This may get heavy, I apologize in advance. No I don't. Piss off. That's better. Or not. I might go full asshole in this post. Hold on to your seats everyone, it's the story of an autistic little boy and his father. With cameos by the ex-wife, the kickass new girlfriend, the other kids and almost Sean Connery. (I'm listening to Bob Dylan, currently "I Shall Be Free", so I'mma be a little goofy and introspective)
So, let's start with that little boy. His parents separated at a young age for him. He had just passed three years old when his mother left. I'm not sure how this affected him. I've tried to talk to him about it at times, and it seems he doesn't remember the separation itself or what the family was like before. This is most likely a good thing.
Now, this three year old was an impulsive and demanding little boy. Already receiving services from specialists for vocational and speech therapy. With this help, he progressed rather quickly, and graduated out of those services in around a year's time.
This little boy, we'll call him Sam (not his real name, those who are important to him and myself know his name, and that's good enough), had a wonderful daycare provider, who, unfortunately for us but spectacularly for her decided to go back to school. She was and is a wonderful person, with whom I am still friends. Sam's next daycare provider actually had a similar situation and he was only with her a short time.
Thinking my luck with daycare providers couldn't get worse, we contracted another one. This woman was...I'm trying to be nice here...not great with children. Or, well, to be clear, not great with Sam. Sam had, and still does have, impulse control issues. Sam tends to over-react to situations and escalate them past reasonable logic.
We repeatedly had stories from the daycare provider, we'll call her...ummm...Becca, about Sam having physical altercations with other children. Minor stuff, but still troubling. Becca would simply punish with a time-out and that would be it. We would talk to Sam about them, and it would always be "Well, so and so took something of mine, so I took it back and called him poopface (or something similar)". However, one day at pickup, Becca told me that Sam would not be allowed back. Another child had pushed Sam to the ground and Sam retaliated with a punch and a bite. An unreasonable and scary over-reaction to the initial stimulus.
Luckily we were able to find another daycare provider, one that was familiar with smaller children. Sam still had some issues with other children, but these providers, a husband and wife team, always worked with Sam on the problem and tried to instill coping strategies in Sam. By the time he was 5 and kindergarten was nearing, Sam seemed to be rather well-adjusted and his over-reactions, while still extreme, were manageable and fewer. It was quite evident to see them coming and to be able to reroute him to a more reliable attitude was becoming rather simple, 95% of the time. His mother and I were confident that he would no major problems in school.
That fall, Sam started at Genessee Elementary. Now, I had already put two kids through Genessee, and knew going in that it was a rather...particular school. I've never seen a school that is so different an experience based on how effective a pupil a child is. Good pupils seem to prosper at Genessee, while middling or poor students are handled with less effort and patience. This is an over-generalization, but there are concrete examples of this I could provide. This isn't the space for that. Just know that my daughter, a middling student with no love for school, had periodic issues with certain teachers (including one that wanted to hold her back a level because she hadn't lost enough baby teeth). The approach teachers took with her, mostly, was to just get her through. Bare minimums. My son, a very good to excellent student, except for one teacher, had a simply marvelous career at Genessee, one that they nurtured extremely well. His growth was fostered along by caring and motivating teachers.
Sam's experience...has not been the same. I'm going to start this by saying, it's not the teachers. It really isn't. Sam's teachers, minus kindergarten, have been very good and have tried their hardest to understand and work with Sam.
Sam started kindergarten excited and eager to go to school. This continued all the way into February of that year. We had heard of small issues, like talking too much. Simple stuff.
I need to break into the story here for a minute and say that the ex-wife and I co-parent Sam quite effectively. Rarely are there disagreements, and we are able to solve this without issue. We are both involved and proactive parents.
In February, after winter break, it seemed like a switch had been flipped with Sam. He was becoming intolerant and getting physical with other students and teachers. It was a massive change in his demeanor towards school. At home, he was typical Sam. Issues from time to time, but nothing that had ever progressed to a physical level.
His teacher grew very agitated with Sam, rode him. He was a behavioral nuisance for her, and she treated him as such. She seemed to have no desire to talk to Sam about the issues, or to attempt to redirect him. Her accusations towards his mother and myself satisfied her own internal storyline as to her problems with Sam. We were constantly accused of having a constantly-changing home life, causing him problems. Sam's home life, as far as he was concerned, had never changed. We told her as such. Later on in the year, I was accused of beating Sam by the principal. This was patently false. Sam has a birthmark on his cheek right in front of his ear. If you are an idiot or have incredibly bad eyesight or are trying to dignify an internal narrative, this birthmark could be construed to look like a bruise.
I've never beaten Sam. I've never even considered it. He has pushed me, trust me, I make no apologies for him. He knew, and still knows, how to push my buttons. Sometimes I feel he does it purely for fun. Nothing about this has made me think about beating him.
Needless to say, this conversation with principal gym teacher was...not constructive. Trust me, principal gym teacher is a perfect name for this man. He has typical little man syndrome, always walking with his arms blown out and his chest puffed up. Like he just 'got his pump on' as Mac from Always Sunny would say. His shirts were always at least one size small so they were super-tight, and I'm not sure his knees actually bent much when he walked. I imagine him in his free time wearing nut-hugger shorts and muscle tees. Probably wears one of those weightlifter belts. All. The. Time.
Sam's kindergarten ended poorly. But, it ended, and the principal moved on. To a gym teacher position at a neighboring district. Who knew?
Over the summer, we backed off on Sam a bit, really to let him relax and to hopefully have him encouraged for the fall semester. By the time he left kindergarten, he passionately hated school and everything about it, in it, near it, or under it.
We also started talking to Sam's doctor about therapy for him. We decided to see how the new school year progressed before engaging with a therapist.
