My friend Ed came over today we rode the motorcycles around for a bit. It really helps one clear ones head. I'm better now. And to celebrate here is an outstanding video of a marionette performer with what the kids would call mad skillz. I was a puppeteer for 5 years, but I take my hat off to this guy.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Friday, June 02, 2006
Absolute Rage
Go take a look here. That is our asshat President. When I saw the photo I recognized where he was sitting at once. I was sitting there just a few months ago. It's the base for Hands on USA in Biloxi.
He was there to promote volunteerism, and that's great and all. But I'm from the 'ounce of prevention' school of thought. Not much could have been done to prevent the storm damage to Biloxi, but New Orleans could have fared a shitload better had this moron and his flunkies been anywhere near on the ball. The loss of life could have been reduced, the federal response might have gotten started earlier and run more efficiently. But what did we get from this man? Lies.
This man is the Worst President Ever.
Look again, there he is helping build a new home. But he isn't, is he? It's a photo op. Just like when volunteer firefighters were rushed to Atlanta to do what? Be used as props with this jackass while people were dying.
I'm not mad at Hands on USA. There is no bad publicity. They are just one of many groups down there that are in for the long haul. And if having this pigfucker show up for a 5 minute photo op helps remind people that the Gulf Coast is still in ruins, still needs help, well that's the price these people will pay. For them, it's about the work.
Mr. President, the Gulf Coast doesn't need you down there hammering nails. They need you to deliver the relief you promised. They need to to put people who know what the fuck they are doing into FEMA managament. Or better yet, just step down before you do any more damage. You've had your chance. Hell, you've had many chances and you have blown every godamned one.
He was there to promote volunteerism, and that's great and all. But I'm from the 'ounce of prevention' school of thought. Not much could have been done to prevent the storm damage to Biloxi, but New Orleans could have fared a shitload better had this moron and his flunkies been anywhere near on the ball. The loss of life could have been reduced, the federal response might have gotten started earlier and run more efficiently. But what did we get from this man? Lies.
This man is the Worst President Ever.
Look again, there he is helping build a new home. But he isn't, is he? It's a photo op. Just like when volunteer firefighters were rushed to Atlanta to do what? Be used as props with this jackass while people were dying.
I'm not mad at Hands on USA. There is no bad publicity. They are just one of many groups down there that are in for the long haul. And if having this pigfucker show up for a 5 minute photo op helps remind people that the Gulf Coast is still in ruins, still needs help, well that's the price these people will pay. For them, it's about the work.
Mr. President, the Gulf Coast doesn't need you down there hammering nails. They need you to deliver the relief you promised. They need to to put people who know what the fuck they are doing into FEMA managament. Or better yet, just step down before you do any more damage. You've had your chance. Hell, you've had many chances and you have blown every godamned one.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Useful info
There's alot of public debate these days on all kids of topics from the War on Terror(tm) to domestic wiretaps etc etc. There's are also a lot of harsh accusations flying back and forth in the media and on various political blogs. With all the smoke and noise it can be hard to pick out just the facts about various issues. Back during the last election I turned to factcheck.org to help separate fact from fabrication. It's still a pretty damn good resource. It does not appear that they are on anyone's "side" but are instead interested in presenting facts and accurate accounts about both sides and their tendency to play fast and loose with quotes and statistics.
What websites do YOU trust? What sites do you NOT trust. Post in the comments.
UPDATE- This post seems mildly pretentious, like I spend all my time thinking about heavy global political matters. When in fact I was up till about 2 am last night looking for a good source for a Marauder's Map prop. And indeed, it has been found. Mischief Managed!
What websites do YOU trust? What sites do you NOT trust. Post in the comments.
UPDATE- This post seems mildly pretentious, like I spend all my time thinking about heavy global political matters. When in fact I was up till about 2 am last night looking for a good source for a Marauder's Map prop. And indeed, it has been found. Mischief Managed!
Monday, May 29, 2006
MarCon: A Sci-Fi con where the weak are killed and eaten...
How did it come to this? What strange chain of events brought be here? This was supposed to be a quick operation. MarCon is a Sci-Fi con and I have attended it every year for something like 18 years. It's big, but not the biggest. Last year a paperwork cock-up meant we couldn't merchant there. THAT shit was fixed ASAP and we were back in business this weekend. But not everything was as it should be. How did I come to be in this smoke filled room, with these people all looking at me as I shoved four large stacks of poker chips into the middle of the table and sipped a Dry Martini and took a puff of a cigar?
This event was not the typical affair. Most importantly, my wife was not with me. She was helping her father with his adjustment to living at the retirement community, a truly thankless job. Instead, our chief evil minion Lindsey came along into this den of evil and villainy.
Selling corsets is only half the battle here. I've got 18 years of casual con acquaintances to meet up with. I need to find out that they're up to. Are they in good health? Still married? No? New wife or girlfriend? Eeeeeeeexcellent. Here, try this on. Don't look at me like that dear reader. They came to me. I give a good discound to old friends. And the money did flow. And it was good.
But when the dealers room closes there is another world, a darker world few know even exists. Many years ago I was the biggest of Trek geeks. And even though Paramount as spent the last five years crapping in my eyes with their awful Voyager and awefuller Enterprise I still consider myself a Trekker. It's pathetic, I'm like an abused spouse. I just keep coming back.
But something happened as we all grew up, a certain portion of us discovered women, booze and several other vices. These people combined their love of Trek with a desire to have adult type fun. Thus was the U.B.S. Casual and Barfleet created. Make no mistake, these are hard core geeks. But they are geeks who will not be going to their graves virgins.
