get this fevery achiness checked out to see if it's tick-related or just regular old fevery achiness.  

It's been an interesting trip.  It has involved a lot of driving, tick infestation, chigger infestation, a trip to the ER with a nearly unconscious vomiting J-Dog, and an amazing story from my neice that is absolutely the best/worst Bristol 7 story I've ever heard.  Amongst all of that, we've visited a lot of people, had a little bit of relaxation, and seriously trashed our car.  

I'm a little worried about getting back to work and real life next week.  We've been gone awhile and have lots of responsibilities waiting for us when we get back.  

I'm hungry.  

Olipoop

I've never done a product endorsement before, but here goes:  

If you've ever read this blog, you probably know that I'm very interested by poop and the fine art of pooping.  

My kids and I were doing our weekly grocery-shopping a few weeks ago, and in a local Mom's Organic Market I came across a brand of soda called Olipop, which was marketing itself as a soda that aided with digestion and contained a whopping 32% of a person's daily recommended dietary fiber requirement.  I've been eating a fairly high-protein diet lately and one of the side effects I've noticed is that it makes my poop a little on the firm side (think Bristol 1-3), so I decided to give it a try and bought a 12oz can despite its daddy warbucks price of $2+ per.  And damn if my poop the next day wasn't a textbook Bristol 4.  Perfection, beautiful in every way.  So the next week I bought a 4 pack and sure enough, each day that I drank an Olipop, the next day I was blessed with a sausage turd of perfection in the tarlet area.  And the streak has continued ever since.  And speaking of streaks, another added bonus is that butt-wiping has ceased being a laborious affair (as it so often is for those of us who are gluteally hirsuit) and is now quick and simple.  

So anyway, #Olipop if you're listening, thank you.  And I'm free for an endorsement deal and happy to share my poop stories on a national level.  

Stevia Wonder

Over the last week or so, I've been working on an idea for a sugar-free soft drink that would be endorsed by Stevie Wonder and would be called...wait for it...STEVIA WONDER.  So far, the idea hasn't progressed much farther than that (except for some vague images in my head about what the commercials might look like and some rejected taglines ("blindingly delicious", "I just called to say I love sugar-free beverages") but really, I'm not sure the idea NEEDS to develop any more than that.  

Work, kids, gym, various therapies.  That's life.  Trying to recognize all the good around me and enjoy it.  

Maybe going to start doing some backpacking.  Just bought an ultra-light tent.  One step closer to my lifelong dream of being a bum.  

Finding it harder and harder lately to feign appropriateness.  Still making the effort.  

Attachment Theory

 My biggest pasttime right now seems to be doing some type of therapy.  I'm getting a little tired of it, but only because my brain soaks that shit up like a sponge and then doesn't want to let go of it.  The latest thing I've been working on is digging into attachment theory -- looking at why I have what seems to be a fairly fucked-up mix of desperately needing validation from an intimate relationship AND perfect comfort with the idea of never seeing another human being again.  And yet it all seems to feel perfectly normal to me.  

Currently sitting contentedly on the couch listening to mostly soft tunes, reading ol' Jacky Kerouacky, while Jeanners and the kids are out at a kid birthday party, nary an illuminated overhead light in sight, lamplight only please.  

Ah, but who cares?  As each day passes, I'm less convinced that this all means anything, and I wasn't particularly convinced before anyway.  

I think I'm just feeling a little bleak today.  There's been some death and illness around me lately, and it's got my outlook a little bit on the gloomy side.  

Raw Fat

 Over the summer, I came up with my new stripper name:  Raw Fat.  

Waylon J

I been on a big-ass Waylon Jennings kick lately.  The production on some of his mid-70's albums is so simple and so god-damned stellar.  

Colon "Oscopy" Powell

 Well, I had my first colonoscopy this morning, and I loved it.  For real.  I loved the prep and its corresponding hours of diarrhea, I loved the procedure, I loved the anesthesia, and I love having a day off work.  The only two things I did not like were the taste of the prep medicine and the feeling of the IV in my hand.  Maybe it was the lack of food in my system or maybe it was because I had very low expectations for the whole thing but I was in a slight state of euphoria for the entire time.  

Also, I would like to give a big shout out to (sorry MJ) propofol.  Damn, I was asleep.  I wouldn't think that I would sleep through someone jamming a camera into my poop shoot, but I sure enough did.  My first time on anesthesia and I give it two solid thumbs up.  

I've had a bag of ravioli in the freezer downstairs for many months now and I've been waiting for the right time to enjoy it, and I have chosen right now as that time and it is G  O  O  D.  

I debated posting some colon pictures, but I'm not sure if there's any demand out there for them.  So I've decided not to.  But if anybody wants to see some pictures of (the inside of) my colon, please leave a comment and I'll get them right up in the next post.  And yes, the "retroflexed view in the rectum" is included.