Sam's first grade teacher was a young woman who ran a very regimented and practical classroom. We met with her before school and talked about Sam, and I came away impressed. I believed that an environment where Sam knew what was coming and what was expected every day would be good for him. It always worked at home (timers at the time were used extensively with him, and he embraced it). We shared with her techniques like this that worked for us, and she was very receptive.
It took about two weeks of talking to convince Sam that the new school year could be different and his concerns were unwarranted. We finally had him ready, not eager, but ready for the new school year. It was rocky from the start. Instead of embracing the scheduled approach, Sam seemed to rail against it and his behavior consistently escalated. His mother and I worked with the teacher extensively, and she worked with him, to little effect. We supported the teacher's concepts at home, and she in turn tried to apply our suggestions.
Mostly, nothing helped. In October we decided to pursue a therapist and contracted Dr. Barnell (not her real name). By this time, a new principal, Principal Goings (not her real name either) had started with Genessee. She seemed extremely energetic and progressive. Very hands-on with the students. I was impressed with her at the time, and hopeful.
Sam and his therapist worked together. She told us that she felt that he was mildly autistic and definitely has a sensory disorder. Aural predominantly. Sudden loud sounds or a constant loud background din are very unsettling for Sam, and can be a definite step on the road to impulsive behavior for him. However, not being an autism specialist, she wasn't confident in making such a diagnosis, so while still seeing Dr. Barnell, Sam's mother and I started the looooong process of getting him in to such a specialist either in Syracuse or Rochester.
Meanwhile, things at school deteriorated. Principal Goings, for the second time at Genessee, accused me of beating Sam, this time with the School Resource Officer at her side. I, once again, explained that her 'bruise' is actually a birthmark. I even had the teacher come in so she could explain that yes, Sam had that mark every single day.
I was starting to lose my confidence in Principal Goings.
Shortly thereafter, PG (Principal Goings from now on) ran out to my car as I was leaving after dropping Sam off at school. She seemed very excited, like she had finally figured something out with him. She yells out from about 15 feet away, "I think Sam is autistic!". I quickly walked over to meet her so we weren't shouting my son's personal health information across the yard. I said, "Well, that's pretty good, actually, as Sam's therapist feels the same way, and we're in the process of getting him with a specialist.". She replies "That's great! I knew it. Just like that show on NPR said!".
Confidence-- (that's a C/C++ joke)
"Excuse me?" I said.
"There was a show on NPR last night that I listened to. They explained autism and it's just like Sam!". Ugh. She's making a diagnosis based on an NPR show? I was starting to wonder about her.
Sam was still having behavioral expressions at school. Physical, sometimes even truly violent altercations. Specifically with teachers.
Any parent who was tried to get an appointment with a real Autism Specialist knows how hard it is. We had gone months by this time with very little response from either center in Syracuse or Rochester. In the meantime, Dr. Barnell had agreed to make a 'provisional' autism diagnosis, so that Sam would qualify for extended help at school.
That helps starts by forming a CSE. That's a Committee for Special Education. The committee is usually formed of the teacher(s), a member of the administration, a special education teacher and the parents. The parents can also include an advocate for the student, and we also included Dr. Barnell. The CSE committee has a chairperson, usually someone in the Special Ed department for the district or the local BOCES. Our chairperson is Principal Goings. It's damn irregular to have the principal on the committee and a blatant conflict of interest to have the principal as the chairperson. However, in the interest of really working as a 'team' together, we didn't share any concerns about her place as the chair. This was a major mistake on our part.
(Ok...this is happening in parts...I need to go pack some stuff and the music Pandora is pushing has perked up, so I'm feeling like being productive. Part 2 probably coming soon. With almost Sean Connery)
Friday, April 14, 2017
Friday, March 28, 2014
A Little About Me
This might ramble and be weird. It might not. I have no idea. It'll be a mildly edited stream of conciousness most likely.
Not sure what I'm doing here or why. But it almost feels necessary.
There are things about myelf that I'd like to make better. I mean, there's the obvious weight problem. But that's like picking the low-hanging fruit. I plan to make this a little more in-depth, and maybe I learn something from it. I'll even do this as a list, for Steph's benefit.
1. I'm hyper-critical of myself. This causes most of my issues, I think. There are many things that I just feel are pre-destined for failure, so they're never attempted in the first place.
2. I allow things that aren't big issues to become larger issues and much more important in my mind. I'm not sure why I do this. The only thing I can think is that I try so hard to see all options and outcomes and weigh them against each other that it allows me hypothesize much more expanded situations. Not sure that makes sense. Honestly, I don't even really think that trying to see all the facets of something is a bad thing, but perhaps getting focused on minutiae in the problem is paralyzing. It's one thing to see all sides, it's another to be crushed by them.
Ok, number 2 was waaay deeper than I expected when I started it. This is going well.
3. I so badly want to be creative, but number 1 hamstrings me. Often. So instead of being creative, I end up striving to replicate the creativity of others. Probably the most creative thing I've done recently is a series of water droplet pictures, and I'm very proud of them, but they're not truly my creation. I took a couple techniques I had seen elsewhere and combined them. So, in my mind, the idea isn't completely mine.
4. I don't finish things that are for myself. I really honestly don't know why. Maybe it's number 1 again. That's really just conjecture.
5. I have willpower issues. I'm a master at giving myself excuses, or making real, though slight ones, bigger.
Now, that all may seem like I'm terribly down on myself or depressed or some other clinical thing...it's really not that. To illustrate that, here's the followup, the things that I like about myself.
1. I'm a good father, I think, and I really want to be that. There isn't really anything more to say about this. There are things that I could do better, and I realize that. I'm always willing to learn more about being a father from other people, and mostly, from my children.
