Even the Dead Shall Marry

Even the Dead Shall Marry

Last Saturday night I went to see Tim Burton's Corpse Bride at the local Regal Entertainment Theater. I thoroughly enjoyed the film, which was whimsical, satirical and fun. Not often can one place those adjectives in conjunction with the words "corpse" and "bride." I suspect those working in statistical NLP wouldn’t know what to do with such an unlikely set of n-grams.

Friday evening, I went to Dead Lobster with my friends, Donna, Marina and Thomas. We had a great time, ate lots of "shrimps" and I managed to get a buzz off of ½ a Long Island Iced Tea.

Monday night from 8:30 till about midnight I spent my time at the UCSD Library looking up references in the LA Times indexes for the 1970s for the so-called "Trash-Bag Murders." I did this work for a writer who lives in Oregon who is a friend of Nancy. The research will go into a Court TV episode. I normally don't care for the sensationalistic Court TV programming, but I will make an exception when that episode is aired. I hope to do more work for the same author on future projects. It feels good to make $20 an hour!

Friday cometh my hearing downtown. I have still gotten dunning notices from Dr. T. and Gentiva Scarecentrix, so I am sending them certified mail, return receipt requested, with my official notice (they should have already received notice from the court). If they persist in billing me, I can take THEM to court and recover attorney's fees and damages.

The Supremacy of the Banal

Last night my parents came over and we watched "The Pacifier," a formulaic Disney comedy starring Vin Diesel. It wasn't as bad as I might have expected--there's a certain warm, fuzzy comfort to mediocrity. Banality is what makes the world go 'round. Those who pop up too high get smashed; those who sink too low get run over. In the boring middle is where a person can be safe, at least for a while. Artistically, too.

Today, I got up late and didn't really accomplish anything, unless paying bills online is an accomplishment. Tomorrow evening I'll go to Mass with my parents, and maybe dinner. It'll be the last time I see them till they return from their Fall Foliage Cruise up the Eastern Seabord.

I saw Dr. Landers last Thursday. Nothing new in the visit, except he promised to look into some medications to help me retain what bone density I still have.

Working on my novel has its ups and downs. Earlier in the week, I wrote a really solid new first chapter, which starts off in medias res, yet gives a clear overview of what's at stake. Now, I need to get a-plottin'. I can no longer avoid the endless void into which my characters leap off around the end of Chapter 6. I'm at just under 20,000 words right now (around 85 pages)--my goal is to have some reasonable draft finished by the time the San Diego State Writing Conference starts in January.

I'm considering purchasing Power Structure to give me a boost in the productivity department. The $140 cost, however, giveth me pause.

Weatherwise, it's perfect these days. Autumn is in the air. It's crisper, and the nights are cooler and more comfortable than they were during the summer. Yay!

Shame on the Blame-Game Namers

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The End of Summer

This past weekend, I spent more than the usual amount of time with my parents. Friday evening, they came over and we watched an entertaining little comedy, "Good Company." It started Dennis Quaid as a middle-aged ad executive who gets a boss have his age when his company is acquired by a Rupert Murdoch-like media mogul. Entertaining--not profound--yet it kept me laughing.

Saturday evening we attended the 5:00 PM mass at Saint Gregory. This was the parish's 20th anniversary, so there was due attention paid to the saint himself. The deacon read an excerpt from a homily of the St. Gregory, which extolled the virtues of not being owned by the things we own. A point still relevant today.

Sunday night we attended the final concert of the Summer Pops. They moved the location from where it used to be: it's now down by the embarcadero park between the Convention Center and the bay. They used to hold the concerts at Navy Pier, which is now home to the Midway Museum.

The nice thing about the new venue is that it's all on the grass. Un concert sur l'herbe. And the view of downtown was spectacular, as the sun set and the skyscrapers lit up. Seeing that view truly reminded me of the blessings of living in this city. Yes, it's obscenely expensive to dwell here--but the finest things in life are expensive (one way or another, not necessarily monetarily) and well worth the price. I felt a tug of remorse, enjoying myself on the balmy September evening, listening to Tchaikovsky's "Variations on a Rococo Theme" while the citizens of New Orleans fled their ruined city.

Then I snapped out of it!

Not All Gloom and Doom!

Not All Gloom and Doom!

I just installed the new Blogger for Word toolbar and am trying it out. At last, an answer to my prayers for something less clunky than the Blogger interface! And, I hope, no more lost posts due to Internet connection problems.

On to my news. Went and saw Ray Schimmel yesterday and got my case rolling. The 5,000 fingers of Dr. T will no longer be able to reach out and grab me! Also Cigna, Gentiva Carecentrix, CIO Collections, Tia Marie Hollowood and a few others.

The weather here has cooled a bit. Ray's office is by the beach near Morena Blvd. Wonderful ocean breeze wafts through the open corridors and courtyards of his building.

OK, let's see if this thing's a-workin'!

Freedom is Untidy

Remember back when the US first liberated Iraq, and Donal Rumsfeld commented on the looting images flowing back from Baghdad? In case you don't remember, here is what Rummy said: "Freedom’s untidy, and free people are free to make mistakes and commit crimes and do bad things."

Well, now New Orleans looks like something from a John Carpenter movie. Rioting, looting, "armed gangs patrolling the streets." But the right-wingers are not at all happy about these looters. Marshall law has been declared. But, does anyone else besides me wonder about the "looting guns from stores" aspect of this? Could it be that stockpiling lethal weapons and selling them like donuts at a bake sale isn't the wisest policy to pursue?

This country is falling apart. All the loose nuts and bolts are now rolling willy-nilly over the national floorboards. We have a president who is so bad even Pat Buchanan is calling for his impeachment. We have loony religious right leaders proclaiming Christian fatwas against foreign leaders. We have a raging counter-insurgency war roiling the Middle East and costing our national treasury upwards of $300 billion. Meanwhile, gasoline is headed to $4.00 a gallon and the airlines are going broke.

Face it, folks: The wheels have come off and our national Hummer is rolling on bare axels into the roadside ditch of history.

A Fine Day for a Visit

Today, Jan came over for lunch. We had Mimi's excellent food. I had the chicken pot pie, which tastes darn close to homemade.

Tomorrow, I head over to Ray Schimmel's office to get my bankruptcy case started again. No fun, but it's got to be done!

The Wrath of God

So, what is it about the Red States of the South, anyway? Fundamentalists are always warning us that God will bring down a horrible vengeance upon places where sin runs rampant. Pat Robertson warned Miami they might face hurricanes, floods or "possibly a meteor" if they held a gay rights parade in the city. Some warned that those lustful, hedonistic European tourists brought the tsunami on their own heads last year, or that the 911 attack was a punishment of the United States for its godless ways (you know, crack, aborted fetuses in dumpsters, gay marriage, that kind of stuff).

Yet... Why is it that God visits his wrath most often on the denizens of the red states? Tornadoes, hurricanes, floods--every year Ma and Pa Kettle get driven from their trailor by some weather event or another. If God were punishing sinners, why did He steer the hurricane away from New Orleans and its famous Burbon Street to the peaceful hamlets of Alabama? Doesn't make a lot of sense to me!

Maybe God just has a grudge against trucks on blocks in the front yard, or bad Kincade lighthouse paintings.

Afghanistan the Beautiful

Suppose Judge Roy Moore had been born in Afghanistan? No doubt he'd be decrying the moral collapse of the Califate! Taking a litle liberty with Moore's poem, I created the Afghan version.

Afghanistan the Beautiful

-- A Poem by Mullah Royolla Omoor

Afghanistan the Beautiful,

or so you used to be.

Land of the Taliban's pride;

I'm glad they'll never see.

Women dating men,

Un-burqua'd on demand,

Oh, sweet land of Terrorism;

your mosque is on the sand.

Our children wander aimlessly

flaunting Allah's rules for boys

poisoned by kite flying,

Choosing to play with toys.

In Hindu Kush and Kandahar,

From teaching love of camels

our Nation turns away,

Watching television with rebels.

We've knocked Buddha out of Banyan,

yet how indolent we've grown.

When Christians, Jews and infidels

smoke the opium we've sewn.

We've voted in a government

and appointed Godless Judges

who forget to forbid sundaes

and the eating of hot fudges!

Too soft to bury an adulterer

up to her neck in mud,

yet soft enough to buy a CD

of the Rolling Stones or Bee Gees.

You think that Allah's not angry,

that our land's a moral slum?

How much longer must we wait

before slicing off more thumbs?

How are we to face Osama,

whom Americans cannot find?

What then is left for us to do,

but flog an infidel's behind?

If we the chosen few,

can humbly return and spill

The blood of every foreigner

and make them cry most shrill

Then Osama will hear from Pakistan

and impose Sharia law.

One and all must face the lash

Except oilmen with sufficient cash

But, Afghanistan the Beautiful,

if you don't - then you will see,

A sad Mullah Omar

withdraw His scimitar from Thee.

Roy Moore's Inverse Beatitudes

Last week, my parents forwarded to me a "poem" by Judge Roy Moore. He is the Alabama judge who illegally posted a statue to the 10 Commandments at his courthouse. Then he whined when he was forced to remove the statue, and he eventually resigned over the issue.

I say, good for ex-judge Moore for engaging in civil disobedience. It's our right as Americans to disengage ourselves from public acts of conformity to a society with which we find ourselves morally disaffected. Having engaged in civil disobedience, however, does not negate an individual's obligation to suffer the consequences of his or her actions.

On the other hand... The poem itself is a vile, hate-filled diatribe by a man who evidently thinks being Christian stops with "Biblical" law. The problem with people who support the display of the 10 Commandments in buildings owned by the public is that they are implying a governmental endorsement of religion. Specifically, they prefer the fundamentalist Christianity embraced by a certain portion of the population in the more southerly latitudes of this country to the religious tenets of everyone else.

