There are many things I don't understand. So it's almost futile to try and enumerate them, except in a few egregious instances. That I don't understand them is not wholly complete. I hate them--I passionately dislike them--and I can't remain in a room where they are. In many cases, these days, I'm grateful that I downloaded various games onto both my cell phone and my iPod. (As I've mentioned, I have a Touch because I have way too much music to fit on a phone. For a myriad of incoherent reasons, I don't have a true iPhone and this is one is the most vindicating, although a Touch is simply an iPhone without the calling capacity.) When the Winter Olympics or Two and a Half Men comes on and someone else wants to watch, I retreat to that before I remove myself altogether.
Mostly this is because MS hinders my true intention, which is to shoot out of the room. Eventually, though, I can't stand any more Bob Costas or Charlie Sheen, and have to leave somehow. Occasionally I find myself stuck in a living room that I can't escape, and I have to endure the hackneyed commentary of the former or the banal dialogue of the latter.
The Olympics don't really assault my sensibilities. I just find them boring as shit. Who the hell wants to watch white people brave the daunting snow and/or slide on skates? This is my way of saying that they're mildly racist. Of course there are black athletes, but you never think of one's name. There is nowhere where this is more apparent than figure skating, which has been the butt of many jokes but mostly this concentrates on sexual orientation more than race.
Wait--that's not true, because actually it's very perceptible in every sport. Similarly, whoever prefers The Sopranos to The Wire is a racist, I'm convinced, however faint their racial biases are. The Wire is so much better, and The Sopranos was based on the earth-shattering (sarcasm again), trite premise of a mobster in therapy. It's not bad, though, especially in comparison to a piece of shit like Two and a Half Men.
The glib quips of jackasses like Charlie Sheen and Jon Cryer (the "Two" in the title) are met with canned, fake audience laughter that only highlights how unfunny they are. I'm not totally averse to laugh tracks, mind you, because Seinfeld and a few other great shows of the past had them. I suspect, too, that a studio executive insisted on them, much like Woody Allen's character in Annie Hall protests while someone at a soundboard inserts the sounds of an audience's laughs.
That only becomes noticeable when the script is unfunny. I nearly forgot that Seinfeld had one because it was funny. Two and a Half Men is not. I know that various protests may lie in the subjectivity of humor, but in this case the show is objectively unfunny. Charlie Sheen swirls the ice cubes around in a tumbler of whiskey, mutters an inane comment, and the audience laughs, against their better judgment. Jon Cryer says something patently unhip, and the audience laughs. The fat kid says something--anything, and the more incredulous the better--and the audience laughs. This wouldn't be a problem if any of these things were funny, but they aren't.
I know I run the risk of being labeled a snob, but anyone who lobs that insult perfunctorily would never know what that means--"perfunctorily," to clarify. Also, they're dumb enough to watch Two and a Half Men voluntarily and regularly, so their opinion holds no sway with me.
I really don't care. That shows sucks unremittingly. Objectively.
R
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
A Deflection Aimed at Palin
I suppose I should offer an explanation for my recent two-day hospitalization, but I don't feel like it. (To sum it up, I'm on Trazodone for sleep and back on Zoloft, for better or worse.) Not now, anyway, because I again saw that Family Guy clip that made fun of Sarah Palin. If you watch the show, which you should, you already understand that that episode defamed her more than her daughter, who has Down syndrome.
Predictably, the Right, in this case exemplified by Bill O'Reilly and Sarah Palin (I only just now connected the Fox News dots), took umbrage with a recent episode of Seth MacFarlane's brain-child that cast someone with Down synndrome to play a date of Chris's (the fat son who is voiced by the show's other Seth, Seth Green). Of course she didn't like the snippet, although it's another example of her opportunistic hypocrisy that she let Rush Limbaugh go (physically easy for that tub of goo) for doing the exact same thing.
Her, and his, excuse was that he did it in the name of "satire." Obviously she, and he, doesn't watch the show because everything gets lampooned, and Karl Rove and, uh, HE were on an episode recently (their animated avatars were their physical presences, of course, although I wonder if either of them could fit through a studio door--because they're fat).
I have to go off on a tangent again, because I have friends who watch Fox News ironically and an uncle that listens to Rush Limbaugh without irony. I must say that, as I've said before, irony has its limits, and Glenn Beck, even though he may make me laugh with his stupid, nonsensical chalkboard and maudlin displays of outrage and continuous copious crocodile tears, wields immense power as a television demagogue who exploits the bigotry of anyone who nods in agreement. I can't watch it for more than the few seconds it takes me to realize that I accidentally landed on the channel. I avoid it like an allergen, because I could be moving my head up and down and someone would think I agree with whatever bullshit is on the screen. And also, I love it that Limbaugh, with his cochlear implant, was on a show that also has an episode with a greased-up deaf guy.