2. I don't have many friends, but the ones I do have I hold very dear. I would do anything for them. They're all awesome people, so I must have done something right to deserve having such kick-ass people I can call my friends. I learn from them, and maybe they learn from me too.
3. The things that I am good at, I'm very good at, I think. That probably sounds arrogant, and it likely is. When I find something I love, I immerse myself in it until I've gotten a level of mastery in it that makes me happy.
4. I like to think I'm pretty intelligent. Again, hubris, right? You're right. I won't apologize for this one.
5. I also think I'm pretty funny. I mean...have you seen the Masterpoo Theatre videos? (shameless self-plug (and wow...out of context, "self-plug" as a term is pretty hilarious))
Ok, I'm going to stop here for now. I'm going to tackle the weight thing (I know, again) in the very near future in this space.
This felt pretty good.
Not sure what I'm doing here or why. But it almost feels necessary.
There are things about myelf that I'd like to make better. I mean, there's the obvious weight problem. But that's like picking the low-hanging fruit. I plan to make this a little more in-depth, and maybe I learn something from it. I'll even do this as a list, for Steph's benefit.
1. I'm hyper-critical of myself. This causes most of my issues, I think. There are many things that I just feel are pre-destined for failure, so they're never attempted in the first place.
2. I allow things that aren't big issues to become larger issues and much more important in my mind. I'm not sure why I do this. The only thing I can think is that I try so hard to see all options and outcomes and weigh them against each other that it allows me hypothesize much more expanded situations. Not sure that makes sense. Honestly, I don't even really think that trying to see all the facets of something is a bad thing, but perhaps getting focused on minutiae in the problem is paralyzing. It's one thing to see all sides, it's another to be crushed by them.
Ok, number 2 was waaay deeper than I expected when I started it. This is going well.
3. I so badly want to be creative, but number 1 hamstrings me. Often. So instead of being creative, I end up striving to replicate the creativity of others. Probably the most creative thing I've done recently is a series of water droplet pictures, and I'm very proud of them, but they're not truly my creation. I took a couple techniques I had seen elsewhere and combined them. So, in my mind, the idea isn't completely mine.
4. I don't finish things that are for myself. I really honestly don't know why. Maybe it's number 1 again. That's really just conjecture.
5. I have willpower issues. I'm a master at giving myself excuses, or making real, though slight ones, bigger.
Now, that all may seem like I'm terribly down on myself or depressed or some other clinical thing...it's really not that. To illustrate that, here's the followup, the things that I like about myself.
1. I'm a good father, I think, and I really want to be that. There isn't really anything more to say about this. There are things that I could do better, and I realize that. I'm always willing to learn more about being a father from other people, and mostly, from my children.
2. I don't have many friends, but the ones I do have I hold very dear. I would do anything for them. They're all awesome people, so I must have done something right to deserve having such kick-ass people I can call my friends. I learn from them, and maybe they learn from me too.
3. The things that I am good at, I'm very good at, I think. That probably sounds arrogant, and it likely is. When I find something I love, I immerse myself in it until I've gotten a level of mastery in it that makes me happy.
4. I like to think I'm pretty intelligent. Again, hubris, right? You're right. I won't apologize for this one.
5. I also think I'm pretty funny. I mean...have you seen the Masterpoo Theatre videos? (shameless self-plug (and wow...out of context, "self-plug" as a term is pretty hilarious))
Ok, I'm going to stop here for now. I'm going to tackle the weight thing (I know, again) in the very near future in this space.
This felt pretty good.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Fun with Chantix
So, yeah. I'm still a smoker.
It's ridiculously expensive. Just...too much. It's time to do something about it. It'd be nice to not depend on something like that too, but I'm not going to lie. The cost is my major reasoning right now. Yes I know all the other reasons to quit. I'm not interested in all the rah-rah stuff. It costs too much, and that's a good enough reason for me.
For anyone that knows me, I have a sticker...thing. I don't like 'em. At all. Or anything sticky touching me. It's my one true phobia, and it can be paralyzing. When the kids come home from school with them...especially if they're on their skin, holy shitsnacks does that fuck me up. Straight up panic attack.
There's a reason I mention this.
If you hook up with the NY Smoker's Quitline, which is a wonderful resource, they'll send you the nicotine patches for free. Awesome, right?
Patches.
That stick to you.
With adhesive.
Yeah. Not a fan. I did try it though. I finished up a pack around 7pm Thursday night, and put the patch on first thing in the morning Friday.
Then I sat on the floor of the bathroom panting hysterically. Not good. At all. I could hear the The Crying Game song in my head. Which doesn't really apply, but I was feeling violated.
I sucked it up though, and headed off to work. I'm not going to lie. It was horrible. The morning especially. I told more than one person that I would punch a baby for a cigarette. (ed. - He actually wouldn't punch a baby, he likes to have fun with shocking statements. Complete toolbag. Well...maybe...if the baby were like some kind of freak half-alien half-sticker baby. Or a complete sticker-baby. That would be ok, right? If you can't tell by now, I don't really have an editor. I'm the editor. And I MAAAAY be trying to come up with a way to justify those horrible statements from Thursday.)
The afternoon, though, my anxiety over having THE MOST HORRIBLE THING THAT COULD BE ON MY BODY actually on my body became worse. Luckily, I had a doctor's appt. at 4. Maybe the doc could help me out here.
She laughed at me.
Not alot, mind you, she did keep professional decorum. But she was laughing on the inside. I could tell by the sly smile. She was rolling internally. I could smell the judgment coming from her. Smelled like a doctor's office, actually. Good to know, for next time I'm being judged.
After she was done judging me, the doctor prescribed Chantix. She gave me the full side-effect rundown. I wasn't really listening. I'm a man (when stickers aren't involved), and men don't get side-effects. All I was thinking was INEEDTOGETTHISDEMONICADHESIVEOFFMYSKINBEFOREIMURDERSOMEONE.
