Caption Contest

Note: I snatched this illustration from a blog post boingboing.net I would post a link to that post but I’m getting some kind error that crashes both Firefox and IE7.  I cant even remember what the original text in the balloon was but it seems to beg a caption contest.

Aqua Lung Revisited

Preface

The personal profile on this blog is intentionally abstract. It is my thought that it would be better for readers to gradually form a picture in their heads of who I am by reading the posts. In the long run, I think this would be more honest than anything I would attempt to compose in the form of a biography. Of course this assumes a great deal. One assumption being that anybody reads this tripe and beyond that assumption that I post frequently and honestly enough to provide that kind of picture of who I am. I couldn’t say whether any of those questions are resolved but, really, who gives a !@#$ who I am anyway?

One thing that has most definitely defined who I am is that I have migraine headaches. I have had them since I was a pre-teen. There have been periods where they have waxed or waned in frequency and intensity but they have always been with me and when they are at their worst they are completely debilitating. If they are at maximum intensity I will not be able to function at all beyond moans and writhing. I have several times in my life gone to the emergency room for the shot of Demerol for relief. Prior to the emergence of sumatriptan class of drugs my only other hope was to get in a quiet and darkened place and ride it out. Riding it out often involves peaking with nausea and vomiting. Just as a side note, I have had MRI’s, numerous blood tests, and tried lots of prophylactic medications. All of those meds had intolerable side effects and, at least as long as I was able to tolerate them, no effect on the frequency of the headaches.

Sumatriptan drugs came along in the 1990’s and have allowed me to pharmaceutically intercede before the ’sick’ stage most of the time. I can’t be thankful enough for the advent of these meds. Having the specter of the debilitating variety means every twinge of a headache elicits great fear. That fear has led me to become, in my opinion, hyperactive, pharmaceutically speaking. The sumatriptan drugs are kind of expensive and carefully meted out as far as insurance is concerned.  So, I will often attempt to avert the headache with pain medications first. This includes over the counter variety and some prescription variety as well. Also, on the occasion where the sumatriptan drug doesn’t seem to be doing the job, I will supplement with pain medication.

This cycle has been going on for a decade now. So it is, that in the past year I have been attempting again to root out the cause of the headaches at a deeper level. One potential root cause might have been fleshed out in a clinical sleep study I had done. It appears from the study that I never go into what sleep specialist call stage 3 deep sleep (or was it stage 4 – I can’t recall). The study also revealed what my wife has maintained for sometime and that is that I frequently stop breathing (clinically referred to as ‘apnea’) during sleep. The neurologist who oversaw the study said that the reports from my study look like classical narcoleptic but I do not exhibit any of the classic narcoleptic symptoms. That is to say, I don’t fall asleep while waiting at red lights, watching TV, reading a book, etc. I am tired a great deal of the time, and perhaps the sleep study has revealed why, at least in a clinical sense. So it is that I have been trying to accommodate sleeping with a CPAP machine for some months now. The neurologist also prescribed Ambien. With the ambient, I was able to go to sleep for a couple hours, sometimes three, with the CPAP machine mask on my face. But, invariably, I would wake up and have a kind of claustrophobic reaction to the mask, and take it off and go back to sleep. Sometimes I would go back to sleep easily, other times I would struggle with it. I was, of course, supposed to report these results to my neurologist frequently and additionally I was supposed to send him a credit card like thing from the CPAP machine after 30 days or so that records the ‘back pressure’ from my breathing through the mask. After 30 days (possibly more) of struggling with the mask, I kind of fell into a routine of just relying on the Ambien and not wearing the mask at all.  I am embarrassed to say I never followed up with the neurologist, nor did I ever send in the little card.  I was getting four, five hours of sleep for the first time in I don’t know how long for for a while I was kind of satisfied with that.

But, alas, there has been no great reduction in the frequency of headaches. So, with a little encouragement/reprimanding from the neurologist and my wife I’m making another, more resolved, attempt to sleep with the CPAP machine. This began with a frustratingly pointless appointment with my neurologists (all my fault) and then a visit to the medical supply establishment that ‘leases’ me and the insurance company the machine in the first place.