The 10-Commandmenteers rely upon two arguments to justify their positions. One is that the US government was founded upon Christianity. The 10 Commandments, they argue, are the "basis for our laws." Yet, the Constitution nowhere mentions God or the Christian religion. Ample evidence can be discovered in the writings of Adams, Jefferson and others that they deliberately framed the constitution to avoid a government-religion bond. The laws of the United States are based on two sources: Anglo-Saxon Common Law (dating back to the 4th-7th centuries, when the English were pagans) and Roman law (already well established before Constantine imposed official Christianity upon the Empire). To post the 10 Commandments in government buildings implies a connection between Christianity and law that does not, and has never, existed.

"The Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion" states Article 11 of a late-1700s treaty between the US and the Barbary kingoms that was signed unanimously by Congress and the president of the time (a Founding Father). Jefferson wrote in reference to the Virginia Act of Religious Freedom that its protection covered "the Jew and the Gentile, the Christian and Mohammedan, the Hindoo and infidel of every denomination." The writers of the Act specifically removed from it any reference to Jesus Christ. Quite a tolerant position to take, considering that people were still being tortured and killed in Europe for heresy in the 18th century.

Failing the test of the descent of law, the fundamentalists like Moore fall back upon the idea that having religious monuments is constitutional as a matter of religious freedom. Since Congress is prohibited from making ANY law establishing religion, all religions are welcome in the public space. But, imagine if this idea were carried out! What would Moore, Fallwell, Robertson, et al. say about a Moslem judge's posting of the Koran? Heaven forbid a Wiccan might plant a tree in her courtroom, or a Buddhist post the "Tenfold Path" before his bench! These people are not looking for freedom of religion. If this were truly the issue, then one would expect to see Moslems and Buddhists arguing for display of their sacred symbols in government buildings.

What kind of world does ex-judge Moore seek to bring about? What form of government? Do we need an American Taliban to tell us right from wrong? The issue most sacred to him, judging by its prominence in the "poem," is capital punishment. But, what about sincere Christians who believe capital punishment to be immoral? His Commandments monument clearly seeks to establish a religious sect (or sects) above others. In placing the monument in a courthouse,
he is giving tacit official endorsement to the notion that capital punishment is ethical, in contradiction to Christians and non-believers who may believe otherwise, and be able to quote chapter and verse in favor of their beliefs. Likewise with abortion and homosexuality. Many Christians believe abortion and homosexual acts are a sin. But clearly at this time abortion is the law of the land, and homosexuality is tolerated to one degree or another by people of all faiths. If an Anglican gay bishop had to appear in Moore's court, how impartially could he expect the judge to treat him, given that imposing granite monument in the courthouse? Why is ex-judge Moore's version of Christianity better than everyone else's?

"God's law is higher than man's law," Moore's poem goes to great pains to prove. This is the argument of all fundamelists and extremists from Eric Rudolph to Timothy McVeigh and Mohammed Atta. The United States is a country composed of people of a multitude of faiths,
or none at all. Its constitution and laws do not endorse any religion, or none, but rather leave the people free to choose their own paths to enlightenment. That always has been the way in this country, and it should continue to be so.

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

This past week has witnessed some positive events unfold in my life:

Last Wednesday evening I attended the last session of the document design course. My presentation on what I did to improve the bronchiectasis pamphlet was well-received by the class in general and Steve, the instructor, in particular. The class ran long--very long. We went non-stop from 6:30-10:00 without a break. People didn't manage their presentations well. It took an hour to get through the first four--out of a 20-person class! Some folks had done nice work, but didn't know a bloody thing about how to find files in Windows. Some had no clue about how to use PowerPoint; since knowledge of Windows was one of the prerequisites for the course, I found myself wondering how these students got in and how they managed to put their presentations together. It did occur to me to suspect some of the work as canned--perhaps things people brought from their companies.

Anyhow, I was fourth-from last in the presentations, meaning I started mine at precisely 9:25 (class was supposed to be over at 9:30). I was also the fourth student to have selected bronchiectasis as my project, putting me at a distinct disadvantage, since by the time it was my turn to speak, I was well aware that people had had their fill of the topic. There's only so much one can do with a lung-disease brochure!

Luckily, I came prepared. Two things I learned in my teaching days were to overprepare and to include humor intimately within my work. The plan worked flawlessly! I had 'em rolling in the aisles. Even Steve cracked a smile or two. The humor relieved the drudgery of the topic. I assume--though I have not yet received my grade, that I got an "A."

Friday, Harold came over at noon and we made a trip to Caliber, the body shop that had worked on my van last year. I had girded myself for battle--but was pleasantly surprised when the service writer said "No problem" to my demands. I am going to have a guy come and fix my steering column and emergency brake lever this week, and they are going to bill Farmers to purchase the 12-inch steering wheel I need to drive. Also, they will pay for the $121 I spent at City Chevrolet to fix the headlight ground wire on the driver's side.

Then, Harold and I went shoe shopping. I have not worn a fitting pair of shoes since the accident. My foot was too swollen and the arch too high to fit into my 7-year-old Nordstrom's Spanish leather dress shoes. I had been wearing--occasionally--these horrible, white size 10 nursing shoes that Joe had bought for me last Fall when I first started getting out of bed.

The thing is, I wear an odd-sized shoe--size 7 WIDE. Very wide indeed, since the bone-crushing accident last May. We happened to be at the old Mira Mesa Mall already, so we went into the Shoe Pavilion within the mall. I did find a pair of 6 1/2 wide Keds that fit, but they were a horrible chocolate brown color with a bright-orange stripe down the sides. YUCK!

So, then we drove to UTC to try all the shoe stores there (I think they have about 10). Nothing fit. A lot of the shoes--even the athletic ones--were too damn heavy. I felt like I had the mafia-style cement overshoes strapped to my feet. Finally, in desperation, I entered the plush halls of Nordstrom's, the place I had bought my last decent pair of shoes. At least their sales staff seems happy to see you, treats you courteously and tries hard to find something that works.

The salesman, Gabriel, was very friendly and helpful. I'm sure my type of customer--disabled with an obvious foot deformity, is not his favorite--but he never let it show in his dimeanor. He even talked me into a pair of Mephisto black-leather shoes worth $360. He convinced me that I could take them immediately, wear them for the weekend and then return them if dissatisfied. One of Nordstrom's great qualities is their no-questions-asked return policy.

Having taken the shoes home, I decided to keep them on all night, until retiring to bed. When I did remove them, Lo and behold! A miracle! My "fat foot" was thin! It seemed the Nordstrom's shoe had flattened my high arch and squeeze the excess fluid from the foot so that it looked almost normal!

"Let's try your old shoes," Harold said. I did, and they fit too! Only a modest amount of shoe-horn wrangling was necessary. Therefore, on Saturday we returned to N's and I got a refund on my $360 (plus tax). On my roommate's suggestion, we proceeded back to the Mira Mesa Mall and tried Marshall's. And....

Eureka! I found a very light pair of Chinese-slave-labor-made Nike knock-offs for $21.5o! They fit great, feel like nothing on my feet and are something I can wear comfortably all day long. I am therefore going to take my dress shoes into the cobbler's and get them polished up for those "Sunday go to meetin' days."

The greatest miracle is that a lot of the problems I was having with leaning from side to side, such as using the lift to get into my van, have been pretty much solved. I have not needed help getting into the van since putting shoes back on my feet.

In your face, evil Dr. T! You implied that balance wasn't important for me since I don't walk. WRONG!! Get your arrogant arse back to medical school and put your mind to use. People with muscle weakness like me are NOT the same as quadriplegics with no feeling in their legs. I DO use my legs and need them to help support my body--even in the wheelchair! Not to mention driving, and planting my well-clad foot up some MD's ample backside!

Whew, 'nuff journaling for today, me thinks. Off to church and dinner for my mom's b-day at 4:00.

Virgo, Gladiator et Imperator

I watched the final episode of Empire last night on ABC. Not a bad show at all. At least it was something different from the usual summer fluff.

A few things about the series caught my eye. Why is it that Romans always speak with British accents? And the nobler the patrician, the more upper-crust his dropping of R's? Second, the final battle between Octavius' and Antony's forces took place in the middle of a forest. Antony's forces did not get into formation and use their shields to protect themselves, in the testudo tactic. Instead, both sides charged pell mell into the fray. A soldier was seen shouting "Hold the line!" but there was no line to be held. I suspect two reasons for this undisicplined, un-Roman battle. First, this is a low-budget TV production, and the ubiquitous trees allowed some camera tricks to conceal the paltry amount of extras. Then, there is obvious homage to the forest-fighting scene at the opening of Riddly Scott's Gladiator. The same goes for the jerky, hand-held camera movements during fight scenese. These guys should send Riddly a check!

Other than that, the program had fairly well-developed characters and moved along smoothly. The ill-fated affair between Camane, the Vestal virgin, and Octavius, the future emperor, worked out as forshadowed. Neither character could shirk his or her duty, just as the ex-gladiator Tyrannus could not lay aside his final promise to the dying Ceasar.

In other happenings, tonight is the second-to-last Document Design class. I need to hit the course catalog and figure out what I want to enroll in next.

Finally, Donna Frye won the mayoral election yesterday! But, the evil Republican cabal that runs this town managed to dilute the race with enough of their own candidates that she did not win a 51% majority. So, we'll have a run-off election in November!

Go, Donna!

A Busy Few Weeks

The last few weeks have been busier than usual for me, mostly because the document design class is in high gear. The instructor demands a lot of reading, which is all right--some of it is truly interesting!