I filled the script at Walgreen's and headed home. First thing through the door, that godforsaken patch was off my back and in the trash. I couldn't even look at it as I put it in the trash. I couldn't see through my hysterical tears as I had to touch it. With my fingers. There probably was squealing too. I've blocked it out.
I took the first dose and did some Chantix research on the intertubes and with some friends. Pretty much as a rule, everything said 'Keep smoking with this shit at first.' Supposedly, it works on some level by making you hate cigarettes. So, ok. Saturday morning I bought a pack and had my second dose of Chantix.
I'm not here to talk about that though. I'm here to talk about dreams. I don't remember my dreams, usually. In fact, I don't really remember any since I was a teenager or so. Of course I dream, everyone does, I just don't remember them.
I remembered last night's dreams. Vividly. It's one of those Chantix side effects, you might actually have more vivid nightmares or some such.
I didn't have nightmares, but these dreams were trippy. There are two in particular that were especially crazy.
Let's start with the less-insane one. I was at work. Kind of. It seemed like work, but everyone was in one room. Programmers, support people, the whole enchilada. We were working at tables. Our systems and stuff were there. I was sitting next to Phil. But, my mouse, and everything I clicked on, was showing on his monitors. It was weird. Plus, he was using a Mac, and saying we, the programmers, were all moving to Macs for development.
Here's where it got weird, though. Once an hour, we all had to switch spots. Like, Chinese fire drill style. I didn't understand that's what was happening though, so I stayed in one spot. I ended up with chicks all around me, some that worked there, but mostly they didn't. And once I looked around, this mixture was all over the room. All women, some that worked there, some that I knew from outside work, and some that I had never met before. I woke up at this point. Laughing.
The more insane one was much shorter. It was a sex dream (Steph...no jiggly gifs, I promise). I have no idea who the chick was that I was fornicating with, I can't even picture her now, I just know that I was really into it. And it was pretty mind-blowing, but every now and then, a friend of mine (you know who you are), would show up, all Hunter S. Thompson Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas looking, yelling out stuff like "Really, this is just terrible. Not hot at all." and being really pissed off about the whole thing. Like some super-intense porn director. "HOW CAN TWO ADULTS BE SO BAD AT MAKING THE SEX?!?!". The 'porn director' was sooo intense about it too. I couldn't stop laughing. In the dream. I was laughing. Hilariously.
I woke up from that one still laughing. It was awesome. It has to be the Chantix. I can't think of any other reason. Two dreams in the SAME NIGHT. I'm actually really excited for these dreams. I mean, yeah, not smoking anymore will be awesome, but remembering dreams? Awesome.
It's ridiculously expensive. Just...too much. It's time to do something about it. It'd be nice to not depend on something like that too, but I'm not going to lie. The cost is my major reasoning right now. Yes I know all the other reasons to quit. I'm not interested in all the rah-rah stuff. It costs too much, and that's a good enough reason for me.
For anyone that knows me, I have a sticker...thing. I don't like 'em. At all. Or anything sticky touching me. It's my one true phobia, and it can be paralyzing. When the kids come home from school with them...especially if they're on their skin, holy shitsnacks does that fuck me up. Straight up panic attack.
There's a reason I mention this.
If you hook up with the NY Smoker's Quitline, which is a wonderful resource, they'll send you the nicotine patches for free. Awesome, right?
Patches.
That stick to you.
With adhesive.
Yeah. Not a fan. I did try it though. I finished up a pack around 7pm Thursday night, and put the patch on first thing in the morning Friday.
Then I sat on the floor of the bathroom panting hysterically. Not good. At all. I could hear the The Crying Game song in my head. Which doesn't really apply, but I was feeling violated.
I sucked it up though, and headed off to work. I'm not going to lie. It was horrible. The morning especially. I told more than one person that I would punch a baby for a cigarette. (ed. - He actually wouldn't punch a baby, he likes to have fun with shocking statements. Complete toolbag. Well...maybe...if the baby were like some kind of freak half-alien half-sticker baby. Or a complete sticker-baby. That would be ok, right? If you can't tell by now, I don't really have an editor. I'm the editor. And I MAAAAY be trying to come up with a way to justify those horrible statements from Thursday.)
The afternoon, though, my anxiety over having THE MOST HORRIBLE THING THAT COULD BE ON MY BODY actually on my body became worse. Luckily, I had a doctor's appt. at 4. Maybe the doc could help me out here.
She laughed at me.
Not alot, mind you, she did keep professional decorum. But she was laughing on the inside. I could tell by the sly smile. She was rolling internally. I could smell the judgment coming from her. Smelled like a doctor's office, actually. Good to know, for next time I'm being judged.
After she was done judging me, the doctor prescribed Chantix. She gave me the full side-effect rundown. I wasn't really listening. I'm a man (when stickers aren't involved), and men don't get side-effects. All I was thinking was INEEDTOGETTHISDEMONICADHESIVEOFFMYSKINBEFOREIMURDERSOMEONE.
I filled the script at Walgreen's and headed home. First thing through the door, that godforsaken patch was off my back and in the trash. I couldn't even look at it as I put it in the trash. I couldn't see through my hysterical tears as I had to touch it. With my fingers. There probably was squealing too. I've blocked it out.
I took the first dose and did some Chantix research on the intertubes and with some friends. Pretty much as a rule, everything said 'Keep smoking with this shit at first.' Supposedly, it works on some level by making you hate cigarettes. So, ok. Saturday morning I bought a pack and had my second dose of Chantix.
I'm not here to talk about that though. I'm here to talk about dreams. I don't remember my dreams, usually. In fact, I don't really remember any since I was a teenager or so. Of course I dream, everyone does, I just don't remember them.