But anyway--back to how much I hate Sarah Palin. I tried to think of a less direct adjective to describe my feelings toward her--loathe, despise, dislike, abhor, detest, etc.--and, though I do feel all of those ways about her, I settled on "hate" because it's short and sweet. Ever since McCain completed the destruction of his reputation by picking her as his running mate, I have had to endure her idiocy. For that reason alone--that he gave her national prominence--his honorable service during the Vietnam War has evaporated. Now I rue that the VC didn't complete the job. I realize that that sounds puerile, but I don't care--he sold himself out 40 years later. (Also, there's no way that she could exploit my brusqueness because she would never know what "puerile" means. And McCain, I'm sure, has no idea how to use a computer).
She is obscenely dumb, and seems to revel in it. This always drove me nuts when someone would cite Bush's simple mindset as an attribute and neglected his simple-mindedness. We should accept the fact that she is a moron, and move on.
R
Predictably, the Right, in this case exemplified by Bill O'Reilly and Sarah Palin (I only just now connected the Fox News dots), took umbrage with a recent episode of Seth MacFarlane's brain-child that cast someone with Down synndrome to play a date of Chris's (the fat son who is voiced by the show's other Seth, Seth Green). Of course she didn't like the snippet, although it's another example of her opportunistic hypocrisy that she let Rush Limbaugh go (physically easy for that tub of goo) for doing the exact same thing.
Her, and his, excuse was that he did it in the name of "satire." Obviously she, and he, doesn't watch the show because everything gets lampooned, and Karl Rove and, uh, HE were on an episode recently (their animated avatars were their physical presences, of course, although I wonder if either of them could fit through a studio door--because they're fat).
I have to go off on a tangent again, because I have friends who watch Fox News ironically and an uncle that listens to Rush Limbaugh without irony. I must say that, as I've said before, irony has its limits, and Glenn Beck, even though he may make me laugh with his stupid, nonsensical chalkboard and maudlin displays of outrage and continuous copious crocodile tears, wields immense power as a television demagogue who exploits the bigotry of anyone who nods in agreement. I can't watch it for more than the few seconds it takes me to realize that I accidentally landed on the channel. I avoid it like an allergen, because I could be moving my head up and down and someone would think I agree with whatever bullshit is on the screen. And also, I love it that Limbaugh, with his cochlear implant, was on a show that also has an episode with a greased-up deaf guy.
But anyway--back to how much I hate Sarah Palin. I tried to think of a less direct adjective to describe my feelings toward her--loathe, despise, dislike, abhor, detest, etc.--and, though I do feel all of those ways about her, I settled on "hate" because it's short and sweet. Ever since McCain completed the destruction of his reputation by picking her as his running mate, I have had to endure her idiocy. For that reason alone--that he gave her national prominence--his honorable service during the Vietnam War has evaporated. Now I rue that the VC didn't complete the job. I realize that that sounds puerile, but I don't care--he sold himself out 40 years later. (Also, there's no way that she could exploit my brusqueness because she would never know what "puerile" means. And McCain, I'm sure, has no idea how to use a computer).
She is obscenely dumb, and seems to revel in it. This always drove me nuts when someone would cite Bush's simple mindset as an attribute and neglected his simple-mindedness. We should accept the fact that she is a moron, and move on.
R
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Bye Bayh
When I heard that Senator Evan Bayh was leaving his post at Congress, of course I suspected another more prurient revelation that had not been disclosed yet. He cited Washington's "dysfunction" as the primary factor behind his decision. No shit--Congress was a cesspool way before he took office in 1999, so this is not exactly groundbreaking stuff. In case he also didn't know, McDonald's is bad for you. You'd think he'd be less shameless and reluctant about making such obvious observations.
His resignation has been touted as another blow to the Obama presidency. It is, clearly, but the Administration has not exactly set the world on fire with its massive reforms. As I've lamented, he really hasn't done anything. There have been several minor legislative victories, but he hasn't closed Guantanamo, nor has he passed health care reform. Bush never had the majority in Congress that Obama's had, and yet he still managed to drag us into two quagmires/wars, oversaw the worst economy since the Great Depression, and supported the most relaxed financial regulations that Reagan could only dream of. (Etc.)
He warned of "catastrophe" when Scott Brown began surging in the Massachusetts's polls, but didn't explain just what this would entail. Yes, the GOP is a party of obstructionists, but is it not the job of the majority party to find a way around this? Democrats' modus operandi was to use their huge congressional majorities to pass things. The problem was, they didn't to begin with. From the start, they relied on their supermajority to avoid a destructive, potential filibuster that never came. I'm not saying that Republicans wouldn't have blocked numerous bills, but they'd then be forced to explain to their constituents why they did what they did. I suspect that, especially in the South, logic would elude them anyway, but they'd have to try, at least. Wringing your hands is understandable, but eventually you have to throw a punch. Preferably in the face of that worm Joe Lieberman.
When Bayh announced his imminent resignation, I really didn't care. In fact, I thought "Good riddance" and even had the Green Day song of the same name stuck in my head. By the way, that song stands with "You Look Wonderful Tonight" and "I'll Be Watching Your" as the most misunderstood, although it, along with the former, might be difficult to discern based on the banal title. It's actually titled "Good Riddance," though, and "Time of Your Life" is the parenthetical subtitle. Anywho, he labeled himself a "centrist" even as Congress was inching farther and farther to the right. Common sense becomes "socialism" to Republicans. Such is the sad state of the US...