This past Wednesday, I got the results back on the exam that was meted out the week before. I scored 105 out of 100 (thanks to a bonus question). Nice to know my brain still works, after all I've put it through in the last year and a half!

This week I've been working on my final project, which will amount to 50% of the final grade. I've been at somewhat of a disadvantage in that I am currently not working for a company. So, I chose one of the suggested topics, which was to take and improve a handout on bronchiectasis that was written (very wordily) by a pulmonologist friend of the instructor. I decided to format the handout as a brochure via MS Publisher. Of course, everything reaches a certain unexpected level of complication.

First, I had to reinstall Publisher. Since Laurie still hasn't given me the Pub 2003 serial number back, I have had to make do with Publisher 2000. Then, I had to find a PostScript printer driver for HP (my InkJet is not a PS printer) and install it. Then I had to find and install Ghostgum and Ghostscript. After saving my .Pub files as PS files, I had trouble with the PS drivers and had to reinstall. The first ones I had were for LaserJet, but those are black and white only. So I had to find and install color LaserJet drivers.... Sheesh.

Anyway, now I've forwarded the brochure on to my friends, who will have to stand in as "users" for this round. I will also send the item to Sue Warner, the nurse for Dr. Landers, to get a real pulmonologist's opinion.

This has put a stall to my creative writing, but I should be able to get back to it tomorrow. Once I get people's feedback, I can finish this silly little project.

One other thing. I have been working with Sheila Johnson, my DR counselor, to get the shift-lever fixed on my van. She told me last week she would have to check with her supervisor about it, as "this is not really related to the repairs we did to your van." Like hell it isn't! I didn't hear from her after her meeting with her boss on Friday, so I will have to contact her on Monday.

A Wednesday in July

The previous weekend was hectic in an unexpected way. A friend of mine managed to crash my computer, necessitating a reinstallation of Windows along with a reformat of the hard drive. At first I was mildly annoyed by this, then was flabbergasted when I realized I had not backed up any of my short stories onto the backup CD! It seems when I dragged and dropped folders onto the CD drive, I missed the short story folder.

I e-mailed all my friends who might have a copy of a story lying around their hard drives, and after much prayer, recovered most of my work, though not in the latest form. So far, I have finished rewriting my "spider story," which I hope to send out soon. Luckily, my novel folder was backed up succesfully.

Also on Saturday, I went to see "The Fantastic Four," which was more or less a poor man's "X Men." The characters were pretty faithful to the original comic book, but the story was flat, with a dull villain who had similar powers to Magneto in X Men.

Tonight, I have another Information Design class, along with a test. Let's hope Clarence arrives on time!

Back to Class

Tonight I will head back to the document design class.

The 3 elements of document design (Carliner): Physical, Cognitive, Affective

Woo hoo! O.o

Less Verbosity, More Design

I have been reading the textbook for my document design course. To say it's interesting would be to exaggerate slightly. It's not that the subject matter is without appeal; but what really annoys me is the annoying American sense of Positivism that pervades the pages.

In the chapter I was reading, the author describes three types of document design approaches: 1) Classifying
2) Intuiting
3) Listening

Now, the astute reader can discern immediately which approach the author favors. "Listening," listed last, comes first in the author's mind. Classifiers do audience analysis based on statistics, intuitors frame the text around the "invoked reader," while listeners ASK the intended audience about their reactions to proposed document types. Seems clear enough. The remainder of the chapter then discusses a "user study" the author and her collaborators performed on teenagers who had to look at anti-drug brochures. Not surprisingly, the teens had trouble with the various brochures.

The textbook is riddled with side notes on every page, mostly explaining how "Johnson and Smith (1968) analyzed ...." Even when the author admits somewhat later in the book that many readers just look at the headlines and skim charts (exactly what I found myself doing), she proceeds ad nauseam to show how this or that study "proves" or "demonstrates" or "indicates" this or that fact.

Let me stipulate--All text is fiction. Studies do not make facts. Studies reinforce the authors' own Weltanshauung. When you repeatedly rely on some professor of technical communications to reinforce your point, you succeed only in reminding me that your "facts" are argument by authority. In other words, the educational and psychological establishment have overtaken the universe of "textual artifacts."

Those teens were more or less forced to give their reactions to the brochures. Their time was taken up by the authors for the latters' own career purposes. Did it not occur to anyone that the teens' reactions would be coerced and therefore suspect?

"If we just perform enough studies, we can think our way out of this problem," seems to be what the edu/psych establishment wants to accomplish. If we break a subject into its components and then observe them, we can discover the Truth. But it's all a contstruct; if you break matter down far enough, you discover not more matter, but empty space. If you rely too much on studies and reports, you will find yourself constructing a reality based on a web of pre-known and forced experience.

Holy Coma, Batman!

Last night I attended the first Document Design class at UCSD. One down, five more to go! I got there late, since Clarence didn't show up to drive me until almost 6, and the class starts at 6:30. If this keeps up, I am petitioning my Rehab counselor for a driver/personal assistant.

The class itself is full to the gills. Not an inch to spare, body to body in little rows of desks. I am hoping to learn from the course, what makes a compelling, attractive document. Last night was mostly about theory, which might be summed up as, "what is document design and why is it important?" The instructor seems like a knowledgable, decent guy. The tiny slides he kept pointing to were not highly visible from the back of the class, unfortunately.

I didn't really achieve the feeling I was amongst a collegial group of writers. For one thing, when I returned from our 10-minute break, only two people besides me brought coffee back with them! The rest had their bland little bottles of water poised neatly by their books. No coffee, no writer! Sayeth my hero, Honoré de Balzac!

At the Zoo

Yesterday morning, Joe and I took a drive downtown to the zoo in Balboa Park. We left my home in Mira Mesa about 10:30 and got to the zoo around 11:00. After a half hour of standing in line to renew my membership, we finally passed through the zoo's opening gates and strolled around. The first thing we did was head to the Treehouse restaurant and have lunch. We ate the chili, which was served in one of those sourdough breat bowls. Tasty enough, for restaurant-zoo food.

Lacking a lot of time after the lunch, we went part-way down the next hill, past the bear and lion enclosures, but did not make it as far as the new tiger exhibit. Passed the monkeys along the way, but did not stay to observe them. We got back home around 2:00 and Joe left.

My parents came over later in the evening and we had the Italian Feast meal from Taste of Italy, a local restaurant that has been here in Mira Mesa as long as we have (we moved here in 1977 from Clairmont, another San Diego neighborhood). For a movie, we watched the first "Spider Man," which my parents had not seen. Next week, we will watch the second Spider Man film on DVD.

This coming Wednesday, I will start my first technical communications class; the subject matter is document design. The book was already sold out of UCSD's bookstore, so I ordered it from Barnes & Noble and got it delivered by UPS within 4 days, free shipping. I e-mailed Sheila Johnson, my Rehab counselor, so I could get reimbursed for the book's $50.00 cost, but have not heard back from her yet. I hope she is not on leave again!

Father's Day Sunday

I went with my parents to Mass on Sunday and then we went to brunch at Callahan's, the "Irish" pub in Mira Mesa. We sat outside and ate our meals in the pleasant, sunny but not too warm weather. I had a frittata, which is sort of an open-faced omelette filled with cheese, potatoes and bacon. Very good!

L'aventure quotidienne

Today I took a trip over to Barnes & Noble in Mira Mesa with Joe. We arrived about 1:30 and had coffee at the Starbucks inside while Joe perused a Chilton's repair manual for the Ford Taurus. I ate a turkey wrap, which was quite good, drank a latte and enjoyed the time out.

Last night my parents came over and we watched the new DVD release, "Beyond the Sea," which is Kevins Spacey's bio pic of Bobby Darin. Kevin did a great job--he is an actor who can really sing! He also directed the film, as well as starred in it. The movie was a very touching tribute to the late singer, who died of a heart condition in 1973 at the age of 37. Usually those singers of "standards" make me queasy. Something about those violin-laden refrains, the perfectly timed trombones, etc. But Darin went beyond the stereotype. He had an indefinable edge, a heartfelt reality, that transcended the lounge music medium.

The weather today was beautiful. Low 70s, sunny with just a hint of clouds. I love June in San Diego! Last year I could only view it from a hospital window, which made this year even sweeter.

On Thursday I went and saw Dr. Landers at Sharp Memorial. He was pleased with my improvement and promised to speak to an endocrinologist about some kind of treatment that could make my bones denser. As usual, I am unconvinced that any therapy they could offer would be worth the cost, risk and potentential side effects. But, it's worth investigating!

My van is running well; Harold got the steering wheel on straight finally (the nimrods at the body shop had attached it one bolt off-center). The vehicle is filthy on the outside. I want to call my detailer, Clint and get him to scrub off the grime. It hasn't been cleaned since the body shop got done with it, and we had a hell of a winter this year (over 23 inches of rain during the El Nino).

Tomorrow is Father's Day! Go forth and celebrate with your family!

David

Of Violence and the I-Word

I was watching a History Channel program today, part of the network's "Old West Tech" series hosted by David Carradine. This episode was titled "Massacre Tech," and covered several Old West incidents of mass murder. The first incident discussed was a massacre of miners in 1913 by Rockefeller's henchmen and militia troops under the command of the then-governor of Colorado. Later, the program covered the "Mountain Medows Massacre" in Utah in the 1850s.

Earlier on another history channel was the program on Australia, "Beyond the Fatal Shore." It covered how Australia gained its independence through, of all things, democratic elections and a negotiated settlement with British Parliament.