I remembered last night's dreams. Vividly. It's one of those Chantix side effects, you might actually have more vivid nightmares or some such.
I didn't have nightmares, but these dreams were trippy. There are two in particular that were especially crazy.
Let's start with the less-insane one. I was at work. Kind of. It seemed like work, but everyone was in one room. Programmers, support people, the whole enchilada. We were working at tables. Our systems and stuff were there. I was sitting next to Phil. But, my mouse, and everything I clicked on, was showing on his monitors. It was weird. Plus, he was using a Mac, and saying we, the programmers, were all moving to Macs for development.
Here's where it got weird, though. Once an hour, we all had to switch spots. Like, Chinese fire drill style. I didn't understand that's what was happening though, so I stayed in one spot. I ended up with chicks all around me, some that worked there, but mostly they didn't. And once I looked around, this mixture was all over the room. All women, some that worked there, some that I knew from outside work, and some that I had never met before. I woke up at this point. Laughing.
The more insane one was much shorter. It was a sex dream (Steph...no jiggly gifs, I promise). I have no idea who the chick was that I was fornicating with, I can't even picture her now, I just know that I was really into it. And it was pretty mind-blowing, but every now and then, a friend of mine (you know who you are), would show up, all Hunter S. Thompson Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas looking, yelling out stuff like "Really, this is just terrible. Not hot at all." and being really pissed off about the whole thing. Like some super-intense porn director. "HOW CAN TWO ADULTS BE SO BAD AT MAKING THE SEX?!?!". The 'porn director' was sooo intense about it too. I couldn't stop laughing. In the dream. I was laughing. Hilariously.
I woke up from that one still laughing. It was awesome. It has to be the Chantix. I can't think of any other reason. Two dreams in the SAME NIGHT. I'm actually really excited for these dreams. I mean, yeah, not smoking anymore will be awesome, but remembering dreams? Awesome.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
"The Sound of Flushing"
Hello toilet, my new friend,
I've come to poop in you again,
Because a fe-ce softly creeping,
Came down while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound
of Flushing.
In restless dreams I pooped alone
Wiping with leaves and cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my tushy to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of my old plunger
For my dumper
I missed the sound
of Flushing.
And in the naked light I saw
Your flush handle chrome and long
Your bowl so white and shining
The tank tall and gleaming
Your seat was already down to share
And so I dared,
To fluuuuush
in silence.
Ok...this has gotten weird even for me...
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
A Ten Things List - In Honor of Steph, Who Did a Tapout Thing Today
10. Gravy
So many applications here. Sausage gravy on biscuits. Brown gravy and cheese curds on french fries. Turkey gra-...no...fuck that. Turkey gravy is the Dana Plato of the Diff'rent Strokes Gravy Family. Wrong color, not interesting in any way, and nobody notices when it's not there.
9. Oddly Large Furniture
Not pieces that are obscenely large...just a little slightly too big. My couch for example...the arms on it are just too wide and too high.
8. Stephen Hawking and Malcolm Gladwell Books
7. Bacon.
5. FIIIIIIVE GOLLLLLDENNN TOQUESSS
4. Houseplants.
3. Shatner Doing Anything. Same with Christopher Walken.
2. Jiggly Animated GIFS. Steph...click HERE to bypass this. I know you get all weird.
1. HAHAHHAHA...I GOT STEPH EITHER WAY!
So many applications here. Sausage gravy on biscuits. Brown gravy and cheese curds on french fries. Turkey gra-...no...fuck that. Turkey gravy is the Dana Plato of the Diff'rent Strokes Gravy Family. Wrong color, not interesting in any way, and nobody notices when it's not there.
 |
| Sausage makes anything better. |
 |
| It tastes like happiness and rainbows and unicorn spit. |
 |
| Seriously...this is Dana "Turkey Gravy" Plato...who evidently did Playboy. Who knew? |
9. Oddly Large Furniture
Not pieces that are obscenely large...just a little slightly too big. My couch for example...the arms on it are just too wide and too high.
8. Stephen Hawking and Malcolm Gladwell Books
 |
| Pretty sure Hawking never did Playboy. |
 |
| Gladwell probably hasn't either. |
7. Bacon.
Seriously...I'm not going to explain this. Just examine the following glory:
 |
| Giggity |
6. Yoga Pants
Used judiciously, of course.
 |
| Not like this...of course, shout-out to theChive.com, love that site. |
 |
| Much better. |
5. FIIIIIIVE GOLLLLLDENNN TOQUESSS
4. Houseplants.
3. Shatner Doing Anything. Same with Christopher Walken.
2. Jiggly Animated GIFS. Steph...click HERE to bypass this. I know you get all weird.
1. HAHAHHAHA...I GOT STEPH EITHER WAY!
Friday, July 5, 2013
The Greater Fool
Hang with me here...this might ramble a bit. Well, more than usual, I guess.
The Greater Fool is, simply, the guy everyone wants to know. He's the person that's willing to put himself on the edge of the abyss. The one that makes the choice to put himself into the position to sink or swim, and not let it just happen to him. Through their actions, everyone else gets to see the outcome of the choice and prosper from it or avoid it altogether.
In that previous sentence is my favorite word. Choice. Choice is all that we really have. Everything that we are, everything that we've done, everything that has ever been produced from the engine of human consciousness is derived from choices. I don't believe in accidents. They are the culmination of a series of choices, whether we were cognizant of the choices at the time or not.
The Greater Fool is probably always aware of his choices. Also, likely always willing to stand behind them to take credit or blame. The Greater Fool will always get back up from the failures to push to new trials, and never bask in the glory of successes long enough to miss the next chance to fuck himself over.
They are the best of us. They are the risk-takers. They are the ones that make the choices and know they're being made at the time.