I joke and say that Bayh, with the "blue dog" Democrats, is really a Republican with a sense of electoral pragmatism. Now, though, the influence of the pathetic middle will really be felt. It's disconcerting to think that they wield more power than ever. Obama's pusillanimous clamor for bipartisanship was always nice in theory, but it doesn't work when the other side thwarts it nonsensically and continuously.
Bayh has been a reliable Democratic vote in the Senate, but that means less and less with each uneventful passing day. He is an alumnus of St. Albans in DC with a degree in business economics, so I'm sure he's familiar with a concept that has thus far typified the Obama Administration: diminishing returns.
R
His resignation has been touted as another blow to the Obama presidency. It is, clearly, but the Administration has not exactly set the world on fire with its massive reforms. As I've lamented, he really hasn't done anything. There have been several minor legislative victories, but he hasn't closed Guantanamo, nor has he passed health care reform. Bush never had the majority in Congress that Obama's had, and yet he still managed to drag us into two quagmires/wars, oversaw the worst economy since the Great Depression, and supported the most relaxed financial regulations that Reagan could only dream of. (Etc.)
He warned of "catastrophe" when Scott Brown began surging in the Massachusetts's polls, but didn't explain just what this would entail. Yes, the GOP is a party of obstructionists, but is it not the job of the majority party to find a way around this? Democrats' modus operandi was to use their huge congressional majorities to pass things. The problem was, they didn't to begin with. From the start, they relied on their supermajority to avoid a destructive, potential filibuster that never came. I'm not saying that Republicans wouldn't have blocked numerous bills, but they'd then be forced to explain to their constituents why they did what they did. I suspect that, especially in the South, logic would elude them anyway, but they'd have to try, at least. Wringing your hands is understandable, but eventually you have to throw a punch. Preferably in the face of that worm Joe Lieberman.
When Bayh announced his imminent resignation, I really didn't care. In fact, I thought "Good riddance" and even had the Green Day song of the same name stuck in my head. By the way, that song stands with "You Look Wonderful Tonight" and "I'll Be Watching Your" as the most misunderstood, although it, along with the former, might be difficult to discern based on the banal title. It's actually titled "Good Riddance," though, and "Time of Your Life" is the parenthetical subtitle. Anywho, he labeled himself a "centrist" even as Congress was inching farther and farther to the right. Common sense becomes "socialism" to Republicans. Such is the sad state of the US...
I joke and say that Bayh, with the "blue dog" Democrats, is really a Republican with a sense of electoral pragmatism. Now, though, the influence of the pathetic middle will really be felt. It's disconcerting to think that they wield more power than ever. Obama's pusillanimous clamor for bipartisanship was always nice in theory, but it doesn't work when the other side thwarts it nonsensically and continuously.
Bayh has been a reliable Democratic vote in the Senate, but that means less and less with each uneventful passing day. He is an alumnus of St. Albans in DC with a degree in business economics, so I'm sure he's familiar with a concept that has thus far typified the Obama Administration: diminishing returns.
R
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Don't Shrug Me Off
The past few days have been immensely frustrating. I cannot fall asleep. It's not even a dubious claim like many people make, only to find out that they've been asleep for hours, like on Dateline and its cameras with night vision. I remain conscious at all times--painfully so.
I used to scoff at the ails that come with insomnia. "Just go to sleep!," I thought. The problem is that I try try try, and fail unremittingly. It's not an example of unaware twilight sleep, where you sleep and don't remember, and thus don't know it. I had my wisdom teeth pulled a few years back, and know that the phenomena are quite different. In one, you're knocked out and awake nearly imperceptibly, and in this one, I'm very awake at all times. There was a funny (not ha-ha) instance where my uncle came into my grandmother's room earlier today and thought that I had fallen asleep because I was supine and motionless. I heard him, though, and remained frustrated that I was still awake.
I've said before that my anticlimactic experience with Ambien in the past left me wary of taking it again. At this point, though, I'm willing to give nearly anything a whirl. I chalk that up to misremembered dysfunction, sort of like the appeal of a bad relationship. The adage is that hindsight is 20/20, but this is foolish. Actually, memory is selectively forgetful, ironically. "It'll be different this time" is a mantra repeated by many a battered wife, and it has become a cliche. Truthfully, sadly, history nearly always repeats itself. Every once in a while, though, actual change creeps in. Or I could be delirious from sleep deprivation, which is wholly possible. Like I've said, I also took Restoril, and was wiped out for much of the next day, so I remain averse to it but think, maybe, that I exaggerated its effects.
My doctors, I feel, cannot grasp the extent to which my inability to fall asleep is an issue. I'm not fucking around, though, and even though I previously touted their prowess, I am now sufficiently frustrated to cast them aside. When I delve into the particulars of this, I understand that this is a foolish and prime example of throwing out the baby with the bathwater. I'm obscenely angry, though, at my body's refusal to go to sleep easily. Similarly, I'm supremely pissed at their insouciance with regard to it.
One of the things I'm told is that sleep deprivation can exacerbate some of the symptoms of MS. Why, then, do my doctors not seem to take it as seriously as I feel it? You'd think that they'd be jumping at the problem, scrambling to rectify it. Not so, strangely. I feel insane because of the vehemence I think I'm saying that it bothers me, only to get little response. Really, WHAT THE FUCK? I'm not a frantic, panicky hypochondriac, so take me seriously.