These two programs made me think. Certainly US history has been more "exciting" than Australian. Our history makes for great TV and movies. Civil War epics, Old West sagas, Mel Gibson cavorting through "The Patriot." Bloodshed, massacres, slavery, rebellion, piracy, wars of imperial conquest (Indian Wars, Mexican War, Spanish Amerian War). Ours is a nation founded and sustained by blood. Somewhat like the old Aztecs, we periodically require a blood sacrifice to strengthen and prove our might.

So, in the 2000s we have the Iraq War. A trumped-up disaster wrought by a coalition of the same folks whose ancesters brought us to many of our other wars: Big Money Capitalism, Religious Fundamentalism, Jingoistic Patriotism. All meeting their great "Dark Lord" in the grinning monkey face of George W. Bush.

It's time Congress begin impeachment proceedings against both Bush and the Vice President. Our blood and treasure is being drained away in a Neo-Con crusade that has not made us safer. Osama and his pals want us out of the Middle East. I say, why not oblige him? We should leave those countries to themselves. (By this I do not mean that Bin Laden and Al Qaeda should escape just retribution. But we need to face the unwelcome fact that violence alone will not solve the conundrums facing East nor West). They eventually will sort out their problems in a way suitable for their cultures. We should also divest ourselves from Israel. I am personally very sympathetic towards Israel and its cause. But our undue protection of that tiny country has led directly to our present-day crises.

For more on the Downing Street Memos, check out the following Web sites:

http://www.michaelmoore.com/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/

http://www.thenation.com/

http://www.rawstory.com/

Stuff and Nonsense

It's June here in San Diego, and the month always brings its own special characteristic grayness. For those who think in terms of the typical seasons they might have experienced on the East Coast or Midwest, San Diego "has no seasons." Actually it has two: a rainy season and a dry season. But, there are buffer seasons, like late-Spring "May Gray" and "June Gloom." Right now we are full-on into June Gloom. The sun has not peeked out from behind the gray marine layer all day, and probably won't. This weather, which some might call depressing, I enjoy. I'll miss it in July!

Meanwhile, I'm continuing to work on my novel and do all the usual things, like call doctors' billing agencies to straighten out medical invoices. As soon as I get new postage stamps, I will be sending out more short fiction to various markets.

No Man Is Just a Number

Last night, ABC reran the first episode of "Lost." I still haven't figured out the show, and that's frustrating. I can usually detect a plot within the first 5-20 minutes of any movie or television program. I think the main reason why is that the whole series spends so much time backtracking, via flashbacks, rather than projecting the story though ongoing action in the fictional present.

Anyway, thinking about "Lost" also got me to considering an old series from the 60s, "The Prisoner," starring and created by Patrick McGoohan. There are similarities, whether intentional or not, I cannot say. I bet the writers of "Lost" have seen a few "Prisoner" episodes, however.

First of all, both stories take place in a mysterious "Erewhon" environment. An Island that seems out of place and out of time. In both series, the island is not the simple place it appears to be at first contact. Machiavellian, Darwinian and Kafka-esque forces pull the strings behind the curtain. The castaways and Number 6 are there for a reason--a reason not revealed. In both cases, they cannot escape their emprisonment. "Rover" lurks the Village; the mysterious, as yet unseen "Monster" prowls the castaways' terrain. The Monster is a security system; that much has been revealed.

More thoughts on this later. Dinner is served at the Chez David.

Of Neanderthal Boobs and Such

The other day, I was watching a program on Discovery Channel called "Species Journey," or something similar. It purported to show the saga of the development of Homo Sapiens, starting with the days of Lucy the australopithecus afarensis.

Anyway, the show was moving spritedly along, like most Discovery prehistory shows, giving the viewer a rather condensed and anthropomorphic scenario of early man's life. All went well until the program got to Homo Ergaster, an early tool-using hominid with distinctive human features. I noticed that a lot of the shots of female Ergasters had blurred-out areas over the breasts. What the hell! Have we retreated so far in this culture that we now have to protect children's sensitivities by blurring caveman "naughty parts"? What are we so afraid of, in this country? I remember seeing the program over a year ago and am reasonably sure the female breasts of the hirsute madonnas were displayed in all their simian glory during the first airing.

Who is Discovery trying to protect? The folks most likely to be offended by a cavewoman's knockers are the same ones who want to push creationism through the public schools. The chances of those religiosos watching a program on evolution are only slightly greater than zero. Even in the rather tame 1960s, when I was in elementary school, the only "live" boobs we got to see were in the National Geographic specials and between the gold-clad covers of the magazine. As I recall, none of us impressionable minds was traumatized from the occasional glimpse of flopping and flapping human anatomy. I don't think any of us grew up to lust after pygmy demoiselles or low-browed cave women.

The Decline and Fall of Western Civilization, Part II. Brought to you by Edward Gibbon (Ape).

Spam Poetry Once More

Siegfried's Anger

Siegfried angers meetings
Afghan Volvo edifices
Arabianize unforeseen submerging sadists
traveling salesgirls flail skirts
bridegrooms rename genies
spotters baseline Lucretia
clockers blankly query

You LOST me!

I recorded and watched the season finale of "Lost" Wednesday night. One element I noticed: the significance of the number 23. That was one of Hurley's magic Lotto numbers; it's also one of the same sequence engraved on the side of that hatch, as well as the $23,ooo reward the bounty hunter collected for Kate, and the seating aisle of Walter and his dad. I think that's the most significant thing. The OTHERS collected Walter. Walter is one of the biggest keys to what's going on.

There has been speculation on various "Lost" boards that the mystery of the island might have something to do with mining. The ship, the Black Rock, seems to have been transporting slaves to mines. That's where the survivors found dynamite, pick axes and skeletons strapped in chains. Then, there are the holes like the one Locke almost fell down last night? Even the caves might have been used by miners. And therefore, the famous hatch could lead down to some mines deep under the island's surface.

Whatever the secret, the boy is a key. Perhaps THE key. He seems to have psychokinetic powers and a sixth sense. Paradoxically, he burned down the first raft his dad built, then he warned the group NOT to open that hatch. He seemed to be able to summon creatures from the Id, like the one that appeared to chase him in one episode.

The island's famous monster seems to be mechanical, at least in part. It makes a whirring, clickety sound as it drags Locke along. Why can't anyone see it clearly? All we see is some kind of dark smoke. Is the creature cloaked in some way?

Finally, why are characters named after philosophers? John Locke? Rousseau? Anyone else noticed this? Coincidence? I doubt it....

A Fool and His Freedom Fries Soon Parted

I just noticed the following article, listed on Michael More's Web site:

http://www.michaelmoore.com/words/index.php?id=2770

It seems that Walter Jones, the Republican congressman from Alabama who led the "Freedom Fries" movement a couple of years ago now regrets his actions, and regrets even more the 16oo American lives wasted in the war so far. It's great to hear of a Republican who can admit his mistakes (unlike Bush's crowd). Maybe he even figured out that French fries were a Belgian invention anyway....

It's a hot and sunny day today. I believe I am coming down with Spring Fever. I'm going to go ahead and get that zoo membership next week. This is a great time of year to visit one of San Diego's finest and most historical attractions.

New Rules

Like Bill Maher, I've decided to invent some new rules of my own.

1. If you don't want to pet the monkey, quit feeding it bananas!

Call yourself my friend all you want. Really be a friend if you care to be. But don't go back and forth between gushy sentiment and outright hostility. Like Jesus once said, "Be either hot or cold, but if you are luke warm I will vomit you out of my mouth."

2. If you don't understand something I write, ask me about it!

I enjoy using different writing styles, even in e-mails to friends. You certainly may not comprehend what I am trying to achieve, but that doesn't give you free reign to condescend.

3. Don't do me any favors, please!

The handicapped boy can get along just fine on his own. Your offers to "do good" for me are sometimes apppreciated, but not normally needed or welcomed. If I want your help, I'll ask for it! Too many offers of help may make you feel like a saint, but it mostly shows me you have inner self-worth issues you should probably see a shrink about.

4. Don't lie!

Say what you mean and do what you say.

The First Sunday of the Rest of My Life

Yesterday, the van having at last been made rideable for me again, I went to Mass with my parents at St. Gregory's. We attended the 5:00 PM "youth Mass"--the same Mass coming home from which I encountered the wayward Volvo SUV a little more than a year ago. My parents offered to bypass the near-fatal intersection and drive to chuch via the freeway route, but I decided it was high time to put the past behind me.

The intersection did not appear much altered, although the problematic left-turn light had been moved to make its signal clearer to the people waiting at the light, attending their turn at San Diego Roulette. The weather was hot and the sun a radiant yellow-orange disc, glaring in the faces of westward travelers, just as a year ago. In any respect, farewell now to all the troubles to which the recently bygone twelve months have born bloody witness.

After Mass we drove to Pat and Oscar's in the mall at the west end of Mira Mesa and had dinner with my parents' Bible studies group. I ate the "Meal for One" dinner, with pepperoni-mushroom pizza, bread sticks, coke and Greek salad.

Coming up the sidewalk from the parking lot to the restaurant I met Nancy Holder, her husband and daughter. What a small town Mira Mesa is! It was great to meet someone I haven't seen in over a year. Nancy is the only really good creative writing teacher at UCSD Extension whose classes I have had the pleasure to enroll in.

Speaking of creative writing, last night was the season finale of Deadwood on HBO. The final episode had all the elements that have made the series successful, including Swearengen's swearing, double-dealing politicians, greedy miners, obstreprous Chinese, murder, mayhem and assorted mysteries. One thing took me by surprise. Swearengen at one point gives Trixie an evelope with money for the Widow Garrett's wedding present, "courtesy of her child's former tutor, in absentia." When last I saw the tutor, she was leaving Al's office, envelope in hand, followed by that bearded henchman of Swearengen's. Are we to assume the lady met with unfortunate circumstances upon her way out of town? More scruitinizing will be required before unraveling the intracacies of this plot twist.