The pinnacle of their depravity of the Barfleet party, an epic creation combining the seven deadly sins into a blender with ice and large shot of Jack Daniels. Mix thoroughly and apply to everyone in the room. Half of the fifth floor was taken up with their bacchanalian exploits. 6 suites and a staff of 20 or so. These people know how to party and are not to be trifled with. Thanks to my connections with this group Lindsey and I obtained 2 special VIP passes. These granted access to the private suite where I started this rant. Here, there is no crush of sweaty bodies. There is booze but it is not served from the great plastic barrels that the common geek folk must drink from. No, here ones every whim and wish is catered to. Of course, I had to work my way down the hall, fighting my way through several other suites like Homer in the Oddesey before I arrived at the gates of Nirvana. These rooms tested me, like I was a Shaolin Monk. Each room tried its best to destroy me, but my years have brought me wisdom. I kept an eye on Lindsey as best I could. This large a party has a strong current, a riptide that can suck you under and drown you in a vortex of Red Bull and Vodka. She disappeared a few times, spirited away by a friends girlfriend. What happened on these excursions I do not know. But when we had passed through the last of the gates, brushed off the hangers on and foiled the advances of wickedly inebriated women we came to the Holiest of Holies. The VIP suite.
And that is where I found myself seated at a table with people bent on breaking me. At first everything was pleasant and mellow. The air was cool and clearer and I could hear myself think. I ordered something from the bar and decided to sit down. Lindsey dissapeared again but I let her go. I chatted a little with some friends. The bar maid was proudly wearing one of our products. A Classic Victorian in Blue Gunmetal with Black satin sides. Dress size 10 I believe but I couldn't be sure. There was motion, waving from the large round table in the center of the suite. I was being called over. I flopped down into a chair and rubbed my eyes. How much sleep had I gotten here so far since Friday? Five hours? Six? Fun is fun, but we still had a Sunday to do. My eyes were heavy.
"Are you in?" someone asked.
I wasn't sure what he was referring to. But I like to think of myself as having an open mind. There are often strange yet stimulating games to be had at Barfleet parties. Like bobbing for trout and body shots. I smiled.
"I'm in."
"Let's see your green."
Having had a fairly successful day my walled bulged slightly. Though most of my sales are by credit card we still managed to get a few cash sales each show. I tossed a folded wad on the table. There was some low whistling.
"I see you came to play!"
A stack of chips was shoved my way and through the haze of the room I could see the dark green vizor of a dealer. Beneath it two cool and impassionate eyes regarded me in my semi-stupor.
"What's the game lads?" I asked, praying it was something I knew. What I don't know about gambling could fill a large book.
"You're the big spender, you name the game."
"Blackjack!" I cried. Some at the table looked at me askance. "This shouldn't take long, I'm terrible." I smiled but few smiled back. A Commadore took up a chair and nodded at me. In all there were five players and the dealer.
And then my mind went somewhere else. It left my body. I'd like to think that it was dwelling on sweet thoughts of my beloved whom I would see soon, but I can't be sure. I remmember looking over and seeing Gene Roddenbery's son chatting with some pretty thing near the bar. But her corset was aweful. I considered giving her my card.
My stack of chips rose and fell like the tide and no one player dominated the game. A ciggarette girl came by and I requested a small cigar. They are a great prop and I continued the gambler theme by ordering a Vodka Martini (shaken not stirred). This is a drink that tastes old. My step father would drink something like this with 'the guys' after a day at the office. I managed to choke some of it down. The smoke was thick now, and larger and larger bets were being made. A watch was thrown in. A Mark II phaser (Old series). A necklace and what might have been panties. Were we playing a stripping game? My eyelids were heavy and I shook my head to clear the cobwebs in it. I looked down at the table and my pile was down. I had to get out of here. I am NOT a gambling man. I had passed through Vegas with a loss of maybe $80 and that through nickel slots for gods sake. Gambling losses are not an itemisable deduction.
Someone was laughing. A harsh, smokers laugh. I gazed over at the dealer. Were they laughing at me? With my last hand I was down, what, two hundred? There was grumbling at the outter rim of the table. People wanted to play Texas Hold 'Em. It was time to leave. But one just does not walk away from the table like a kicked dog. I shoved my entire pile of chips to the fore. "I don't have time to take your money in drips and draps. I'm all in, how about you all?"
"That is a pretty stupid bet" the dealer said. He eyed me the way the way some people eye the retarded.
"Fortune favors the bold. Are you pussies going big or going home?" One by one the piles came forward. There was a lot of chips on the table and I think some kind of pit boss was consulted.
"Very well, last hand." A quick bust, an 18, a 19, another bust and me. A nine and a five. I was hoping for something grander. I took a hit. a four. Crap. Leaving the table like a kicked dog was looking like a better option now, but that ship had sailed. I tapped the table for a hit and the gods smiled on me. 21.
There was general disbelief, even from me. But it was over now. I scooped up my winnings and threw the dealer a white chip. Lindsey appeared and after disposing of the chips we decided it might be a good idea to take our leave and clear our heads. We left the con suite and withdrew to the Hotel lounge on the second floor. Things had gotten wierd there for a moment. A few people dropped by our table and a heated discussion about the latest Harry Potted book ensued. I smiled. All was right with the world. I was with my people.
This event was not the typical affair. Most importantly, my wife was not with me. She was helping her father with his adjustment to living at the retirement community, a truly thankless job. Instead, our chief evil minion Lindsey came along into this den of evil and villainy.
Selling corsets is only half the battle here. I've got 18 years of casual con acquaintances to meet up with. I need to find out that they're up to. Are they in good health? Still married? No? New wife or girlfriend? Eeeeeeeexcellent. Here, try this on. Don't look at me like that dear reader. They came to me. I give a good discound to old friends. And the money did flow. And it was good.
But when the dealers room closes there is another world, a darker world few know even exists. Many years ago I was the biggest of Trek geeks. And even though Paramount as spent the last five years crapping in my eyes with their awful Voyager and awefuller Enterprise I still consider myself a Trekker. It's pathetic, I'm like an abused spouse. I just keep coming back.
But something happened as we all grew up, a certain portion of us discovered women, booze and several other vices. These people combined their love of Trek with a desire to have adult type fun. Thus was the U.B.S. Casual and Barfleet created. Make no mistake, these are hard core geeks. But they are geeks who will not be going to their graves virgins.