It's become such an issue that propofol crossed my mind. Any time you empathize with Michael Jackson should disturb you. He had a chronic difficulty sleeping, and went so far as to employ a doctor who administered the local anesthetic used in major surgery just to knock him out. I always end up thinking of the absurdity of it, but the fact that I even lapse into thinking about it at all freaks me out. Luckily, I don't have millions of dollars at my disposal to consider such an idiotic gambit.
I like my doctors, but the fact that I even have to worry about this makes me think twice about my thoughts about them. Really--WHAT THE FUCK?!
R
I used to scoff at the ails that come with insomnia. "Just go to sleep!," I thought. The problem is that I try try try, and fail unremittingly. It's not an example of unaware twilight sleep, where you sleep and don't remember, and thus don't know it. I had my wisdom teeth pulled a few years back, and know that the phenomena are quite different. In one, you're knocked out and awake nearly imperceptibly, and in this one, I'm very awake at all times. There was a funny (not ha-ha) instance where my uncle came into my grandmother's room earlier today and thought that I had fallen asleep because I was supine and motionless. I heard him, though, and remained frustrated that I was still awake.
I've said before that my anticlimactic experience with Ambien in the past left me wary of taking it again. At this point, though, I'm willing to give nearly anything a whirl. I chalk that up to misremembered dysfunction, sort of like the appeal of a bad relationship. The adage is that hindsight is 20/20, but this is foolish. Actually, memory is selectively forgetful, ironically. "It'll be different this time" is a mantra repeated by many a battered wife, and it has become a cliche. Truthfully, sadly, history nearly always repeats itself. Every once in a while, though, actual change creeps in. Or I could be delirious from sleep deprivation, which is wholly possible. Like I've said, I also took Restoril, and was wiped out for much of the next day, so I remain averse to it but think, maybe, that I exaggerated its effects.
My doctors, I feel, cannot grasp the extent to which my inability to fall asleep is an issue. I'm not fucking around, though, and even though I previously touted their prowess, I am now sufficiently frustrated to cast them aside. When I delve into the particulars of this, I understand that this is a foolish and prime example of throwing out the baby with the bathwater. I'm obscenely angry, though, at my body's refusal to go to sleep easily. Similarly, I'm supremely pissed at their insouciance with regard to it.
One of the things I'm told is that sleep deprivation can exacerbate some of the symptoms of MS. Why, then, do my doctors not seem to take it as seriously as I feel it? You'd think that they'd be jumping at the problem, scrambling to rectify it. Not so, strangely. I feel insane because of the vehemence I think I'm saying that it bothers me, only to get little response. Really, WHAT THE FUCK? I'm not a frantic, panicky hypochondriac, so take me seriously.
It's become such an issue that propofol crossed my mind. Any time you empathize with Michael Jackson should disturb you. He had a chronic difficulty sleeping, and went so far as to employ a doctor who administered the local anesthetic used in major surgery just to knock him out. I always end up thinking of the absurdity of it, but the fact that I even lapse into thinking about it at all freaks me out. Luckily, I don't have millions of dollars at my disposal to consider such an idiotic gambit.
I like my doctors, but the fact that I even have to worry about this makes me think twice about my thoughts about them. Really--WHAT THE FUCK?!
R
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Paid in Full
I don't believe in God, because I find the whole concept and precept aboriginal, but I wish I did (much like I wish I were gay) because it would make everything so much easier. However, I am susceptible to certain philosophies that use the idea, at least tangentially. I don't embrace and espouse them, but I sort of see how they make a modicum of sense, at least. Karma appeals to me in theory, but, like tenets of monotheism (and, for that matter, polytheism--any theism, really), gets a little silly when particulars are discussed.
I've acknowledged it before, but I think, if there is a divine presence (theoretically, of course), my accounts have been balanced and finalized. To continue the financial metaphor, I am in the black, even if I were in the red for a while. I won't cite particulars (sensational and juicy as they may be), but the truth is that I have done things that may have warranted the pall of MS. The atonement period expired months ago, however.
Now I'm amassing credits that I don't believe will ever be redeemed. The awful difficulties that I face every second of every day should get me a plush afterlife. Unfortunately, I don't believe in one. I really wish I did, so I no longer resent theists--let's call them Christians, to make things easier. They blindly throw their faith behind a deity that they cannot substantiate (pardon the pun, Catholics). I'm fine with this, because it doesn't affect me.
Like I said, the concept of karma appeals to me, but not, admittedly, in the purely benevolent sense. What I endure is an unremitting (even if the ailment does remit) torture that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Actually, I probably would if I didn't have to experience it myself so acutely. It would be an undeniably enticing curse to bestow on someone. Just not me...
My theological beliefs, although they are really nonexistent, center on Hunter S. Thompsons's "Great Magnet." This differs from synchronicity because it places a moderate amount of influence on the individual (& it's not an album by the intolerable Police). So, I accept a certain amount of the difficulties of MS, but I think those stumbling blocks have been accounted for, and then some. Now I'm taking whatever else emerges from this annoying, debilitating disease on credit.