I want to be a Greater Fool. I really do. For so long, I've been the Lesser Fool. The one that knows his choices, and makes them expecting the worst. And almost always getting it, the self-fulfilling prophecy endures. I want to stop justifying my choices. I don't even want to feel the need to justify choice anymore. I just want to choose, and sink or swim with that choice. I don't want to feel snared by the trap of imagined consequence anymore. I just want to fail or succeed, and be in line to make the next choice.
The Greater Fool is, simply, the guy everyone wants to know. He's the person that's willing to put himself on the edge of the abyss. The one that makes the choice to put himself into the position to sink or swim, and not let it just happen to him. Through their actions, everyone else gets to see the outcome of the choice and prosper from it or avoid it altogether.
In that previous sentence is my favorite word. Choice. Choice is all that we really have. Everything that we are, everything that we've done, everything that has ever been produced from the engine of human consciousness is derived from choices. I don't believe in accidents. They are the culmination of a series of choices, whether we were cognizant of the choices at the time or not.
The Greater Fool is probably always aware of his choices. Also, likely always willing to stand behind them to take credit or blame. The Greater Fool will always get back up from the failures to push to new trials, and never bask in the glory of successes long enough to miss the next chance to fuck himself over.
They are the best of us. They are the risk-takers. They are the ones that make the choices and know they're being made at the time.
I want to be a Greater Fool. I really do. For so long, I've been the Lesser Fool. The one that knows his choices, and makes them expecting the worst. And almost always getting it, the self-fulfilling prophecy endures. I want to stop justifying my choices. I don't even want to feel the need to justify choice anymore. I just want to choose, and sink or swim with that choice. I don't want to feel snared by the trap of imagined consequence anymore. I just want to fail or succeed, and be in line to make the next choice.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Beyond Blubberdome: Week...uhh...Blue? I Don't Know. DON'T JUDGE ME, MIKE!
This is a story about love, betrayal, and ascendance.
First, love. Let me tell you about this man I know. Let's call him 'Hason'. Definitely not 'Jason', though. Just get that right out of your head. Anyway, Hason has a great love. It's bacon. And steak. Nachos, cheese, these foodstuffs are all in his little black book. If there was a screenplay, the Oscar scene would go like this:
Meat: [Just sits there longingly on the plate, or stick]
Hason: You are too much for me, Meat, you sonofawhoreson bitch! I WISH I KNEW HOW TO QUIT YOU!
[Definitely not a buttsex scene now...I'm paraphrasing. No cowboy hats, either. I look stupid in those. I mean Hason does. Dammit.]
Next is betrayal. About a month ago, it was time for new sneakers for Hason and the boys. Ok, that whole 'Hason' thing was stupid. About a month ago, it was time for new sneakers for ME and the boys. We shopped around until only I was left. I found a nice pair (I thought at the time anyway) of Filas at some store in the mall. It's like "Famous Footwear" or "Awesome Footwear" or "Arby's". One of those. Anyway, they were relatively cheap and surprisingly comfortable. I purchased them with no hesitation.
Ok, hold on, guitar solo in Stairway To Heaven is about to start...I need to pause for some epic air guitar...
...
...
AND AS WE WIND ON DOWN THE ROAD
... annnnnnd I'm back.
Anyway, so I wore my new Filas for about a month. They started to come unglued in a couple spots on the heel, but the hot glue gun (I'M CRAFTY!) fixed those.
Something else was going on, though. My left knee was getting sore. REALLY sore. Any motion at all irritated it, and working out, doing squats and the like, made it feel loose, like it was slipping side to side.
Not good. Not good at all.
So I took a week off to let it come back, only doing the running, which didn't irritate it at all, and it usually felt better for a little while after. I sat thinking about this one day, did some calendar math in my head.
HOLY SHITSNACKS, MY KNEE STARTED HURTING WITHIN DAYS OF THE GETTING THE FILAS.
So that day, on lunch (about a week ago), I headed over to Dick's *giggle* and went back to an old standby. Asics. Gels, in particular. I've had a pair of these off and on for almost twenty years now. (I'm getting old...I plucked a hair out of my goddamn earlobe the other day. Wtf?) I've always liked them, but usually went with other options based on price. I was going to get a pair no matter what. Lucikly, I hit a bit of a deal at Dick's *hehe*, and was able to snag a pair relatively cheap.
Guess what? It was the Filas. My knee pain was 90% cleared up in 2 days. I still get a twinge sometimes, but it's nothing like before. I guess I'm sticking with Asics for my walkaround shoes from now on. (On a side note, because we haven't had many of these so far ((DON'T JUDGE ME, MIKE!)), I use Brooks Adrenaline GTS for running, and they're downright awesome. Great fat-guy running shoes)
Anyway, like I said, I've still been running, adding runs on lunch to get used to running in some heat. And for anyone that might see me running on lunch, I'm sorry. Yup, I am the walrus. Koo-koo ka fuck you.
Finally, ascendance. I'm still writing that chapter. I've actually had some good luck lately (I can't believe I just wrote that...I'm probably going to get hit by a frozen turd ejected from the ISS that made it through re-entry when I go outside next). I was able to trade in the Bonneville on a 2012 Jeep Liberty, which I like immensely. I had a photo show with some friends at the Seward House, and actually sold a print to a pro photographer, so that's exciting. And somehow...I'm not sure how, I've actually lost a half pound throughout this whole ordeal. So that's nice.
I've also got a plan to continue. I've got a 5k saturday, and already signed up for the Great Race this year, running for a team with Steph and another coworker, Kat, or Kate, or creepy chick that makes lampshades out of cat x-rays. (There's NO WAY I wasn't working that in there. Sorry.)
So, Auntie...GAME ON.