The pinnacle of their depravity of the Barfleet party, an epic creation combining the seven deadly sins into a blender with ice and large shot of Jack Daniels. Mix thoroughly and apply to everyone in the room. Half of the fifth floor was taken up with their bacchanalian exploits. 6 suites and a staff of 20 or so. These people know how to party and are not to be trifled with. Thanks to my connections with this group Lindsey and I obtained 2 special VIP passes. These granted access to the private suite where I started this rant. Here, there is no crush of sweaty bodies. There is booze but it is not served from the great plastic barrels that the common geek folk must drink from. No, here ones every whim and wish is catered to. Of course, I had to work my way down the hall, fighting my way through several other suites like Homer in the Oddesey before I arrived at the gates of Nirvana. These rooms tested me, like I was a Shaolin Monk. Each room tried its best to destroy me, but my years have brought me wisdom. I kept an eye on Lindsey as best I could. This large a party has a strong current, a riptide that can suck you under and drown you in a vortex of Red Bull and Vodka. She disappeared a few times, spirited away by a friends girlfriend. What happened on these excursions I do not know. But when we had passed through the last of the gates, brushed off the hangers on and foiled the advances of wickedly inebriated women we came to the Holiest of Holies. The VIP suite.
And that is where I found myself seated at a table with people bent on breaking me. At first everything was pleasant and mellow. The air was cool and clearer and I could hear myself think. I ordered something from the bar and decided to sit down. Lindsey dissapeared again but I let her go. I chatted a little with some friends. The bar maid was proudly wearing one of our products. A Classic Victorian in Blue Gunmetal with Black satin sides. Dress size 10 I believe but I couldn't be sure. There was motion, waving from the large round table in the center of the suite. I was being called over. I flopped down into a chair and rubbed my eyes. How much sleep had I gotten here so far since Friday? Five hours? Six? Fun is fun, but we still had a Sunday to do. My eyes were heavy.
"Are you in?" someone asked.
I wasn't sure what he was referring to. But I like to think of myself as having an open mind. There are often strange yet stimulating games to be had at Barfleet parties. Like bobbing for trout and body shots. I smiled.
"I'm in."
"Let's see your green."
Having had a fairly successful day my walled bulged slightly. Though most of my sales are by credit card we still managed to get a few cash sales each show. I tossed a folded wad on the table. There was some low whistling.
"I see you came to play!"
A stack of chips was shoved my way and through the haze of the room I could see the dark green vizor of a dealer. Beneath it two cool and impassionate eyes regarded me in my semi-stupor.
"What's the game lads?" I asked, praying it was something I knew. What I don't know about gambling could fill a large book.
"You're the big spender, you name the game."
"Blackjack!" I cried. Some at the table looked at me askance. "This shouldn't take long, I'm terrible." I smiled but few smiled back. A Commadore took up a chair and nodded at me. In all there were five players and the dealer.
And then my mind went somewhere else. It left my body. I'd like to think that it was dwelling on sweet thoughts of my beloved whom I would see soon, but I can't be sure. I remmember looking over and seeing Gene Roddenbery's son chatting with some pretty thing near the bar. But her corset was aweful. I considered giving her my card.
My stack of chips rose and fell like the tide and no one player dominated the game. A ciggarette girl came by and I requested a small cigar. They are a great prop and I continued the gambler theme by ordering a Vodka Martini (shaken not stirred). This is a drink that tastes old. My step father would drink something like this with 'the guys' after a day at the office. I managed to choke some of it down. The smoke was thick now, and larger and larger bets were being made. A watch was thrown in. A Mark II phaser (Old series). A necklace and what might have been panties. Were we playing a stripping game? My eyelids were heavy and I shook my head to clear the cobwebs in it. I looked down at the table and my pile was down. I had to get out of here. I am NOT a gambling man. I had passed through Vegas with a loss of maybe $80 and that through nickel slots for gods sake. Gambling losses are not an itemisable deduction.
Someone was laughing. A harsh, smokers laugh. I gazed over at the dealer. Were they laughing at me? With my last hand I was down, what, two hundred? There was grumbling at the outter rim of the table. People wanted to play Texas Hold 'Em. It was time to leave. But one just does not walk away from the table like a kicked dog. I shoved my entire pile of chips to the fore. "I don't have time to take your money in drips and draps. I'm all in, how about you all?"
"That is a pretty stupid bet" the dealer said. He eyed me the way the way some people eye the retarded.
"Fortune favors the bold. Are you pussies going big or going home?" One by one the piles came forward. There was a lot of chips on the table and I think some kind of pit boss was consulted.
"Very well, last hand." A quick bust, an 18, a 19, another bust and me. A nine and a five. I was hoping for something grander. I took a hit. a four. Crap. Leaving the table like a kicked dog was looking like a better option now, but that ship had sailed. I tapped the table for a hit and the gods smiled on me. 21.
There was general disbelief, even from me. But it was over now. I scooped up my winnings and threw the dealer a white chip. Lindsey appeared and after disposing of the chips we decided it might be a good idea to take our leave and clear our heads. We left the con suite and withdrew to the Hotel lounge on the second floor. Things had gotten wierd there for a moment. A few people dropped by our table and a heated discussion about the latest Harry Potted book ensued. I smiled. All was right with the world. I was with my people.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
A job I am completely unprepared for...
This post has nothing to do with adventure, cool gadgets or unbridled capitalism. In fact, it's not very funny, so you might just want to skip it. Later this week I'll post about my new(ish) lawnmower and a mp3 player that holds one audio book (In this case its Al Frankens 'The Truth, with jokes) but for now I will be focusing on a matter of some seriousness.
This post does involve travel. Rossana and I flew to Philadelphia on Monday. With luck, it will be the last time we ever go there. It would take a really great Con, lost pirate gold or other major event to lure her back to a place she left as soon as she was able. We have been to Philly many times over the past 10 or so years. The reason was Rossana's father, Roy.