I wish someone could convince me of the existence of a deity. Any attempt at proselytization, however, is immediately disregarded. It's just not a purely selfless gambit. Sure--someone may insist that it is, but actually he or she is actually trying to validate their own foolishness. I can hear protests from numerous acolytes of various faiths, but, like John Stossel says, "Gimme a break."
Like many a narcissist (an ex-girlfriend insultingly gave me a copy of Alexander Lowen's book, simply titled Narcissism--thanks, he said sarcastically) would avow, back to me. Being stricken with MS eradicates any mystical ties that religion could offer. This might seem like the opposite would be true, but actually it only has cemented my aversion to magical thinking. In Catholic school, we were told that God embodied three things: benevolence, omnipotence, and loving. If this were true, how to account for something that contradicts all of these? I realize that I sound like Job, who lamented his constant travails, but, again, gimme a break. Anyone who believes such simplistic nonsense clearly cannot conceive of such suffering. I always thought that that story was utter bullshit. He should have been pissed, because what all-benevolent being would subject one of his, uh, subjects to the multitude of tortures that he had to abide? You'd have to be a monumental prick to foist such horrors onto someone. Or a negligent, ignorant child with a magnifying glass who roasts insects willy-nilly. And don't give me any nonsensical, passionless explanations that emphasize humans' intellectual inferiority.
If logic is so mysterious, doesn't that mean that the vast majority of us is insane? Actually, that doesn't seem so unreasonable.
R
I've acknowledged it before, but I think, if there is a divine presence (theoretically, of course), my accounts have been balanced and finalized. To continue the financial metaphor, I am in the black, even if I were in the red for a while. I won't cite particulars (sensational and juicy as they may be), but the truth is that I have done things that may have warranted the pall of MS. The atonement period expired months ago, however.
Now I'm amassing credits that I don't believe will ever be redeemed. The awful difficulties that I face every second of every day should get me a plush afterlife. Unfortunately, I don't believe in one. I really wish I did, so I no longer resent theists--let's call them Christians, to make things easier. They blindly throw their faith behind a deity that they cannot substantiate (pardon the pun, Catholics). I'm fine with this, because it doesn't affect me.
Like I said, the concept of karma appeals to me, but not, admittedly, in the purely benevolent sense. What I endure is an unremitting (even if the ailment does remit) torture that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Actually, I probably would if I didn't have to experience it myself so acutely. It would be an undeniably enticing curse to bestow on someone. Just not me...
My theological beliefs, although they are really nonexistent, center on Hunter S. Thompsons's "Great Magnet." This differs from synchronicity because it places a moderate amount of influence on the individual (& it's not an album by the intolerable Police). So, I accept a certain amount of the difficulties of MS, but I think those stumbling blocks have been accounted for, and then some. Now I'm taking whatever else emerges from this annoying, debilitating disease on credit.
I wish someone could convince me of the existence of a deity. Any attempt at proselytization, however, is immediately disregarded. It's just not a purely selfless gambit. Sure--someone may insist that it is, but actually he or she is actually trying to validate their own foolishness. I can hear protests from numerous acolytes of various faiths, but, like John Stossel says, "Gimme a break."
Like many a narcissist (an ex-girlfriend insultingly gave me a copy of Alexander Lowen's book, simply titled Narcissism--thanks, he said sarcastically) would avow, back to me. Being stricken with MS eradicates any mystical ties that religion could offer. This might seem like the opposite would be true, but actually it only has cemented my aversion to magical thinking. In Catholic school, we were told that God embodied three things: benevolence, omnipotence, and loving. If this were true, how to account for something that contradicts all of these? I realize that I sound like Job, who lamented his constant travails, but, again, gimme a break. Anyone who believes such simplistic nonsense clearly cannot conceive of such suffering. I always thought that that story was utter bullshit. He should have been pissed, because what all-benevolent being would subject one of his, uh, subjects to the multitude of tortures that he had to abide? You'd have to be a monumental prick to foist such horrors onto someone. Or a negligent, ignorant child with a magnifying glass who roasts insects willy-nilly. And don't give me any nonsensical, passionless explanations that emphasize humans' intellectual inferiority.
If logic is so mysterious, doesn't that mean that the vast majority of us is insane? Actually, that doesn't seem so unreasonable.
R
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Technical Geography
Technically, I should be upset that the Colts lost to the Saints tonight in the Super Bowl. I was born in Indiana, raised in Indiana, went to school in Indiana, and all of that. As I hope I've made abundantly clear by now, though, my allegiances lie with anything linked to Chicago. I grew up cheering for the Bulls, White Sox (Indiana informs my identification with anything on the South Side), and Bears. Therefore, I never gave a shit about any team with "Indiana" in its name--Pacers, Colts, or Hoosiers (although I like Bobby Knight and Larry Bird).