First, love. Let me tell you about this man I know. Let's call him 'Hason'. Definitely not 'Jason', though. Just get that right out of your head. Anyway, Hason has a great love. It's bacon. And steak. Nachos, cheese, these foodstuffs are all in his little black book. If there was a screenplay, the Oscar scene would go like this:
Meat: [Just sits there longingly on the plate, or stick]
Hason: You are too much for me, Meat, you sonofawhoreson bitch! I WISH I KNEW HOW TO QUIT YOU!
[Definitely not a buttsex scene now...I'm paraphrasing. No cowboy hats, either. I look stupid in those. I mean Hason does. Dammit.]
Next is betrayal. About a month ago, it was time for new sneakers for Hason and the boys. Ok, that whole 'Hason' thing was stupid. About a month ago, it was time for new sneakers for ME and the boys. We shopped around until only I was left. I found a nice pair (I thought at the time anyway) of Filas at some store in the mall. It's like "Famous Footwear" or "Awesome Footwear" or "Arby's". One of those. Anyway, they were relatively cheap and surprisingly comfortable. I purchased them with no hesitation.
Ok, hold on, guitar solo in Stairway To Heaven is about to start...I need to pause for some epic air guitar...
...
...
AND AS WE WIND ON DOWN THE ROAD
... annnnnnd I'm back.
Anyway, so I wore my new Filas for about a month. They started to come unglued in a couple spots on the heel, but the hot glue gun (I'M CRAFTY!) fixed those.
Something else was going on, though. My left knee was getting sore. REALLY sore. Any motion at all irritated it, and working out, doing squats and the like, made it feel loose, like it was slipping side to side.
Not good. Not good at all.
So I took a week off to let it come back, only doing the running, which didn't irritate it at all, and it usually felt better for a little while after. I sat thinking about this one day, did some calendar math in my head.
HOLY SHITSNACKS, MY KNEE STARTED HURTING WITHIN DAYS OF THE GETTING THE FILAS.
So that day, on lunch (about a week ago), I headed over to Dick's *giggle* and went back to an old standby. Asics. Gels, in particular. I've had a pair of these off and on for almost twenty years now. (I'm getting old...I plucked a hair out of my goddamn earlobe the other day. Wtf?) I've always liked them, but usually went with other options based on price. I was going to get a pair no matter what. Lucikly, I hit a bit of a deal at Dick's *hehe*, and was able to snag a pair relatively cheap.
Guess what? It was the Filas. My knee pain was 90% cleared up in 2 days. I still get a twinge sometimes, but it's nothing like before. I guess I'm sticking with Asics for my walkaround shoes from now on. (On a side note, because we haven't had many of these so far ((DON'T JUDGE ME, MIKE!)), I use Brooks Adrenaline GTS for running, and they're downright awesome. Great fat-guy running shoes)
Anyway, like I said, I've still been running, adding runs on lunch to get used to running in some heat. And for anyone that might see me running on lunch, I'm sorry. Yup, I am the walrus. Koo-koo ka fuck you.
Finally, ascendance. I'm still writing that chapter. I've actually had some good luck lately (I can't believe I just wrote that...I'm probably going to get hit by a frozen turd ejected from the ISS that made it through re-entry when I go outside next). I was able to trade in the Bonneville on a 2012 Jeep Liberty, which I like immensely. I had a photo show with some friends at the Seward House, and actually sold a print to a pro photographer, so that's exciting. And somehow...I'm not sure how, I've actually lost a half pound throughout this whole ordeal. So that's nice.
I've also got a plan to continue. I've got a 5k saturday, and already signed up for the Great Race this year, running for a team with Steph and another coworker, Kat, or Kate, or creepy chick that makes lampshades out of cat x-rays. (There's NO WAY I wasn't working that in there. Sorry.)
So, Auntie...GAME ON.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Beyond Blubberdome Week 3: Is Puking How Every Workout is Going To End For Me Now?
So, yeah. Evidently I'm still recovering from last week's illness or something. Tuesday's workout only lasted about 2/3 of the way through. I started getting really lightheaded, and almost dropped one of the powerblocks on my head. When that happened, I decided to wrap it up for the night.
Last night, about halfway through, I started getting dizzy...seeing stars somewhat. I tried to push through it, but something was wrong. I was sweating, which is normal, but I was sweating profusely. It was exploding off my body. So I cut it off. Sat on the back deck for a couple minutes, then ran upstairs to the bathroom and provided some vomit swatches for the walls. "Regurgitated Tuna Sandwich Grey" is not an attractive color choice for a bathroom paint. Just fyi.
I don't have any idea what's going on here. If I have this happening during next week's workouts, I'm probably going to go see my doctor. This is VERY new to me. I mean...I've puked from exertion before, especially after runs...but this was different. My body was just, I don't know, rejecting the exercise? I was supposed to run this morning, but was actually scared to do it. I didn't want that feeling to come over me again 2 miles from the house.
Anyway, I did actually lose a pound this week, so there's that.
I wish I had something more interesting to follow up with. I really don't. This is stressing me a little. Put that together with Steph's trials over the last week, and neither one of us is really "winning" at this point. I will say though, that Steph just plain seems much more energetic since this has started. It's been noticeable. So if she quits now, I'm going to make a point out of farting in her car at least once a day.
Last night, about halfway through, I started getting dizzy...seeing stars somewhat. I tried to push through it, but something was wrong. I was sweating, which is normal, but I was sweating profusely. It was exploding off my body. So I cut it off. Sat on the back deck for a couple minutes, then ran upstairs to the bathroom and provided some vomit swatches for the walls. "Regurgitated Tuna Sandwich Grey" is not an attractive color choice for a bathroom paint. Just fyi.