Roy is an old school Sicilian. He worked hard all his life. He worked the shipyards during WWII. He eventually got a job at Boeing and retired after something like 30 years with them. The job permanently damaged his hearing. He retired with a decent pension, some savings, his health and great healthcare coverage. We planned on taking him with us to Italy and Sicily. We bought the ticket, helped him get his passport and then watched as he fell apart.
He didn't fall ill. He was in great shape at the time, going to the gym several times a week. No, his mind crumbled. And it has never fully recovered. There was a time when a relatives mental health was something that was not discussed. It was a dirty secret to be swept under the rug. But we live in a more open society now and there is no shame in stating facts. Roy had developed clinical depression.
A lot of people I know talk about their 'fight with depression' and like to discuss at length the various medications they are on and their relative merits. It may seem insensitive of me to belittle their experience, but I have often felt that some of these people didn't need drugs, they just needed to get their head out of their ass and do something about the problems they were facing. We took this approach at first with Roy. He just needed something to fill the huge gap in his life after working non-stop for 50+ years. But that wasn't it. His depression had him incapable of seeing ANY options, he was paralyzed by fear. He had to be hospitalized several times. He had an extremely bad reaction to the first anti-depression medication he was prescribed, and even after this was corrected he was still barely functioning. He underwent electroshock treatment. He threatened suicide. His health deteriorated. He became isolated.
Being an only child Rossana had to step up to try and make the right decisions. She traveled to Philly several times. Each time Roy would seem to improve a little. Rossana would return exhausted. She would talk with him, argue with him. Plead with him. Eventually Rossana found new doctors and new drug treatments that brought about upswings. Roy was in such an upswing when he came to Pennsic to attend our wedding. But his fear, anxiety and depression were always there, chipping away at him. By this time I was going with Rossana to Philly to help out as best I could. Mostly I was there to help Rossana keep her sanity. To reassure her that she was in fact doing the right things and that she was a good person. Rossana was eating herself up inside because she kept thinking that either she wasn't doing enough, or the right thing, or that her father was deliberately acting difficult.
But this wasn't the case. The depression he suffers from makes it almost impossible for him to see any up side. He cannot see solutions, he cannot reason things out. He hears, he responds. But he can do almost nothing to help himself. Everything terrifies him. Living alone was one of the big causes of his anxiety but an attempt to move him to an assisted living facility failed miserably. We eventually had to hire on not one but two different women to help take care of him. This wasn't easy, as he maintains a bigoted streak. But eventually he did balance out a bit. Careful adjustment of his medication kept him from being completely incapacitated by his fears, but he was still living alone. His upswings were shorter if they occurred at all.
We went to Philly last Christmas and let me say that spending time with a clinically depressed person at Christmas is not an experience I would wish on anyone. We returned a while later and told him that were going to find him a new place to live. By now we knew we couldn't ask him what he wanted. So we had to make the choice for him. We looked at several Assisted Living places in Philly, some great, some horrifying. We found a fantastic place that I would be happy to live at myself, but it was too expensive.
Right now you might be asking."Why didn't you move to Philly?" and "Why didn't you have him move in with you?". As to the first Question; Rossana told me in no uncertain terms that she would never move back. Period. Philly did not hold fond memories for her. She had traveled the world and had decided to make her life with me where I was. I did not try to talk her out of this position. I've lived here most of my life and although I love to travel I still consider Ohio my home.
Why didn't we have him move in with us? To be truthful this was always an option. But if you have ever had to help take care of a sick relative you know the toll it can take on you. His constant presence would surely leads to violence.
In the end, we developed a sort of compromise. We researched Assisted Living and Retirement Living facilities in Ohio. And tomorrow, we will be moving him into one in Westlake, not far from where I grew up. This isn't short term or a trial stay. We have packed up all his belongings, driven them here and will be putting his house up for sale soon. We wanted him to know that this is a big and permanent change that he has to make if he wants to improve his life.
He is afraid. He is apprehensive. But so far he has handled the situation pretty damn well.
But let us not forget the title of this post; 'A job I am completely unprepared for...' All that has happened so far, all the frantic trips to Philly, trips to doctors and psychiatrists, long tearful conversations, fights with the insurance company and doctors and Roy himself. All of that was easy...Compared to what is to come. Roy is in fair health. And with him living nearby he will certainly be more active than he has been. We're praying he will meet and form friendships with the other people at the retirement community, but I am not betting the farm on it. I am faced with the likelihood that Rossana and I will be responsible for the care of her father for years to come. This possibility scares the crap out of me. It is a situationIi am completely unqualified for. Most relatives in my family just die at some point. They remain pretty active mentally and physically, and then...poof. The thought that I will have front row seats to the inevitable decline and fall of Roy is something I dread more than anything I can think of. I am now 38 and as such I am not immune to thoughts of my own mortality. In the wake of the Terri Schiavo fiasco and with travel to the Middle East Rossana and I committed our basic last wishes to paper. Nothing puts death on the map like saying 'this is what to do if I snuff it'.
I will not beat around the bush here. I am a selfish person. It is the reason neither Rossana or I ever want to have children. We understand and accept that were are entirely too self centered and selfish to dedicate a huge chunk of our life to procreating, birthing and raising another person. This is not to say that we cannot think of others. If you've read my posts about volunteering in Biloxi and New Orleans you know that disaster relief is not a vacation at a four star hotel. Although I am told it is am immensely rewarding experience, the awesome responsibility of parenthood and long term caregiving is something I don't think is in my makeup. I'm a Cat person, not a dog person. I don't want to have to run home so I can let the dog out so he can poop and get some exercise. The cat needs no such attention. Also, I was a children's puppeteer for 8 years, so.. I've dealt with thousands of kids thank you very much.
But now I am faced with a situation I cannot avoid. I cannot pawn it off on someone else. I have friends who have dealt with similar situation or have had to deal with worse ones with regards to family. But that gives me little comfort. Dealing with Roy can literally suck the life from you, and life is a precious commodity. The worst part is that even at his very best he is a pessimist. A fatalist, which is one of the things that drove Rossana crazy. I am not ready, but I guess that doesn't matter anymore.