I don't like it when somebody looks incredulous when I say this. I understand it, so someone who's not from the state might not comprehend why I feel the way I do. Most people from "The Region" (aka NW Indiana) get it, though. I've said it many times, but I grew up watching local newscasts from Chicago, as well as all of the sportscasts that centered on those teams. Never did I see a Pacers game unless the opponent was the Bulls. I was aware of Reggie Miller, but more because of his jagged teeth than his three-point prowess. Or whenever the Pacers played the Knicks and there was drama that usually involved John Starks somehow--but I'd had my fill of that weasel when his team repeatedly got trounced by Michael Jordan & Co.
Likewise, I have no real affinity for the Saints. My limited knowledge of them lets me know that Mike Ditka, another hero of Chicago, coached them for a few seasons at the end of his career. That's it--other than their much-publicized acquisition of the vastly overrated Reggie Bush. His most noteworthy contribution as a professional athlete is his ultimately boring relationship with the, uh, boring and untalented Kim Kardashian.
However, I vociferously despise another Bush (W.), and took great umbrage with his idiotic and unbelievably horrid handling of Hurricane Katrina. Yes, I went to college with his daughter, but I notoriously asked her, drunkenly, if she'd had an abortion, so a friendship was not exactly in the cards. (This was no big loss for me.) At my graduation, I came very close to running her mother, First Lady Laura, over on the way to my seat, and my only regret about that situation is that I didn't. I'm sick of hearing about what a nice person she is--she married W, so she's a fucking idiot by default. Partly because of my hatred for Bush, I love New Orleans.
I don't like college football, but I was acutely aware that quarterback Drew Brees played for Purdue because a lot of my friends went there and mentioned it frequently. For anyone who scoffs at my preference of the NFL, or Brees Mach 2, over the NCAA should know this so I can disregard their protests. The BCS is an irrevocable mess, and the revolving cast of players makes it almost impossible to follow. I like basketball and March Madness more, but I still would rather watch the NBA. My mind can only hold so much information, and a constantly shifting roster much like a lizard's tail that regenerates every few years leaves room for little else. (At least, that's part of my rationalization.)
When the Bears played the Colts in the Super Bowl a few years ago, I disingenuously asserted that I'd be covered no matter the outcome. Truthfully, I really really really wanted the Bears to emerge victorious, even if I immensely disliked QB Rex Grossman and his cloying, Cheshire-cat grin. This year was different. I adamantly and vocally wanted the Saints to win. I knew this was a long-shot, and Vegas complied with a five-point victory projected for the Colts.
Amazingly, New Orleans overcame these odds. In recent weeks, their limp defense could not keep up with the dynamic offense. Tonight, though, when it mattered the most, it kept Peyton Manning at bay, even if this is a nearly impossible feat. He still passed for 333 yards, but his performance was marred by a costly interception that resulted in a Saints touchdown.
I know he's good, but I still want him to lose. His disappointment is only that much sweeter because of the Colts' loss, and the Saints' win. Plus, head coach Jim Caldwell's infuriating decision to bench Manning and assure the only defeat of the Colts' regular season at the hands of the Jets only looks worse with a Super Bowl loss. It might not have been dumb, technically, but now it really looks very foolish.
R
I don't like it when somebody looks incredulous when I say this. I understand it, so someone who's not from the state might not comprehend why I feel the way I do. Most people from "The Region" (aka NW Indiana) get it, though. I've said it many times, but I grew up watching local newscasts from Chicago, as well as all of the sportscasts that centered on those teams. Never did I see a Pacers game unless the opponent was the Bulls. I was aware of Reggie Miller, but more because of his jagged teeth than his three-point prowess. Or whenever the Pacers played the Knicks and there was drama that usually involved John Starks somehow--but I'd had my fill of that weasel when his team repeatedly got trounced by Michael Jordan & Co.
Likewise, I have no real affinity for the Saints. My limited knowledge of them lets me know that Mike Ditka, another hero of Chicago, coached them for a few seasons at the end of his career. That's it--other than their much-publicized acquisition of the vastly overrated Reggie Bush. His most noteworthy contribution as a professional athlete is his ultimately boring relationship with the, uh, boring and untalented Kim Kardashian.
However, I vociferously despise another Bush (W.), and took great umbrage with his idiotic and unbelievably horrid handling of Hurricane Katrina. Yes, I went to college with his daughter, but I notoriously asked her, drunkenly, if she'd had an abortion, so a friendship was not exactly in the cards. (This was no big loss for me.) At my graduation, I came very close to running her mother, First Lady Laura, over on the way to my seat, and my only regret about that situation is that I didn't. I'm sick of hearing about what a nice person she is--she married W, so she's a fucking idiot by default. Partly because of my hatred for Bush, I love New Orleans.
I don't like college football, but I was acutely aware that quarterback Drew Brees played for Purdue because a lot of my friends went there and mentioned it frequently. For anyone who scoffs at my preference of the NFL, or Brees Mach 2, over the NCAA should know this so I can disregard their protests. The BCS is an irrevocable mess, and the revolving cast of players makes it almost impossible to follow. I like basketball and March Madness more, but I still would rather watch the NBA. My mind can only hold so much information, and a constantly shifting roster much like a lizard's tail that regenerates every few years leaves room for little else. (At least, that's part of my rationalization.)