Anakin, We Hardly Knew Ye

Today (all right, yesterday, really), I went with Joe and sat through a showing of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. Although I agree with most of the critics who praise the film as the best of the final three in this prequel series, I came away from the theater with a sad feeling: Is this all there is?

Tolkein, Lucas isn't. Hell, he's not even JK Rowling. The man cannot write a decent bit of dialog between two lovers. The scenes with Annakin and Padme fall flatter than yesterday's biscuits. "Anni, I just don't know you anymore," Padme tells Anakin in the climactic scene. This turgidity is compounded by Haden Christenson's lack of depth as an actor. Even the beauty and grace of Natalie Portman couldn't hold the love story and its tragedy together.

One critic remarked how the actor playing Palpatine (Emperor....) handles the role "like an old queen." The theme is the seduction of the young man by what the Church calls "the glamour of evil." This seduction is brought about by the "queen" Darth Sidious in mentoring Annakin. It made me think of two much better stories (and films) on the same subject: "Apt Pupil" by Stephen King, and "Gods and Monsters." In both those films an older man seduces, or attempts to seduce, one much younger. In "Apt Pupil," the glamor is Nazi violence. In "Gods and Monsters," it's the glories of Hollywood's faded golden decades.

All the above being stipulated, the movie is still a lot of fun and should be something that will "grow on" the viewer as time passes.

The Hammer of Pain

Looking back on
it all
now, I
find it odd to
experience
the compression
of time.

Although each and
every day
in the hospital
and bedridden
at home lingered with the
deliberate grace
of mildew creeping up the kitchen wall, when I
dwell on that
period from
the comfort of my
own desk

NOW, it's like the
events overtook
me years
ago, in a
far country.

Did it happen to
me or
to someone
else?
Was it a
play, a book, a
novel--
penned by an
author with an
unrecognizable nom de plume?

How does the mind
leave the body
And where does
it dwell when the
hammer of pain
smashes into
the iron avil
of time?

Flush THIS!

No, I'm not going to discuss that whole Koran-flushing affair. What are people thinking? Newsweek? The Pentagon? The Administration? The nutballs in Pakistan and Afghanistan? Civilization is on a slippery slope: Put on your skis and enjoy the ride!

On a personal note, I got the tie-downs installed in the van and they seem to work fine. My first trip out (non-MTS) will be an adventure at the movie theatre, the "Mira Mesa Googleplex." I really want to see "Kingdom of Heaven."

I'm still waiting for word on the air conditioning repair. If the state wants to buy me a new compressor, I'm all for that!

More Found Poetry

Lindsay said leave tomorrow

Tastes like pool-water,
only
5 times worse.
No,
well, it's not a
small-ship expedition?
There are
plenty
of them where
the delectable
snack.
The bottom
line
here is pretty
simple.

The 6:30 a.m.
early risers' coffee
service
to the engineers:
Some unwanted
phrase making here--
Thomason--together
the letters form words:
"Steak,
passage of
a national flag
desecration law,
the invention of
the simple light bulb."
Much
of the day's account of
Lewis & Clark's
Corps
of Discovery
may sound silly,
but let
me tell you a real-life
example:
The popular, and
frequently displayed
symbol of the
nation.

Congratulations, Jan and Karine!

Today I attended the wedding of my friends Jan Amtrup and Karine Megerdoomian. The ceremony was held at Saint John Garabed Armenian Church on 30th Street in San Diego (North Park area, as best I could tell). Upon arriving at the church, I was rather surprised by its mundane exterior. It reminded me of the Linda Vista Methodist church I attended as a child; the appearance was that of a blocky, green and gray utility building that had been converted to ecclesiastical use. Somehow I always expect Orthodox churches to be elaborately decorated with gold, mosaics and icons.

I arrived at 10:40, which was quite early, for the service that was held at noon. So, I took a few moments to stroll up and down the sidewalk and check out the neighborhood. Other than a few quaint homes from the early 20th century, I didn't notice anything remarkable. Lots of storefronts with peeling paint, a barber shop, some kind of clinic. I would have traveled farther but the sidewalk a few yards from the church was pretty broken up. It is an old sidewalk, of course, but one wonders how much longer the city government can continue to allow the urban infrastructure to decay.

My friend Harold lives 5 blocks from the church, but with MTS Access it's difficult to arrange multiple trips in the same day. Plus, some of the "homeys" in the neighborhood didn't look too friendly. Anyway, Harold and his kids were off in Borrego Springs for the weekend, so visiting him was a moot point.

We got the air conditioning repair estimate for my van yesterday. Good thing the state is paying for it--I need a new compressor! On Wednesday, Harold will drive the van up to Poway to a shop called Golden Boy. This is the business that will install the manual tie-down straps in my van so I can tool around town as a passenger in the vehicle I once used to drive (until my accident one year ago tomorrow).

There are a lot of places I'd like to go, once I get the van back. I need new shoes, since my right foot is just too "lumpen" to accomodate my old black leather dress shoes. I currently have been wearing white tennis shoes, size 9W. My usual size is 7W. I want to get measured at an actual shoe store and see what I can fit into now.

I also need to take my glasses prescription to Costco and buy new sunglasses. My previous pair were trashed in the accident.

Then there's the zoo. As soon as I can, I'm renewing my membership and visiting the zoo and Wild Animal Park frequently.

Oh, back to the ceremony. The wedding was conducted almost entirely in Armenian. The non-Armenians among the attendees mostly tried to follow along a printed program and stand and sit at the appropriate times. The Orthodox ceremony is very rich, full of chanting. The bride and groom receive crowns at the end, marking them as "King" and "Queen" of their new family.

None of the traditional western wedding music was played by the organist. No Mendelssohn, no Purcell. And, praise be to God--no "Wedding Song!" If the Pope had any backbone he would banish the "Wedding Song" from any Catholic ceremony forthwith and henceforth!

That being said, the music was rather slow and almost funereal. Besides the organist, there was a cantor who sang or chanted accompaniment. Inside the sanctuary, seven chandeliers hung from the ceiling. I'll have to do some research to figure out what their significance is to the liturgy.

The priest was an older, white-haired man, with a kindly, patriarchal voice. He said all the expected things during the (thankfully English) homily. He did manage to get in two little "digs" at the happy couple, however. Once during his homily he mentioned how Jan and Karine had been "married singly" but now they are married "as God wants." Then at the end, he said "I have the pleasure to be the first to announce Mr. and Mrs Jan...." [whispers from the bride and groom]... "Willers Amtrup and Karine Megerdoomian." It seems the priest couldn't quite accustom himself to the notion that the bride and groom would preserve their own last names.

At present, the reception is going on at the Prado in Balboa Park. I would have loved to attend it, but I could not risk the crazy scheduling of MTS.

Found Poetry of the Net

Ever notice those spam e-mails that contain all kinds of phrases, cobbled together? I get lots of them, and am certain the spammers must employ some kind of script to mangle random text they have gathered from somewhere, probably from some unsuspecting victims' Web pages.

Well, the other day I got one, and started reading it. While perusing the nonsense I was struck by an epiphany. This is almost poetic! So, you will find below a "poem" I carved out of spam and sewed into whole cloth. Enjoy!


Did Chrystal also sent you this?

Old, acquired by Lindblad
from the defunct Exploration--
they don't eat much--
but can't seem to
lose weight.
Rocky banks.
We visited the Nez Perce
Museum that
had eluded the founders of
flag protection then,
we dressed to the nines for
dinner every night.
Flapping in the ocean breeze,
how many of you have
day excursions or lectures?
If that wasn't sufficient,
most out of your life, you deserve.
In fact, dehydration
for bodybuilders, overweight
people wanting to lose
fat changes in structure
and a lot of changes in lifestyle:
the third or fourth read-through.
Fourthly, it sucks
Expeditions' Sea Lion -- which
we recently sampled
about the ship.
She was such a beautiful vessel,
with your knowledge of
arcane symbolism.
Assorted that you eat--
This is an interesting one!

News for the New Month

April, the cruelest month, with its sweet showers has passed into history.

My step-grandfather, whom we called "Pepere" also passed away last Thursday. He was in his late 80s and had lived a full life. Those comments never really satisfy, when engaging a panoply of someone's life. I remember him as a hard-working man who was deeply religious and cared for his family very much. When he and "Memere" lived up in Hawthorne, we used to drive up there (when I was a teenager) and spend the night. We enjoyed many hours playing cards--Euchre, Hearts, Spades, Blackjack. There were dice games too.

I was always struck by his French Canadian sense of humor, the folk songs played on the harmonica. Memere and Pepere had a very warm household, where family was always welcome. Lots of relatives would visit during the holidays. When they retired and moved to 29 Palms, their lives didn't slow down all that much. They owned a nice little three-bedroom home and the vacant lot next to it on Persia Avenue. The landscape was dry and dessicated. I could never quite figure out what former Vermonters saw in that desolation, but they fit right in with the people there and, I am certain, enjoyed the perpetually sunny weather.

For quite a while, they took care of their old French Canadian neighbor, Mr. Meunier. Mr. Meunier was pretty much an invalid and they helped him with eating and chores. Their acts of kindness no doubt kept that neighbor alive longer than he would have survived otherwise.

The funeral will be Wednesday. If you read this, please keep Roland Marcoux in your prayers.

I did get some good news today. The state finally got off its keister and approved the work on my van. This week I will get the AC inspected and see if I can get the tiedowns installed. As Mel Gibson once shouted.... "FREEEEEEEDOMMMMMMMM!!!!"

A Humble Worker...

Today Cardinal Ratzinger of Germany, 78 years old, was selected as the new Pope. He will take the name of Benedict XVI. He is one of the oldest Popes ever elected and the first Teutonic Pope since Victor II in the 11th Century.