This post does involve travel. Rossana and I flew to Philadelphia on Monday. With luck, it will be the last time we ever go there. It would take a really great Con, lost pirate gold or other major event to lure her back to a place she left as soon as she was able. We have been to Philly many times over the past 10 or so years. The reason was Rossana's father, Roy.
Roy is an old school Sicilian. He worked hard all his life. He worked the shipyards during WWII. He eventually got a job at Boeing and retired after something like 30 years with them. The job permanently damaged his hearing. He retired with a decent pension, some savings, his health and great healthcare coverage. We planned on taking him with us to Italy and Sicily. We bought the ticket, helped him get his passport and then watched as he fell apart.
He didn't fall ill. He was in great shape at the time, going to the gym several times a week. No, his mind crumbled. And it has never fully recovered. There was a time when a relatives mental health was something that was not discussed. It was a dirty secret to be swept under the rug. But we live in a more open society now and there is no shame in stating facts. Roy had developed clinical depression.
A lot of people I know talk about their 'fight with depression' and like to discuss at length the various medications they are on and their relative merits. It may seem insensitive of me to belittle their experience, but I have often felt that some of these people didn't need drugs, they just needed to get their head out of their ass and do something about the problems they were facing. We took this approach at first with Roy. He just needed something to fill the huge gap in his life after working non-stop for 50+ years. But that wasn't it. His depression had him incapable of seeing ANY options, he was paralyzed by fear. He had to be hospitalized several times. He had an extremely bad reaction to the first anti-depression medication he was prescribed, and even after this was corrected he was still barely functioning. He underwent electroshock treatment. He threatened suicide. His health deteriorated. He became isolated.
Being an only child Rossana had to step up to try and make the right decisions. She traveled to Philly several times. Each time Roy would seem to improve a little. Rossana would return exhausted. She would talk with him, argue with him. Plead with him. Eventually Rossana found new doctors and new drug treatments that brought about upswings. Roy was in such an upswing when he came to Pennsic to attend our wedding. But his fear, anxiety and depression were always there, chipping away at him. By this time I was going with Rossana to Philly to help out as best I could. Mostly I was there to help Rossana keep her sanity. To reassure her that she was in fact doing the right things and that she was a good person. Rossana was eating herself up inside because she kept thinking that either she wasn't doing enough, or the right thing, or that her father was deliberately acting difficult.
But this wasn't the case. The depression he suffers from makes it almost impossible for him to see any up side. He cannot see solutions, he cannot reason things out. He hears, he responds. But he can do almost nothing to help himself. Everything terrifies him. Living alone was one of the big causes of his anxiety but an attempt to move him to an assisted living facility failed miserably. We eventually had to hire on not one but two different women to help take care of him. This wasn't easy, as he maintains a bigoted streak. But eventually he did balance out a bit. Careful adjustment of his medication kept him from being completely incapacitated by his fears, but he was still living alone. His upswings were shorter if they occurred at all.
We went to Philly last Christmas and let me say that spending time with a clinically depressed person at Christmas is not an experience I would wish on anyone. We returned a while later and told him that were going to find him a new place to live. By now we knew we couldn't ask him what he wanted. So we had to make the choice for him. We looked at several Assisted Living places in Philly, some great, some horrifying. We found a fantastic place that I would be happy to live at myself, but it was too expensive.
Right now you might be asking."Why didn't you move to Philly?" and "Why didn't you have him move in with you?". As to the first Question; Rossana told me in no uncertain terms that she would never move back. Period. Philly did not hold fond memories for her. She had traveled the world and had decided to make her life with me where I was. I did not try to talk her out of this position. I've lived here most of my life and although I love to travel I still consider Ohio my home.
Why didn't we have him move in with us? To be truthful this was always an option. But if you have ever had to help take care of a sick relative you know the toll it can take on you. His constant presence would surely leads to violence.
In the end, we developed a sort of compromise. We researched Assisted Living and Retirement Living facilities in Ohio. And tomorrow, we will be moving him into one in Westlake, not far from where I grew up. This isn't short term or a trial stay. We have packed up all his belongings, driven them here and will be putting his house up for sale soon. We wanted him to know that this is a big and permanent change that he has to make if he wants to improve his life.
He is afraid. He is apprehensive. But so far he has handled the situation pretty damn well.
But let us not forget the title of this post; 'A job I am completely unprepared for...' All that has happened so far, all the frantic trips to Philly, trips to doctors and psychiatrists, long tearful conversations, fights with the insurance company and doctors and Roy himself. All of that was easy...Compared to what is to come. Roy is in fair health. And with him living nearby he will certainly be more active than he has been. We're praying he will meet and form friendships with the other people at the retirement community, but I am not betting the farm on it. I am faced with the likelihood that Rossana and I will be responsible for the care of her father for years to come. This possibility scares the crap out of me. It is a situationIi am completely unqualified for. Most relatives in my family just die at some point. They remain pretty active mentally and physically, and then...poof. The thought that I will have front row seats to the inevitable decline and fall of Roy is something I dread more than anything I can think of. I am now 38 and as such I am not immune to thoughts of my own mortality. In the wake of the Terri Schiavo fiasco and with travel to the Middle East Rossana and I committed our basic last wishes to paper. Nothing puts death on the map like saying 'this is what to do if I snuff it'.
I will not beat around the bush here. I am a selfish person. It is the reason neither Rossana or I ever want to have children. We understand and accept that were are entirely too self centered and selfish to dedicate a huge chunk of our life to procreating, birthing and raising another person. This is not to say that we cannot think of others. If you've read my posts about volunteering in Biloxi and New Orleans you know that disaster relief is not a vacation at a four star hotel. Although I am told it is am immensely rewarding experience, the awesome responsibility of parenthood and long term caregiving is something I don't think is in my makeup. I'm a Cat person, not a dog person. I don't want to have to run home so I can let the dog out so he can poop and get some exercise. The cat needs no such attention. Also, I was a children's puppeteer for 8 years, so.. I've dealt with thousands of kids thank you very much.