Medical Supply

I went back to this establishment today to be refitted with a new mask in the hopes that I will sleep through the night, reap the benefits of improved oxygen saturation, and be headache free (loaded with energy would just be bonus). The company was chosen by my insurance company. I will not recount here the amazingly brainless choices made by most insurance companies but lets just say this is no exception to that rule. It is nearly 30 miles away from where I live. It operates in a ‘business’ park of small garage style warehouses. It looks more like a place you’d get your car windows tinted than a medical supply. A youngish girl greeted me from behind a cheap and fairly messy metal desk with a computer on it. She looked on the computer and said it appears I was there to get a different mask. I said something to the effect of, appearances can be deceiving but in this case she was correct. She never paused a moment to acknowledge my philosophical and witty reply.  I should have known then, anything remotely conversational would be a waste of time. I sat at a chair across the desk. She explained that I could choose between two masks different from the one I was currently using. The current one straps around my head like a military issue gas mask, but only covers my nose. The choices were one that covers mouth AND  nose, and a “nasal canular” which fits under your nose and into your nostrils. Since claustrophobic reaction to the current mask is the reason I was there, I opted for the latter. If it had a breathing regulator for your mouth it would look like some of the early ‘aqua lung’ SCUBA apparatus. She launched into a spiel about its operation and fitting with as little eye contact as possible. While still giving the spiel she stood and moved beside the desk so I could see as she showed the adjustments of straps and hoses for the mask. The girl giving the spiel was twiggishly thin but she didn’t appear fragile. On the contrary, I got the sense that she might be kinda tough. She wore no makeup that I could tell. Her nails were slightly long but not manicured. She was standing in front of me and I was sitting so it was like she was doing a card trick or puppet show in front of me.  I could watch the show, or look her in the face, but not both at the same time.  I became distracted by watching her thin arms and long fingers manipulate the mask. I was reminded of my mother. She was also thin like this. In fact I have my mother’s thin forearms. Even at 165lb, I cannot wear a men’s watch to this day because my wrists are so narrow. I commented to her that her arms and wrists where small like my mothers. She didn’t acknowledge the remark an iota and barely paused from the script. I considered for a moment that this might be an interesting challenge. I wondered if I could gradually ratchet up the remarks in their absurdity or provocativeness till she would at last tell me to shut the !@#$ up. It occurred to me that other relationships I had with women in the past had been based on this experiment - just extended over a longer time period. After a time, I decided to just let her finish the spiel so we could both be on our way. But I now observed she had an odd tiny spasm to her movements. It was very very subtle. As she shifted her weight from one foot to the other it was like there was an extra and slight bend of the knee. Or as she moved the mask from one hand to the other, the hand releasing would just slightly wave or an elbow would bend unnecessarily. That’s when I started observing her face more and I grew to suspect that she was concentrating very hard to keep on the script without the extra tics affecting her face or speech.  Ocassionally, I saw the slightest twitch of the corner of her mouth.  I was glad I hadn’t elected to go with the experiment. But now, I was hopelessly distracted from the spiel. I can only pray I got the gist of the demonstration and don’t end up putting an eye out as my mother so often predicted would happen.  As I left the office it occurred to me she never told me her name, but that asking now would just be weird.

After the demonstration, she changed out the machine with new air filters and hoses, had me sign some papers, and I was on my way. I went to my car and, as has painfully become my habit, text messaged my wife and work that I was leaving the medical supply place and headed back to the office. Before I started the car to leave I noticed that the demo girl and the only other girl in the office and gone outside for a smoke break. It always pains me to see young and even marginally healthy people smoking. I’m by no means preachy about the subject. I just have witnessed what a toll that habit takes on the body and I don’t particularly mean lung cancer. I always wanna tell young people when they’re smoking, “you won’t be young forever but you might as well make it last as long as possible so put that !@#$ing cigarette out!”. I never do. She was standing and gazing off so stoically though. The other girl was prattling away and she was fixed on the horizon and sucking that cigarette smoke down. I wondered what heavy burdens this waifish girl must be carrying at such a young age to give her this edge. I wondered if the tics had anything to do with it. I wished I could go and tell her everybody should get to stay young as long as possible and I was sorry for the extra burdens she had to carry.  But I didn’t even know her name.

Movie Reviews

Wings of Desire and Into Great Silence

Both of these movies have something in common. That is that I watched them late at night and while I was very tired. Unlike REAL film critics though, I’m going to admit it as a caveat to my remarks. Both movies really should be watched when one is alert and attentive but for different reasons.

Into Great Silence is more than 2 and half hours long and has next to no dialog. It is a documentary look inside the monestery life at Grande Chartreuse I think in France or Switzerland. It is visually impressive. If you think you could look at a high quality photography exhibit for 2 and half hours then you will have no problem with this film for that experience alone. It is interesting that the cinematographer goes back and forth between sharp and grainy images. I suspect that a lot of the grainy images are too keep the filming as unobtrusive as possible but the result is good. There are even Rembrandt still-life like pauses at windows or doorways. Its lack of commentary is the most important commentary of all. It certainly gives on pause to consider what revelations might be beyond the din and activity of our everyday lives. I unfortunately was tired when I started and an hour and half in was actually paying little attention. Not proud of that, but its true. Mostly thumbs up, but I have to say - WORST ACTION/CHASE/SEX SCENES EVER!