Ratzinger is an arch-conservative who led the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith under John Paul II. As Dean of the College of Cardinals, he was the most influential member and had been considered a front runner by most Vatican watchers. Although Ratzinger is a European, this move was clearly made to send a message to North American and European latitudinarians that the traditional doctrines of the church will continue unabated.

Of course, new Popes sometimes rise above their background and heritage, as John did in the 1960s. We will have to watch and wait to see the outcome. On the other hand, the Pope's chosen name aligns well with the Prophecy of Saint Malachy, who predicted this Pope would be "from the olive." The Benedictines are sometimes called "Olivetans." Not that Ratzinger is a Benedictine, but the choice of name implies a connection.

Meanwhile, I continue to work on my own writings with the hope of publishing a greater number of my works. My novel is moving along, albeit slowly.

I think I am getting cabin fever from hanging around the apartment too much. I am going to try an excursion later this week, just to get some fresh air and mingle with some people.

Tomorrow night, a new nurse, Clarence, will come to "orientate" [sic]. If he works out well, I'm sure I will be able to provide him with more hours.

Today Brad will install his old video card into my computer; it's a 128 MB GeForceFX. I'm looking forward to the enhanced performance over my old GeForce4 MMX 64 MB.

The weather is cool, cloudy and pleasant. Last night there were showers throughout the county.

Rehab continues to drag its feet over my van. If I'd had the money I would have just paid the $500 for the tiedowns and gotten it over with.

More later!

As Fair and Balanced as a Rat's Ass on a Hot Plate

The heading for this post had nothing to do with anything, really. It just came to my mind as I was trying to think up a "real" title for today. Do funny metaphors and similes pop into your mind at any given time of the day or night? They do for me. I love to play with language; to interrupt customary discourse with something fresh and new. And preferably funny--humor helps immensely.

Any frequent visitor to my Web sites may have noticed a slight change. Yesterday I migrated all my old journal postings from 2003-2005 to this blogger address. That way I can free up disk space in my home page's directory for more pictures and text. The old journal took up so much disk space that I could no longer add new material to my personal page on RoadRunner.

Weather report: today is a sunny but cool day in San Diego. The sky is light blue and laced with clouds. Overall, it's quite pleasant. Why do I even bother mentioning the weather? Well, after Edith Smith, my grandmother, passed away in 1991 I saw some of her journal entries that she kept in a notebook. Always, the weather was mentioned. Same with my grandfather, Richard Smith, who died in 1988. He used his weather entries to remember how his gardening fared from year to year. These notations had a certain charm, a quaintness that I found somehow endearing. And besides, it is kinda cool to be able to look back and say, "oh yeah, last year at this time it was hotter than a firecracker on Venus!"

I wish I had been able to note more of my grandparents' lives--what they did and how. I remember what they used to tell me, but as a kid I only processed small amounts of the information. Here is what I do know:

My grandparents (my mother's parents) were born and raised in Providence, Rhode Island. My grandfather, Richard Laughton Smith, was the son of a pharmacist in Providence. His parents were divorced and he worked as a young man doing maintenance on the family rental properties, which were scattered over the city's domain. He had two sisters: Dorothy (the eldest) and ---- (I suddenly forgot the name) the youngest. They were both spinsters who died childless. Actually that's not completely true, Dorothy married a guy named George, and she had a stepson with him, but when "Dot" and George died (on the same day) they split the last remaining house, on 36 Geneva Street in Providence, with my grandfather and the stepson.

My grandmother's maiden name was Edith Lind. Although her family and my grandfather's family can trace their roots back to the founding of Rhode Island--supposedly I am a descendant of Roger Williams--the Lind family name originated in Denmark, from whence came one of my grandmother's grandparents. I also remember her mentioning "Grandpa Wild" who from the stories I heard, was just that.

My granfather studied to be a carpenter during the 20s. He worked on, among other things, the huge spiral staircases rich people so loved to install in their mansions at the time. Then in 1929 came the Crash, and he was out of work. He told me that he was working in a shop full of Italian Catholics, and he was let go because he was neither. Those were the grand old days of capitalism, when employers were free to discriminate.

My grandmother's family was large. She had several sisters, not all of whose names I can recall. The youngest was Louise ("Weezie"), then there was Laura, Martha ("Marty") and Jenny "Jen"). In 1935 my granparents came out to San Diego in the family Dodge. My grandmother's father had been injured in a car accident and had won a settlement that allowed him to move his family out West. My uncle, David Smith, was a small boy at the time and also rode out with the family.

Upon arriving in San Diego, my great-grandfather purchased a ranch out in El Cajon to raise poultry. My family referred to it as "The Chicken Ranch." My mother was born in Escondido during a period when my granfather was picking oranges for a living. Escondido at that time was just a simple, rural community. My mother, uncle and their cousins have many memories of life at "The Ranch," including confrontations with a stubborn turkey and a mean old sow. Supposedly my great-grandfather who had wanted to be the poultry farmer didn't have the heart to behead that old gobbler, and my granfather was compelled to do the ugly deed. That Ranch is still visible out on a hill off of old Highway 80 as you approach El Cajon. Some other buildings were added to it later.

Eventually my granparents struck out on their own and lived, among other places, in Point Loma. The old Theosphical Society buildings had been rented out and my family lived in one of them. Those buildings are now part of the Point Loma Nazarene College campus.

During WWII my grandfather worked at Convair, assembling the Navy's PBY amphibious aircraft. My grandparents moved to Linda Vista, which was a community built by the Federal Government to house war workers. After the war, my grandfather was laid off from his aircraft job and went to work for Western Parcel. This company did the deliveries for Sears all over San Diego County. He spent the rest of his working career as a driver and later a "helper" for Western Parcel, which was later called Cornell Cartage. Grandfather was a short man and hefting heavy refrigerators and stoves for a living definitely took a toll on his health.

My granparents bought a home in Linda Vista in 1960, on Upton Court. The houses in Linda Vista have a certain utilitarian charm. They were built to last 20 years, but most of them are still around today. The house, where my uncle still lives, is a simple, square, 2-bedroom 1-bath affair with a huge back yard. The yard is filled with trees, many of which my grandfather planted. One tiny "living Christmas tree" grew into a dominating giant pine during the time I was growing up.

My grandfather retired in 1966 at the age of 62. That was young to retire, but he was just burnt out from all those years of delivering furniture and appliances for the retailing giant. Out of boredom, he signed up as a Watkins salesman and went door-to-door throughout Linda Vista and Clairemont selling the famous Watkins spices, soaps and flavorings (chocolate pudding made with Watkins chocolate was the BEST!!). Just before retiring, he bought a 1964 Rambler American 2-door sedan. The plain but inexplicably pretty light-blue car with a sticky transmission and a flat-head six engine is still in use today. After my grandfather's heart condition made it impossible for him to continue to drive, he sold it to my best friend Harold, who partially restored it (it still needs a fresh coat of paint) and toodles around town in the antique.

Because my mother was single and worked full-time, I spent a lot of time at my grandparents' house. The special school bus for disabled kids dropped me off each afternoon around 3:30 at my grandparents' little yellow house. I would spend afternoons and evenings reading books from my uncle's copious library, or drawing pictures and making up stories to go with them. I had modeling clay out of which I would fashion gigantic T Rexes and Moby Dicks to be slaughtered by adventurous imaginary hunters. And there were cartoons and "Dialing for Dollars" on TV. Often I would spend the weekends with them, and ate many delicious home-cooked meals that my grandmother prepared.

Eventually I went on to the university, graduate school and a career, and was able to see my grandparents less and less as they grew older. When they passed away, it left a huge hole in my heart wich will never be filled.

Waiting for God(ot)

Ugh! I hate computers and the Internet!

Yesterday I spent a half-hour session updating my journal, only to have Blogger crash when I pressed the "publish" button. Someday, somehow, someone will win the Nobel Prize in Computer Science by figuring out why software is so much less reliable than hardware. And then maybe an entrepreneur will grow Bill Gates-rich inventing a solution to the problem! Meanwhile, I am initiating a new proceedure for my blogs: Write in Notepad first, then copy/paste the text and post!

It's been sunny and warm this week. Spring is truly upon us. Wednesday was the hottest, about 82 degrees downtown. That translates to about 85 where I live in Mira Mesa.

Yesterday IVR's driver finally showed up and picked up the hospital bed, Hoyer lift and suction machine. I am amazed at how much room I now have in the apartment. Joe dragged the big, blue recliner out of my bedroom and put it back in the living room where it belongs. I can invite company to sit comfortably now, instead of on the hardwood dining room chairs.

Since last Friday, my parents have been on vacation in Cabo. They will return home today. I doubt they will be in any mood to come visit, however. It's a 2-hour flight from Cabo to San Diego.

In world events, Terri Schiavo and the Pope are dead. Requiescant in pacem. Enough has been written and said about the Schiavo incident and I don't feel I can add anything more to the controversy. I will say that feeding tubes are not extraordinary medical treatment, and that brain damage is not brain death.

I'm not even sure that "extraordinary treatment" is a valid criterion in itself for end-of-life decisions. For example, I use a ventilator. Is that extraordinary treatment? I'm certain many people, when confronted with the concept of artificial life support, think "Oh my God, never!" As technology advances, however, the distinction between artificial and natural becomes increasingly fuzzy. In the future, we will be able to genetically enhance ourselves, add artificial organs and limbs, and inject nanobots into our bodies to supplement functionality or cure disease. As people become accustomed to new technologies, they will be increasingly less likely to regard them with "shock and awe."