But now I am faced with a situation I cannot avoid. I cannot pawn it off on someone else. I have friends who have dealt with similar situation or have had to deal with worse ones with regards to family. But that gives me little comfort. Dealing with Roy can literally suck the life from you, and life is a precious commodity. The worst part is that even at his very best he is a pessimist. A fatalist, which is one of the things that drove Rossana crazy. I am not ready, but I guess that doesn't matter anymore.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
A simple plan
It was supposed to be a simple project. My friend Grimm wants a bar to take to Pennsic. He brews a lot of tasty adult type beverages and wants to dispense them is a stylin way. Hey, who doesn't? So today he showed up and started work with some help from me. Well, I mostly watched and sometimes held things.
But after we had spend an hour making a router jig and routing out several mortise and tenom joints I noticed something funny.
"Uh, Grimm. This bar is way to high."
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"I mean I'm 6'2" and I'm gonna need a booster chain to sit here."
"But my plans require this height. I need room for the kegs, and the cooler and glasses and..."
"All I'm saying is, I look like a Hobbit over here."
We debated the issue for several minutes when my wife popped her head into the Man Cave to tell me she was heading off to teach a class. I pointed at the bar.
"Is that bar too high?" I asked.
"Yes." she said, without hesitation. And left. This was, essentially the end of the discussion.
Grimm was frustrated. He looked at me in an Eyore like way. "I wanted to stach bottle and other crap on this shelf I had planned, but there won't be enough room."
Really? Lets find out." I quickly found some whisky that I've had in storage for a while. We were supposed to use the bottle to test the shelf height, but after opening said bottle we somehow went off on some other tangent.
We went back and forth. What had until now been a simple plan was now totally cocked up. We eventually came up with some very clever ideas for the cooler/tap system that we both believed will work. Alas, most of the day had been killed by this time and he had to run. We agreed that it would be a good idea, to bring over all the kegs and other equipment to test out the new human height design. And hey, once the bar is built it would be a shame not to take it for a spin.
We'll see next week when we comes back to work on the bar again.
But after we had spend an hour making a router jig and routing out several mortise and tenom joints I noticed something funny.
"Uh, Grimm. This bar is way to high."
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"I mean I'm 6'2" and I'm gonna need a booster chain to sit here."
"But my plans require this height. I need room for the kegs, and the cooler and glasses and..."
"All I'm saying is, I look like a Hobbit over here."
We debated the issue for several minutes when my wife popped her head into the Man Cave to tell me she was heading off to teach a class. I pointed at the bar.
"Is that bar too high?" I asked.
"Yes." she said, without hesitation. And left. This was, essentially the end of the discussion.
Grimm was frustrated. He looked at me in an Eyore like way. "I wanted to stach bottle and other crap on this shelf I had planned, but there won't be enough room."
Really? Lets find out." I quickly found some whisky that I've had in storage for a while. We were supposed to use the bottle to test the shelf height, but after opening said bottle we somehow went off on some other tangent.
We went back and forth. What had until now been a simple plan was now totally cocked up. We eventually came up with some very clever ideas for the cooler/tap system that we both believed will work. Alas, most of the day had been killed by this time and he had to run. We agreed that it would be a good idea, to bring over all the kegs and other equipment to test out the new human height design. And hey, once the bar is built it would be a shame not to take it for a spin.
We'll see next week when we comes back to work on the bar again.
Monday, May 08, 2006
The Fat Boys were Da Bomb
People often wonder what goes on inside my brain. Well, here's a good simulation of what my thought process is like at any given moment. Enjoy!
Friday, April 28, 2006
The way of the weasel
Spring has at last arrived, and with it the task of beating the great outdoors into submission. Please understand, I love Bag-End, my home, with all my heart. But it IS 5 acres. And that means mowing a big-ass lawn, one of the least fun tasks ever created. We were lucky that a riding mower came with the property. But mowing the verge takes anywhere between 6 hours and three days. At the poor machine is just not up to taking on the hills and muddy valleys so they often go untouched.
So I wheedled and whined and my lovely wife agreed to go look at bigger mowers. Powerful machines with engines that could power a small airplane and wide mowing decks that can cut a path of destruction through the ever encroaching greenness outside.
We looked at several models which looked nice and promissing.I will not bore you with the details of mower tech, suffice to say that I was slightly aroused by the power these machines possessed. Then the friendly salesman told us how much one of these things costs. Sweet Jeebus! And that's before you add any baggers, plows, heated cupholders or special mowing hats.
I was about to despair. It looked like I would be spending my entire Friday chugging around the back 40 on ole Betsy. But then I remembered a piece of my own advice. Front time to time some nice young person will come into my corset shop and poke around. When I approach and ask them if they want to try something on they smile and say "Oh, I'm just looking, I can't afford one of these."
I could just let them go and consider myself lucky that I didn't waste my time. But I don't, for several reasons.
1. They could well by lying.
2. They are depriving themselves of an opportunity.
I don't clue them in to No 1. but I do tell them that the last thing you EVER want to do is tell a salesman that you can't afford it. Once I know that you are not a viable customer I have little incentive to treat you with anything besides mild contempt. After all, you aren't buying. But I really have no way of knowing for sure if you are a struggling liberal arts major or a trust fund child. I tell these innocent persons that so long as I believe that I MIGHT be able to sell them something I will treat them like royalty. I tell them about the time that I got to go on a 60 mph ride on a $260,000 cigarette boat because the owner believed I just might be interested in buying it. If I had been honest, I wouldn't have gotten the ride.
So I followed my own advice and asked about the second most expensive model. Warranty? Financing options? Can I get spinners and ground effects? And then I simply said "Well, I'd really have to try one of these out at my property before I decided" And what do you know, they offer to deliver a demo model right to my house ... for free.
Sure enough, the mower arrived today and I finished the lawn in record time with only minor damage to some trees. Oh and there was that small accident at the edge of the pond, but Rossana helped me tow it out with the van and it seemed none the worse for wear.