When the Bears played the Colts in the Super Bowl a few years ago, I disingenuously asserted that I'd be covered no matter the outcome. Truthfully, I really really really wanted the Bears to emerge victorious, even if I immensely disliked QB Rex Grossman and his cloying, Cheshire-cat grin. This year was different. I adamantly and vocally wanted the Saints to win. I knew this was a long-shot, and Vegas complied with a five-point victory projected for the Colts.
Amazingly, New Orleans overcame these odds. In recent weeks, their limp defense could not keep up with the dynamic offense. Tonight, though, when it mattered the most, it kept Peyton Manning at bay, even if this is a nearly impossible feat. He still passed for 333 yards, but his performance was marred by a costly interception that resulted in a Saints touchdown.
I know he's good, but I still want him to lose. His disappointment is only that much sweeter because of the Colts' loss, and the Saints' win. Plus, head coach Jim Caldwell's infuriating decision to bench Manning and assure the only defeat of the Colts' regular season at the hands of the Jets only looks worse with a Super Bowl loss. It might not have been dumb, technically, but now it really looks very foolish.
R
Friday, February 5, 2010
Insomnia: Not Just a River in Egypt
That makes no sense, but lack of consistent sleep makes me unimaginative and The Office-esque because of my penchant for misnomers. Because of this, I'm willing to settle for middling everything. There are limits, of course. I emphatically won't watch something as trite and dumb as Two and a Half Men. God I hate that show... What's more, I'm more willing to act brusquely or to curse copiously, which I do anyway. The problem is that my frustration has reached a point of super-saturation. Anything minor can set me off--sort of. Like I've said, I'm lazy by nature and this only excuses it.
When I was in the hospital, the nurses gave me Ambien, which did nothing for me. I might as well have taken a sugar pill, or some other placebo, because I was still up past 5 AM. My doctors settled on Restoril, which sounds like the drug manufacturers tried to think of a juicy name, but then gave up. Restoril worked, I guess, but turned me into a zombie the next day. It's been a while, so I can't detail exactly how it fucked me up, but I remember telling myself not to take it again.
Now, I've reached the end of my rope with regard to this shit. Nothing exciting happens at 5 AM, so the world should be thankful it's unconscious. For the rest of the day, my energy level, which is already low, is indistinct. My reluctance to get out of bed sounds like a telltale sign of depression, but it's not. This conjecture becomes irrelevant so early/late in the day. I can't do a goddamn thing.
Writing even becomes more arduous than usual. It was never a pleasant walk in the park to begin with, and I always viewed it like exercise--a necessary evil. Now, it's an extraneous absurdity. I still do it, obviously, but I'd rather not. In fact, now I insist, like a drug addict or alcoholic, that I can stop at any time. And I can.
See?
R
When I was in the hospital, the nurses gave me Ambien, which did nothing for me. I might as well have taken a sugar pill, or some other placebo, because I was still up past 5 AM. My doctors settled on Restoril, which sounds like the drug manufacturers tried to think of a juicy name, but then gave up. Restoril worked, I guess, but turned me into a zombie the next day. It's been a while, so I can't detail exactly how it fucked me up, but I remember telling myself not to take it again.
Now, I've reached the end of my rope with regard to this shit. Nothing exciting happens at 5 AM, so the world should be thankful it's unconscious. For the rest of the day, my energy level, which is already low, is indistinct. My reluctance to get out of bed sounds like a telltale sign of depression, but it's not. This conjecture becomes irrelevant so early/late in the day. I can't do a goddamn thing.
Writing even becomes more arduous than usual. It was never a pleasant walk in the park to begin with, and I always viewed it like exercise--a necessary evil. Now, it's an extraneous absurdity. I still do it, obviously, but I'd rather not. In fact, now I insist, like a drug addict or alcoholic, that I can stop at any time. And I can.
See?
R
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I Really Like My Doctors
When I was first diagnosed, I accepted the status quo of just about everything, and, ironically, this included my choice of doctors. Part of this was my own fault, partly because I had to operate within the confines of an HMO. For most people this is not a problem, and I thought I fell in the overwhelming majority. Unfortunately, as I mentioned before, I actually was part of a small minority (a concept that had heretofore been okay, but now sucked). The doctors that I had prior to my diagnosis weren't bad, just ill-equipped, in their respective specialties. Now, though, I can access the finest in neurology, etc., without having to worry if they're "in-network" or not.
My neurologist is Dr. Roumen Balabanov, an Eastern European transplant (pardon the pun) with an accent oddly close to Dr. Charles Nichols of The Fugitive. He even mildly looks like Jeroen Krabbe, although the accent might make me think that. After all, he doesn't have the opportunistic guile of that character. Both, though (the character and my doctor), work in Chicago, so that too can account for my tone-deaf alignment of a Dutch accent and one from Bulgaria, where I think Balabanov is from (I could do a Google search, but I don't feel like it).
In conjunction with the aforementioned Dr. Richard Burt, the two guide my treatment scheme with regard to my involvement with the stem cell whathaveyou. I hesitantly keep everyone at arm's length as it is, so I'm especially wary of doctors. I have a strange relationship with them, though, in that I get along with them preternaturally well. Appointments are not nearly as uncomfortable as they could be, and I delude myself by thinking that this has to do with my nice rapport with them, born of my above-normal intelligence. Really, I think it has to do more with the supercilious attitude I exhibit with them.