Now, there are some hypocritical aspects to the Schiavo controversy as well. None of the Republicans and few Right-to-Lifers propose how to pay for people to be maintained in a nursing home. Bush has proposed massive cutbacks to the federal portion of Medicaid, which will cause states to reduce care. I suspect that, had Shiavo been a Medicaid patient rather than a private-pay patient (due to the money her husband obtained via a class-action suit), the hospice would have yanked her feeding tube long ago. While governor of Texas, Hypocrite-in-Chief Bush signed a law allowing hospitals to terminate life support against the wishes of the patient's family, if the hospitals deemed it necessary. I just read about two cases in Texas where that has happened. In the case of a baby, the hospital "pulled the plug" despite the mother's pleas. In the case of an adult man, they want to disconnect, but the family is hopeful to find another hospital to receive the patient before the act is carried out. Now, why would a hospital want to disconnect patients from life support? Couldn't be to save money, could it? Nah....

Finally, I did watch the final episode of Carnivale. Although I did enjoy it, the final episode did continue the flawed pattern of season 2, which progressed way to fast and left more open ends than it closed in its hurry to wrap everything up neatly. The real intruigue of the series was that it didn't wrap everything up; it left the viewers with a sense of mystery. But, the public and critics are spoiled in our instant-gratification culture. They want to know it all, and immediately if not sooner. More's the pity.

The rest of today I will be revising my story, "Bob's Basement Dive ," which I intend to send out next week.

More updates to come!

Happy Easter!

Today was a bright, sunny, warm Easter Sunday. The sky was azure and the horizon limited only by the cerulean shadows of the mountains to the east of the city. I wanted to attend services with my parents at Saint Gregory's today, but could not make the arrangements through MTS Access. Even though the church is a 10-minute drive away (in Scripps Ranch), MTS requires a commitment of two hours each way. This is because they perform a transfer to North County Transit in order to reach Scripps Ranch. This happens even though Scripps is a neighborhood within the city of San Diego. At the minimum, I would have been gone from my home five-seven hours in order to attend a one-hour mass. That was more trip time than I could stomach, I'm afraid.

My last writing class went well. We had a nice turnout of about 8 people on a cold and rainy night. There were four stories to read, and mine was one of them. A lot of people seemed to like it the best of all that I had submitted. One student asked me if there was "anything [I] don't write." "Not really," I replied, "I write all over the place." Then a bit later I made an offhand comment about how I had written the story one Sunday afternoon, which prompted Judy to say "You told me you are a fast typist, but typing is not the same as writing." Then I answered, "Well, for me it kind of is..." Then she said, jokingly (I hope), "Now everyone in the class hates you!" I guess it seemed to her that I was bragging. But for me it's like Mohammad Ali once said, "if you can do it, it ain't braggin'."

I got a lead from Aleyda Turuno of PAI about the Medicare problem. She gave me the number of another agency, HICAP. We'll see what they have to say tomorrow.

Last night I tried doing the chair-to-bed transfer with Minda. It started out well. When she picked me up, it felt just like it used to. But as we pivoted, I started losing altitude and she had to put me back in the chair. Luckily Harold was present to bail us out. Tomorrow morning I will try bed-to-chair with Minda and we will see if that goes any better.

I'm off to watch the season finale of Carnivale. I will write more tomorrow!

-- David

News of the Week

This week continued the activities and aggravations of the past month.

First, on Tuesday I attended the penultimate Read & Critique session. I got to read my "extra" story, "Ghostwalkers," for the class. Coming into this session, I thought that most people would have a problem with the non-linear plot. "Eh, what did happen and who dunnit?" But perhaps this class is savvy enough to "get it" without a lot of extra explanation. Still, valid points were made about believability issues and characterization. I will have fun putting the rest of the story together and trying to gain some editor's attention with it.

This week I will present a new story to the group. It's an SF/Horror crossover with a touch of satire. Satire is supposed to come from a Latin word meaning "mixed" and indeed this is a mixed work. But I think it's funny, and humor is a great reading companion.

I called everybody and their brother about the Medicare/Medi-Cal issues and still got nowhere. I finally called Aleyta at Protection and Advocacy and hope to hear from her on Wednesday. I need a better idea of what my rights are and what the available programs are; the state workers don't know or don't want to know. I am also dealing with DoR (Department of Rehabilitation) regarding my van. The state inspector wants an estimate of AC repair before any work can be done on the tiedowns. But AC estimates are not free! I called City Chevrolet and A&D Auto Electric (recommended by Jaime, the state auto inspector) and both companies want to charge $100-200. This is because they must first fill the system with Freon and pressure-test it. That involves labor and material costs. The Rehab counselor doesn't understand this and refuses to commit to paying for the estimate. So we are back at square one again.

On a positive note, I am doing all pivot transfers this week and I plan to disembarrass myself of the hospital bed and Hoyer lift by the end of the month! Yes, I am almost back!

Still Here

Time has flown by in the past month. I have been really busy with the Read & Critique class. Each week I read and mark up papers, sometimes as many as five. I have also been writing a lot, both for the class and for myself.

I am a judge for the San Diego Book Awards and have six books to read before April 10. So far, I've read two! They are fun and fast reading, and I have no doubt I will be able to adequately evaluate them all.

Interminable hours have passed while I made calls to the state, trying to get my health insurance switched from Cigna to Medicare. I want to get on a program that will pay for my Medicare premiums. Nobody in the state Medi-Cal offices seems to be able to give me a straight answer!

Tomorrow Harold will take my van in for an estimate of what it will cost to install a manual tiedown system to hold my wheelchair. This will allow me to ride as a passenger in my van. Yay!

I do expect to be able to drive again. My legs are growing stronger each week.

Don't forget to watch Carnivale and Deadwood on HBO!

Il pleut sur la ville...

... Comme il pleure dans mon coeur.

It's been raining a lot lately, perhaps more this year than any on record. Lake Hodges may overflow for the first time since 1998. And it was just at 15% capacity last year.

I intend to go to the writing class tomorrow, but will have to reassess the situation in the morning. This week only two stories were submitted--then a third was added at the last moment--illness and lethargy are taking their toll.

I have been asked to be a judge in the annual contest of the SDBAA. Free books to read! And a new role for me, which is something that I have background for as a trained critic. I am eagerly anticipating my shipment in the mail.

What else? Oh yeah, Shadows of Saturn rejected Europa's Children. I need to figure out where to send that story next. Got to keep things in circulation.

I watched the latest episode of Carnivale last night on HBO. Although I still really enjoy the series, I don't find it as intriguing or gripping as last season. Critics hated the ambiguity of last year and the creators strived to make a clearer-cut story line. But I found the essential ambiguity, the wandering through the metaphorical "black blizzard" to be at the heart of the series. The "heart of darkness" is a murky thing, not to be grasped easily. Unless you are George Bush, manichean to the core.

Tonight's reality fare: Fear Factor: Vegas. To be followed immediately by an episode of the fictional series, Vegas. What does it say about a country when its fastest growing city is a wasteland of fake monuments, gambling and prostitution? There are more programs about Las Vegas on TV now than about New York or LA. Why is the public so fascinated by the gaudy extravagance of that gaudy desert hole during a time when the moral mood of the country--at least the red states--seems to be slouching back to the primordial ooze of creationism, censorship and war?

That's a topic to be explored at length later. Back to reading for me.

Nature Morte

Another week has flown, or rather drifted by.... Mostly outside my window, where it's been raining steadily, sometimes heavily, since Thursday. I love the soft, gray hues, the tender weeping sky full of shifting shapes. I appreciate the sizzling sound of raindrops splattering in puddles along the sidewalk, against the stucco walls of my apartment, simmering like a slowly boiling crock of homemade soup as the moisture drifts in tiny pearl-shaped orbs through the tree leaves outside my home.

The Read & Critique course continues to sail along nicely. It's great to experience the dedication and talent of each writer in the class. It's a pretty cordial group as well, so no one appears too intimidated to speak his or her mind. The group seemed to enjoy my little work, and I was really happy they all wanted to keep turning the pages to find out what would happen next. Of course, they and Judy wanted to see more depth in the world I am creating. But as it will probably be a novel, I am looking at this first "crappy draft" as more of an extended outline. It was amusing that several people obsessed on Roland's missing horse; I guess I will have to clear up that mystery soon enough! Perhaps the heroes dismembered and ate the horse out of the ravages of starvation-- nah.

I have begun putting together character sketches for the presumed novel. This has helped flesh out the story and the people in it. I will continue working on that this week.

Tomorrow my friends Katie and Jacque will come for a visit around 12:30. It will be fun to catch up with everyone's news. And the new dog of Jacque's.... Can't forget the dog! Hehehe

Meanwhile I continue to get stronger, la vita continua...

An Esthetic Kind of Horror

Friday night my parents came over and, since we couldn't get "Sky Captain" we watched "The Grudge." I thought "The Grudge" was outstanding in many ways. The Japanese director based it on his earlier Japanese film, adapting it to, as he said, "what would scare an American audience." It truly was frightening!

While the storyline was hackneyed--a haunted house where things inevitably go bump in the night--the imagery was spectacularly evocative. It aroused tension, fright, rapid heartbeats and accomplished all this with a minimum of gore. As with "The Ring," the Japanese seem very adept at conjuring up disturbing, haunting visual elements.

The rest of the weekend was dullsville. I refused to watch the Superbowl; it just lost its allure once the Chargers fell out of the playoffs. I was gratified, however, to turn the game on at the end and see Rodney Harrison make the final, game-saving interception. As Homer Simpson would say, "In your face, Chargers!"

I also did my reading for the Read and Critique class. The stories were enjoyable and just reading them inspired me to do more. The next class is Tuesday evening, when my own story, "The Odyssey of St. Eudorus," will be up on the block. I think I am the only spec fiction writer in the class, though one other story came close. I don't know that there are sf/dark fantasy/horror fans in the class either, but I will report on the group's reaction after Tuesday.