The salesman called up to ask how it worked and I said it was great. I was about to tell him that we would "think about it" (code for thanks for the freebie but we're not made of money) when he said that the demo model was for sale at a substantial discount. Crap, I'd been trapped by my own sales kung-fu. You see, once I get a woman to try one of our corsets on, she very often falls in love with it and has to have it. The mower? Well, we're looking at what we can get for the old one. And maybe I can hold off on a computer upgrade and a few other things...
So I wheedled and whined and my lovely wife agreed to go look at bigger mowers. Powerful machines with engines that could power a small airplane and wide mowing decks that can cut a path of destruction through the ever encroaching greenness outside.
We looked at several models which looked nice and promissing.I will not bore you with the details of mower tech, suffice to say that I was slightly aroused by the power these machines possessed. Then the friendly salesman told us how much one of these things costs. Sweet Jeebus! And that's before you add any baggers, plows, heated cupholders or special mowing hats.
I was about to despair. It looked like I would be spending my entire Friday chugging around the back 40 on ole Betsy. But then I remembered a piece of my own advice. Front time to time some nice young person will come into my corset shop and poke around. When I approach and ask them if they want to try something on they smile and say "Oh, I'm just looking, I can't afford one of these."
I could just let them go and consider myself lucky that I didn't waste my time. But I don't, for several reasons.
1. They could well by lying.
2. They are depriving themselves of an opportunity.
I don't clue them in to No 1. but I do tell them that the last thing you EVER want to do is tell a salesman that you can't afford it. Once I know that you are not a viable customer I have little incentive to treat you with anything besides mild contempt. After all, you aren't buying. But I really have no way of knowing for sure if you are a struggling liberal arts major or a trust fund child. I tell these innocent persons that so long as I believe that I MIGHT be able to sell them something I will treat them like royalty. I tell them about the time that I got to go on a 60 mph ride on a $260,000 cigarette boat because the owner believed I just might be interested in buying it. If I had been honest, I wouldn't have gotten the ride.
So I followed my own advice and asked about the second most expensive model. Warranty? Financing options? Can I get spinners and ground effects? And then I simply said "Well, I'd really have to try one of these out at my property before I decided" And what do you know, they offer to deliver a demo model right to my house ... for free.
Sure enough, the mower arrived today and I finished the lawn in record time with only minor damage to some trees. Oh and there was that small accident at the edge of the pond, but Rossana helped me tow it out with the van and it seemed none the worse for wear.
The salesman called up to ask how it worked and I said it was great. I was about to tell him that we would "think about it" (code for thanks for the freebie but we're not made of money) when he said that the demo model was for sale at a substantial discount. Crap, I'd been trapped by my own sales kung-fu. You see, once I get a woman to try one of our corsets on, she very often falls in love with it and has to have it. The mower? Well, we're looking at what we can get for the old one. And maybe I can hold off on a computer upgrade and a few other things...
Saturday, April 22, 2006
More gooder
I am by no means a music junkie, but I do like to 'rock out' now and then. This does not mean that I dance around the house in my skivies like Tom Cruise. Indeed that is a sight no one wants to see. But when I do hear a tune I like I want it NOW.
When some ditty catches my fancy I first track it down via the internets. Once I have a band name and song title I may wander through i-tunes. But 99 cents? Good heavens I'm no Rockefeller. I'm just an average Joe with limited moolah just like you. So chances are I'll cruise over to Allodmp3.com where I can download non DRM tunage waaaaaay cheap. And it's completely legal.
In Russia.
Maybe.
In any case I have been using the service for like a year now with no problems. To speed up the searching process they had a standalone music browser called the explorer. Each time you run the program it updates its catalog and allows you to search for and stream music before downloading your selections. Alas, this piece of software suffers from major usability issues. It works, but its no i-tunes. Well, imitation is the sincerest for of flattery and now allofmp3.com has a nice program called alltunes. It's in beta, but what isn't these days? I downloaded it and it is a far sight better than the explorer. Much cleaner interface, easier searching. Nicer layout, fewer dialog boxes when you decide to buy.
So go forth my flying monkeys! Go and seek the music you desire. Save you money for gasoline and liquor.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Goths to the Left of me...
Went back to New Orleans last weekend. This time it was all business. Convergence 12 is a large goth event. I've never done it before and was a bit apprehensive. The last goth event we did in New Orleans was fairly crappy. The hotel was crappy, the event was crappy, the location was crappy, sales...well you get the point. So I was a bit shocked when I arrived at the Hotel Monteleone and found it to be a nice place, very nice in fact. Maybe too nice. How could goths afford this place? Load in went pretty smooth and the dealers room was good sized. There were maybe three other corset companies or people selling corsets. Was I worried? In short, no. Saturday was a goddamn corset feeding frenzy. It was like I was the only dealer in a town of crack addicts.
Wait, did I just compare my product to crack?
Anyway, we kicked major ass, mostly because we were our usual pushy selves. We forced people to try stuff on. There was a booth near us and I could tell that they flew in, they shipped in their grid wall displays. They looked pretty spiffy, nice looking product. Too bad they then stuck tables in front of it all so people couldn't come up and touch. I don;t think I saw one person try one on all weekend. There were some pretties there and it was hard not to buy buy buy. Rossana did get a stunning hat, very Victorian.
Voltaire was there and even did a short acoustic number in the dealers room. Because goths do not do morning we had a chance to have a late breakfast and walk the French Quarter a little bit. Here and there you would see our black clad friends. But they looked oddly out of place because it was sunny and warm. I imagine that all that velvet and pvc was pretty hot. Even so the French Quarter is like Disneyland for Goths and it seems they had a good time. I didn't attend any of the evening concerts even though I recognized some of the names on the bill. I leave that for the young. Two good events in a row? What gives? I am vaguely suspicious.