I popped “Wings of Desire” in the DVD on another late night when I was already tired. I watch a lot of foreign films so I am used to sub-titles, but I found following this movies sub-title dialog a little tedious. Not because the dialog was bad but because it was complex like poetry. Also the film is in a noire-ish b&w a lot and the white sub-titles were occasionally plain hard to read. So I found myself constantly going back to double check the dialog. Also the scenes themselves were complex and sometimes changing rapidly. The premise - angels electing for mortality - is roughly used in a lot of stories but there is quite a different twist to this one. There is also some humor, albeit, of a not-that-funny German ilk. The screenplay reminds me of T.S. Elliot poetry. Not sure how much of that is the translation. Some of the movie is in English mostly from a most surprising role by Peter Falk quite effectively playing himself - sort of. Saying any more would be a spoiler.

Text Message Koan

I received this beautiful text message on my cell phone yesterday, “Hush, I’m on my way.”

Dream Recollective

If I remember then vividly enough, and I find them interesting enough I like to write down my dreams.

The Sandwich Shoppe and The Lord

My wife and I had apparently purchased a small sandwich shop in a strip mall. The strip mall was a “U” shaped structure with a courtyard. In the sandwich shop a row of the large ceiling tiles were sagging. Before I could even consider what to do about the tiles a customer walked in. We had not actually opened the shop for business and didn’t have any of thing out of the pantry or refrigerators. We didn’t even have the lights on yet. We somehow made sandwiches for the customers and one of them suggested I talk to the landlord about the sagging ceiling tiles. The customer said that the landlord had actually sold out to some developers but he was in the courtyard at this moment and this would be my last chance to get any repairs authorized by him.

I went into the courtyard and the landlord was walking around with a handful other attentive guys. It looked like one of those Bible illustrations of Jesus and his disciples. Except the disciples were dressed in business shirts and ties, some with clipboards or brief cases and the landlord was a naked balding dude. Well sort of a dude. He was a middle aged guy, with dark hair but very very thin on top. He had a goatee and a little hair on his chest and stomach. Now that I am recalling it, he kinda looked like the BTK killer in Wichita except he didn’t wear glasses. He also had a bald vagina for his genitals. This group was strolling through the courtyard with the landlord telling the attentive, note-taking disciples things that needed to be done about the strip mall and a crowd was beginning to grow around them. I could not get close enough to the landlord to tell him about my sagging ceiling tiles in the sandwich shop.

Ultimately the landlord, disciples and crowd had strolled out of the courtyard and into a large park with a stage at one end. The landlord and disciples took seats at the back of the stage. In front of them were a lot of old ‘rock venue’ amps and mics and monitors. There were old beige and black Marshall stacks, Fender guitar amps, a couple of mixing boards, and a slew of mics and mic stands etc. There was no rock band, but there was a couple roadies working. I remember thinking that it was kinda old and crappy equipment, but that maybe the band wanted it that way for their ’sound’. The crowd in the park was quite large and I saw no way I was going to get close enough to the stage to ask the landlord about the tiles, particularly if a band was about to crank it up.

I decided that my best option was to fly over the crowd and land on the stage. (Editors note: I have been able to fly in quite a few of my dreams over the past couple years but I don’t recall being able to fly before that). I also thought that the landlord, disciples and crowd might be kind of impressed that I could fly. I sprung myself into the air enough to catch an air current. This process is kind of like starting a kite where there are dips and lifts and, with luck, more of the latter until I am able to stay comfortably aloft. I was able to get aloft but was having trouble making my way toward the stage. It was like I was fighting a bit of a crosswind because I kept drifting and angling to one side. It was a slow and arduous effort fighting this crosswind and I couldn’t really pay attention to the crowd. By the time I got close to the stage the crowd was actually dispersing and it appeared the concert was over, and the landlord and his disciples were leaving. I was able to land on the stage just as the naked landlord was about to descend the steps from the stage. He stopped and it was only he and I on the stage. He seemed impressed that I could fly and asked what he could do for me. I told him about the tiles and he said he was sorry, but that the mall was out of his control now that the concert was over. He offered, by way of consolation, that I could have all of the old sound equipment left on the stage. I turned and looked at all the old Marshall and Fender amps and cabinets, etc. and thought that was kinda cool. I turned back and the landlord was gone. Perhaps there was some kind of angel attended ascension into a big high-rise office or something but I didn’t see any of that and there were no angels around to explain.

I woke up a little hungry.

Rant / Myspace = Mepuke.

Why anybody seriously maintains a myspace page is a mystery to me even if you are an ‘artist’. Myspace is the home of the most desperate, noisiest bunch of blatherers on the net. The only thing possibly more pathetic is blogging.