I always shook my head at the rampant stupidity of guests/dumb performance artists on various talk shows when they scoffed at marriage as a bureaucratic institution. Mostly, this happened because I knew that they couldn't conceive of two words, back-to-back, that each had four syllables. At a certain point, though, I too espoused their poses and misgivings--not just for marriage, but for advanced degrees. I still remain suspicious of many master's degrees or doctorates. Every so often, however, an example of a truly useful one comes along, mostly with regard to medicine. Without an MD, a "doctor" looks crazy or felonious, or both, with a prescription pad.
Improbably, I have two capable doctors that work on the vanguard of my neurological issue. For non-math majors like me, I'm pretty sure that's 100% more than one. Even one is more than most people get. Like I said, this is not an indictment of the abilities or knowledge of previous doctors I've had. My old neurologist's practice seemed to focus more on issues related to Alzheimer's. Therefore, I wasn't personally offended by what I perceived to be a deficiency in his expertise. However, his aversion to steroids did piss me off. I assume he had a bad experience with another patient, so he empirically disregarded them as treatment, which I thought, and still think, is foolish and an idiotic way to practice medicine, but I digress...
I chalk this up to inevitable multiple stabs at finding the right doctors. Like the song by Smokey Robinson & the Miracles advises, "you'd better shop around." Loyalty should not enter one's mind when picking a doctor. I understand the impulse to stick with a doctor, but the odds are that the first one will not be the best one. One needs to make an informed decision, rather than one made impulsively. For most people, I don't think it's as big of an issue as it is for me. When something as momentous as MS comes up and throws a wrench into your life, decorum becomes irrelevant. This is not to say that I'm rude about it, just cutthroat about who does and doesn't make the cut.
It's almost like I'm just doing my job. Hurt feelings mean less and less to me, and they were already pretty low on my list of considerations as it is. As Deputy Marshal Sam Gerard (Tommy Lee Jones) whispers after he risks the life of one of his subordinates when he shoots the guy holding him hostage, "I...don't...bargain."
R
My neurologist is Dr. Roumen Balabanov, an Eastern European transplant (pardon the pun) with an accent oddly close to Dr. Charles Nichols of The Fugitive. He even mildly looks like Jeroen Krabbe, although the accent might make me think that. After all, he doesn't have the opportunistic guile of that character. Both, though (the character and my doctor), work in Chicago, so that too can account for my tone-deaf alignment of a Dutch accent and one from Bulgaria, where I think Balabanov is from (I could do a Google search, but I don't feel like it).
In conjunction with the aforementioned Dr. Richard Burt, the two guide my treatment scheme with regard to my involvement with the stem cell whathaveyou. I hesitantly keep everyone at arm's length as it is, so I'm especially wary of doctors. I have a strange relationship with them, though, in that I get along with them preternaturally well. Appointments are not nearly as uncomfortable as they could be, and I delude myself by thinking that this has to do with my nice rapport with them, born of my above-normal intelligence. Really, I think it has to do more with the supercilious attitude I exhibit with them.
I always shook my head at the rampant stupidity of guests/dumb performance artists on various talk shows when they scoffed at marriage as a bureaucratic institution. Mostly, this happened because I knew that they couldn't conceive of two words, back-to-back, that each had four syllables. At a certain point, though, I too espoused their poses and misgivings--not just for marriage, but for advanced degrees. I still remain suspicious of many master's degrees or doctorates. Every so often, however, an example of a truly useful one comes along, mostly with regard to medicine. Without an MD, a "doctor" looks crazy or felonious, or both, with a prescription pad.
Improbably, I have two capable doctors that work on the vanguard of my neurological issue. For non-math majors like me, I'm pretty sure that's 100% more than one. Even one is more than most people get. Like I said, this is not an indictment of the abilities or knowledge of previous doctors I've had. My old neurologist's practice seemed to focus more on issues related to Alzheimer's. Therefore, I wasn't personally offended by what I perceived to be a deficiency in his expertise. However, his aversion to steroids did piss me off. I assume he had a bad experience with another patient, so he empirically disregarded them as treatment, which I thought, and still think, is foolish and an idiotic way to practice medicine, but I digress...
I chalk this up to inevitable multiple stabs at finding the right doctors. Like the song by Smokey Robinson & the Miracles advises, "you'd better shop around." Loyalty should not enter one's mind when picking a doctor. I understand the impulse to stick with a doctor, but the odds are that the first one will not be the best one. One needs to make an informed decision, rather than one made impulsively. For most people, I don't think it's as big of an issue as it is for me. When something as momentous as MS comes up and throws a wrench into your life, decorum becomes irrelevant. This is not to say that I'm rude about it, just cutthroat about who does and doesn't make the cut.
It's almost like I'm just doing my job. Hurt feelings mean less and less to me, and they were already pretty low on my list of considerations as it is. As Deputy Marshal Sam Gerard (Tommy Lee Jones) whispers after he risks the life of one of his subordinates when he shoots the guy holding him hostage, "I...don't...bargain."
R
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