Back at home now and we are faced with the very daunting tasks of working on the grounds and painting the above ground parts of our home. For a home that is entirely underground there is a lot of stuff to paint. My Mom is coming over tomorrow to 'help out'. I'm not sure what tasks I can safely give her. While Rossana has been dealing with green things I have been involved with grunt work, which involves moving heavy things from one place to another and hanging off of ladders with semi-dangerous equipment.
I can't see how this can possibly go wrong.
Wait, did I just compare my product to crack?
Anyway, we kicked major ass, mostly because we were our usual pushy selves. We forced people to try stuff on. There was a booth near us and I could tell that they flew in, they shipped in their grid wall displays. They looked pretty spiffy, nice looking product. Too bad they then stuck tables in front of it all so people couldn't come up and touch. I don;t think I saw one person try one on all weekend. There were some pretties there and it was hard not to buy buy buy. Rossana did get a stunning hat, very Victorian.
Voltaire was there and even did a short acoustic number in the dealers room. Because goths do not do morning we had a chance to have a late breakfast and walk the French Quarter a little bit. Here and there you would see our black clad friends. But they looked oddly out of place because it was sunny and warm. I imagine that all that velvet and pvc was pretty hot. Even so the French Quarter is like Disneyland for Goths and it seems they had a good time. I didn't attend any of the evening concerts even though I recognized some of the names on the bill. I leave that for the young. Two good events in a row? What gives? I am vaguely suspicious.
Back at home now and we are faced with the very daunting tasks of working on the grounds and painting the above ground parts of our home. For a home that is entirely underground there is a lot of stuff to paint. My Mom is coming over tomorrow to 'help out'. I'm not sure what tasks I can safely give her. While Rossana has been dealing with green things I have been involved with grunt work, which involves moving heavy things from one place to another and hanging off of ladders with semi-dangerous equipment.
I can't see how this can possibly go wrong.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
They shall know us by our tech
Our recent trip to Raleigh was an exercise in frustration, a journey into madness and anger caused by a road system SO fucked up that even locals have NO idea how to get anywhere. I would subject my worst enemy to these roads.
This may have contributed to our descision to buy a GPS navigation unit. We stopped at a truck stop and were idly looking at the cool arroy of gadgets on display when my hand brushed against the Cobra NavOne 4000. This activated a salesman. The gentlemans name way Bill. He quickly explained that he had an open unit that had been returned. There was also a $100 rebate. Rossana was strong, but the big, shiny screen called to me. Bill was merciless. We could try it for 14 days, it had 7 million points of interrest. My eyes glazed over.
Needless to say we got it. It turns out Bill spent 15 years working at a gun shop. Its a good thing he left that job or I'd be the proud owner of a bazooka and a few dozen rounds.
Not that that would be a bad thing...
This may have contributed to our descision to buy a GPS navigation unit. We stopped at a truck stop and were idly looking at the cool arroy of gadgets on display when my hand brushed against the Cobra NavOne 4000. This activated a salesman. The gentlemans name way Bill. He quickly explained that he had an open unit that had been returned. There was also a $100 rebate. Rossana was strong, but the big, shiny screen called to me. Bill was merciless. We could try it for 14 days, it had 7 million points of interrest. My eyes glazed over.
Needless to say we got it. It turns out Bill spent 15 years working at a gun shop. Its a good thing he left that job or I'd be the proud owner of a bazooka and a few dozen rounds.
Not that that would be a bad thing...
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Gods honest truth
We plan on merchanting at an event in PA next month. Being good little law abiding capitalists we applied to the appropriate authorities for our tax license.
Now, I know that state governments have to work with smaller and smaller budgets, but I'm not sure how this combination came about:
Now, I know that state governments have to work with smaller and smaller budgets, but I'm not sure how this combination came about:
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
No worries
Over the past few years of posting here I suppose you have come to see that although I have a pretty cool livelyhood and I enjoy what I do, it certainly isn't all sunshine and lollypops or some kind of cakewalk. There are periods of intense work, ooften for little return. The economy continues to suck. Good shows are hard to come by.
But none of that was really the case last weekend. We drove down to North Carolina for the first weekend of their 2 weekend fair held at the state fairgrounds. The van worked fine, great weather going down. On arrival check in went without a hitch. Nothing was forgotten back at home. We were indoors, sheltered from any possible storms, but the weather was great. No sign of our nemesis, Beverle. We were across from a stage, but all the acts were good. The belly dance troups music was so good we found ourselves dancing around to it subconsciously. Sales were great for us. Saturday night we had dinner with the good folks from Griffin Works. Great Food.
On Sunday I walked the site and sat down on a bench to soak up the sun and listened to the birds singing. Just then a local choir did a warm up set nearby.
We enjoyed another great meal at a Mongolian Bar-B-Que called Crazy Fire and drove back on Monday. there was some rain, but nothing horrendous.
In short, it was a great weekend all around. I enjoyed doing it. I know that good story telling comes from conflict and adversity. There IS one more weekend to go and everything may well go to poop. But I'm happy to have had 2 great days. They remind me of why I love doing what I do.
But none of that was really the case last weekend. We drove down to North Carolina for the first weekend of their 2 weekend fair held at the state fairgrounds. The van worked fine, great weather going down. On arrival check in went without a hitch. Nothing was forgotten back at home. We were indoors, sheltered from any possible storms, but the weather was great. No sign of our nemesis, Beverle. We were across from a stage, but all the acts were good. The belly dance troups music was so good we found ourselves dancing around to it subconsciously. Sales were great for us. Saturday night we had dinner with the good folks from Griffin Works. Great Food.
On Sunday I walked the site and sat down on a bench to soak up the sun and listened to the birds singing. Just then a local choir did a warm up set nearby.
We enjoyed another great meal at a Mongolian Bar-B-Que called Crazy Fire and drove back on Monday. there was some rain, but nothing horrendous.
In short, it was a great weekend all around. I enjoyed doing it. I know that good story telling comes from conflict and adversity. There IS one more weekend to go and everything may well go to poop. But I'm happy to have had 2 great days. They remind me of why I love doing what I do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