I don't have any idea what's going on here. If I have this happening during next week's workouts, I'm probably going to go see my doctor. This is VERY new to me. I mean...I've puked from exertion before, especially after runs...but this was different. My body was just, I don't know, rejecting the exercise? I was supposed to run this morning, but was actually scared to do it. I didn't want that feeling to come over me again 2 miles from the house.
Anyway, I did actually lose a pound this week, so there's that.
I wish I had something more interesting to follow up with. I really don't. This is stressing me a little. Put that together with Steph's trials over the last week, and neither one of us is really "winning" at this point. I will say though, that Steph just plain seems much more energetic since this has started. It's been noticeable. So if she quits now, I'm going to make a point out of farting in her car at least once a day.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Beyond Blubberdome Week 2: Down Goes Butterball
This was actually a rough week for me. Didn't get much sleep, had a pretty nasty fever one night...yadda yadda. I had to skip a workout on Tuesday, and pushed Thursday's to Friday.
Now, that being said, I really didn't eat much, as I was feeling like poop, and was never hungry, so that was probably mitigating. Yesterday was weigh-in day, and I was sweating it a little.
For the week, I was down 2.4 pounds, and for the contest, I'm down 2.3% overall.
Which means...I'm still solidly in the lead. Butterball is down 1.25 since last week, and 1.5% for the contest overall. Good results, but NOT GOOD ENOUGH, BUTTERBALL!!!
Now, that being said, I really didn't eat much, as I was feeling like poop, and was never hungry, so that was probably mitigating. Yesterday was weigh-in day, and I was sweating it a little.
For the week, I was down 2.4 pounds, and for the contest, I'm down 2.3% overall.
Which means...I'm still solidly in the lead. Butterball is down 1.25 since last week, and 1.5% for the contest overall. Good results, but NOT GOOD ENOUGH, BUTTERBALL!!!
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Running Into Headwind, And Starting Chalean Week 2
I was planning on running Saturday.
Saturday ended up being kinda cold. I had a rather late night the night before, too (that's a story for another time...a good one...).
Also, my stomach was a little...weird.
So Saturday ended up being quite the lazy day. Don't like it? Bite me.
Anyway, I decided to make today different. I was up bright and early and headed to Montezuma for some bird pics. Windy...not much to shoot. Struck out there. Headed over to Mud Lock...struck out there too. Headed to Lewis's for my normal Sunday morning breakfast, two slices of French Toast, well done, with a side of meat, sausage today. I called the Colonel to see if he wanted to enjoy some breakfast, but he was going to church. I'll never call him again. He's dead to me. (just checking to see if you're reading, Jeff)
So, I headed back home, did some digesting/picking up, and went for a run. Decided to to do a full 5k length. But...that wind. Good gravy. Running against that wind was tiring. And it seemed, after the initial leg down Genessee Street, that IT WAS ALWAYS IN MY GODDAMN FACE. ALWAYS. IN MY FACE. ALWAYS.
Did I make that clear? It was in my face no matter if I was running north, south, east or west. It took me over 40 minutes to run 5k. But so what, I did it anyway.
Once home, I had a turkey sandwich with some chocolate milk, and ran out to grab a few groceries that I had forgotten.
That errand complete, I got down to Burn Circuit 1, the first workout of week 2, and it went REALLY well. I might actually start doing this run/workout thing on the same days. I probably won't. Or...well...maybe do 5k lengths on the non-workout days, at least 2 a week, and do shorter, faster ones on workout days. Like a mile, but a fast mile. Or fartleks. HAHAHAHA...fartleks.
Anyway, I'll keep this post free of trash-talk. Steph, the poor dear, has a little boo-boo, so had to take today off. Poor widdle Stephie. Stephie and her weak female genes. You'll never be able to lose weight like a man, Butterball. It's SCIENCE. So I feel bad for her, and won't do any trash-talking.
Saturday ended up being kinda cold. I had a rather late night the night before, too (that's a story for another time...a good one...).
Also, my stomach was a little...weird.
So Saturday ended up being quite the lazy day. Don't like it? Bite me.
Anyway, I decided to make today different. I was up bright and early and headed to Montezuma for some bird pics. Windy...not much to shoot. Struck out there. Headed over to Mud Lock...struck out there too. Headed to Lewis's for my normal Sunday morning breakfast, two slices of French Toast, well done, with a side of meat, sausage today. I called the Colonel to see if he wanted to enjoy some breakfast, but he was going to church. I'll never call him again. He's dead to me. (just checking to see if you're reading, Jeff)
So, I headed back home, did some digesting/picking up, and went for a run. Decided to to do a full 5k length. But...that wind. Good gravy. Running against that wind was tiring. And it seemed, after the initial leg down Genessee Street, that IT WAS ALWAYS IN MY GODDAMN FACE. ALWAYS. IN MY FACE. ALWAYS.
 |
| Eff-you, wind. |
Did I make that clear? It was in my face no matter if I was running north, south, east or west. It took me over 40 minutes to run 5k. But so what, I did it anyway.
Once home, I had a turkey sandwich with some chocolate milk, and ran out to grab a few groceries that I had forgotten.
That errand complete, I got down to Burn Circuit 1, the first workout of week 2, and it went REALLY well. I might actually start doing this run/workout thing on the same days. I probably won't. Or...well...maybe do 5k lengths on the non-workout days, at least 2 a week, and do shorter, faster ones on workout days. Like a mile, but a fast mile. Or fartleks. HAHAHAHA...fartleks.
Anyway, I'll keep this post free of trash-talk. Steph, the poor dear, has a little boo-boo, so had to take today off. Poor widdle Stephie. Stephie and her weak female genes. You'll never be able to lose weight like a man, Butterball. It's SCIENCE. So I feel bad for her, and won't do any trash-talking.
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