I continue to work on leg excercises, and was thrilled to sleep in my own bed again Friday night.

David 

The Unbelievable Heaviness of Being

Today Sharon came back over and we practiced transfers again. I definitely can feel some strength and tone returning to my legs--especially the left one. There was concern because my right foot hurts when I sit down, as it dives into the carpet toe-first and just bends at the ankle. Ouch!

But at least tonight I get to sleep in my own bed. Yay!

Today the state inspector, Jaime, took a look at my van. He gave it a passing grade, except that the front tires need rotation (hmm... they are brand new, and have only been driven to and from the grocery store and shop since the accident), and the air conditioning doesn't cool very fast. The inspector's approval should mean a green light to getting new tie-down straps installed ($500). Then I can get out of the house more.

The read and critique class is going well. If nothing else, just reading other people's work keeps me in the flow of writing too. When you see some good or bad point in someone else's work, you immediately begin to think about how that same point applies to you. There is a lot of reading: about 100 pages a week. And it's not just passive reading; it's real "hard work"--as George II says.

Speaking of Bush, I couldn't bear to listen to the idiot's State of the Union Address, or his inaugural. The country is moving backwards socially and politically. It's time for the blue states to opt out of this most imperfect union, and take our tax dollars with us! How much of that $300 billion that Bush blew in Iraq came from California? Quite a lot, I guess.

Last week I watched that Cole Porter bio-flick on DVD. It's called "De Lovely," I think. Should have been called "Queer Ear for the Gay Composer." Sheesh! "Enough already with the gay!" as Dr. Zoidberg might say.... I am open-minded and tolerant, but I don't need to see two guys kissing to get the point.

Tonight I hope to watch "Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow." And have dinner with my parents, which makes for a pleasant evening.

Welcome to my new blog!

I recently discovered the drawback to using FrontPage as my Web editor. RoadRunner allows 5 mb of disk space on their server for so-called "free personal pages." Since I've been updating my journal regularly, I used up the space RoadRunner has alloted. This caught me by surprise, as I used to have much more "stuff" on my old AOL page. But FrontPage makes all kinds of backup and virtual files, duplicating each and every page and image I post!

Btw, I did get into the writing class at UCSD. They had an opening turn up after all and I was at the top of the list. So my ego is a little bit assuaged. ;-) The class starts on January 18, so now I need to plan the logistics. Life was so much simpler when I could just drive!! Grrrr....

:-/

Also, we got the x-rays from the Evil Dr. Phibes, er... T yesterday and my dad took them promptly to Dr. Freeman's office. No word today, but then it's a holiday week and everyone is goofing off. Dr. Landers's nurse practitioner did admit to me yesterday that there is "no love lost" between Landers and T. But, getting him (Landers) to do anything has been almost impossible. Landers's nurse said "Doctors just don't interfere with each other that way." Then they bitch and moan about malpractice! Seems to me there would be fewer losses if they would police themselves better, rather than waiting to react to lawsuits.

It's Christmas Eve!

A quiet day for me. My parents are having the festivities over at their home. The grandkids will be there, along with their parents. They will attend the 5:00 Vigil Mass: the one for all the kiddies. Then they will have dinner and open packages. This is the first time in my life I won't be attending. I thought about taking that MTS Access mini-bus over, but I've only been on that thing once and am not that confident in it. If MTS ended up stranding me at my parents', it would not be a good night for all!

Tomorrow my parents will come over and bring my uncle. A nice, casual day like that is much more to my tastes.

Weather-wise, it's been sunny and warm this week: low 70s throughout the urban parts of the county.

SOSDD

Today Sue, Dr. Landers's nurse, called before I got up and I wasn't able to reach her later, as Landers's office is closed for the rest of the week. Sharp's Patient Relations representative wasn't able to accomplish anything either. She called this morning and repeated what Paula had already said, that we will hear from Dr. T when he comes back on Monday.

It seems that no one really gives a damn....

Today the medical saga continues. My dad came over and picked up my written request about 10:30 this morning and drove to T's office on Frost Street, across from Sharp Memorial, where T is a practicing surgeon.

When my dad arrived and presented Paula, T's secretary, with the letter, she insisted that they "do not give out originals" of x-rays and wanted him to pay for them. Then Paula told him she could not release the copies anyway, since Dr. T is out of town and he has to personally approve giving the x-rays out. So my dad was sent away with nothing, and I have nothing yet for Freeman to look at. This is crazy!!

Iliana, my Maxim case manager called Paula later in the afternoon and got the same story, with a promise that T's office will call me Monday. Later today I called Dr. Landers's nurse practitioner, Sue (she was out of the office) and left her a voice mail about the situation. Then I called Freeman and left him a description of the problems with T also.

Finally tonight about 4:35 I called Sharp's Patient Relations hotline and told a woman named Patrice about the issues with T. She was obviously unhappy with the situation, especially concerning how T's secretary wanted to charge my dad and then refused to give the x-ray copies. Patrice tried to call T's office but they were gone. Since Patrice will be out of the office tomorrow she promised that an associate of hers will call T and see if her office (Patient Relations) can free up the x-rays before 'Xmas.'

More tomorrow!

A bas les medecins!

Today I finally got a callback from Dr. Freeman. He seems very cordial on the phone. He told me that he got the records from Dr. T, but not the x-rays, and it's the latest x-rays he really needs to see. So, tomorrow my dad will carry a letter to T's office, demanding that he be given the x-rays, which he will then carry by hand to Freeman.This is all worse than getting a root canal at your local dentist! I have been working on the second opinion since November, about six weeks....More tomorrow!

Right now I'm waiting for a technician to come check out the state of my air mattress. The guy called an hour or more ago and still hasn't shown up. When he called, he said he couldn't find my address on "Caminito Ruiz." Well, duh! Maybe because it doesn't exist! Then he said his company had no record of ever having installed the mattress. When I pointed out to him that we got his company's number off the tag on the mattress, he kept asking if we got the number from the motor housing...

I realize that air mattresses are not the equivalent of Saturn V rockets, but the idiocy of the medical companies never ceases to amaze me.

Speaking of idiots, the secretary of my orthopedist promised to send my records over to Dr. Freeman, the new doctor. That was on Monday. Today when I called to check, she admitted that she hadn't: "Oh I'm just scatterbrained sometimes," she said. Me thinks she doth protest too much. Freeman's secretary already told me that the other guy's office "isn't good about sending records." I think the original orthopedist, whom I shall call "Dr. T" from now on, may just be beginning to suspect the jig is up on his neglectful treatment.

I'm doing okay, but life is a tough struggle right now. I'd love to get outof my home and go shopping, hang out at Starbuck's, buy books, meet up withmy family for Sunday brunch. None of that is possible at present, since thestate still hasn't approved modifying my van so I can ride in it as apassenger. Driving again will be at some far-off date, if ever. I'm alsoseeking a second opinion from another orthopedic surgeon, as my originalone just doesn't seem to care about someone like me, who as he says is "notgoing to run or ski."Meanwhile, that anthology editor who had my story about the spiders (whichI turned in for SS II) wrote to me that he doesn't know when he'll finishthe book, since he lives in Florida and "lost a lot of stuff in thehurricanes." So I'm in the process of going over it again to sendelsewhere; eight months is enough for that work to hang in limbo. I'm goingto submit it to City Slab, even though a story set in suburbia (but, whatelse is there in San Diego?) might not be the perfect match for them. Thestory that Judy saw in part is also on my project list. But focusing ishard, after months of rotting my brain in the hospital and in bed at home.At least I'm back to writing every day now, even if it's only journalarticles in my website's blog.

Today hasn't been a particularly good day; another segment of a particularly bad year.

To start with, I went to a new orthopedist today. I was all set to get his second opinion on how my right leg is healing (or not healing). This was the leg that received the compound fractures during the accident. Unfortunately, when I got to the new doctor's office, it became apparent they hadn't looked at the documents I had sent them (at their request). Thus, they hadn't looked at the medical release form I had signed and hadn't gotten my records and x-rays from the first orthopedist. At least they seemed genuinely embarassed by the snafu. The new doctor promised to call me as soon as he got the records. At least they didn't charge me for the visit!

The second thing that happened was I just got an e-mail from Judy Reeves rejecting my application to her invitation-only "read and critique" course. I think this was my first rejection to a class since my sophomore year at high school. I'm not sure what happened. I sent her an excerpt of a rough draft, thinking that was what she wanted. Evidently not!

Oh well, back to the "writing board."

My previous post to this journal was on May 8, 2004. On May 9, on a beautiful Spring day in San Diego, I was involved in a terrible car accident. My van was nearly totaled and I sustained many injuries, including multiple fractures to my legs, a broken arm, and head laceration.

My journey back is only beginning. I spent most of May, all of June and three fourths of July in Kindred Hospital here in San Diego. Late last month, my casts were removed and I began to feel more normal. Still, I require 24-hour nursing care and can only get out of bed with the aid of a lift operated by a nurse. I'm even still wearing one of those silly, open-backed hospital gowns. ;-)

Thanks to the love, prayers and visits of my family and friends, I am getting through this ordeal.

One last thought: Never take anything for granted.

David

This is my first posting in this journal since May 8, 2004. On Sunday, May 9, I was involved in a terrible car accident at an intersection in Scripps Ranch, a neighborhood in the northern part of the city of San Diego. In the accident, I broke both legs and my right arm.

I spent May, June and July in the hospital. In late September, my casts were removed and I am slowly getting back to normal. The thoughts, prayers and visits of many kind people and the love of my family have helped me heal.

I will start posting much more often now, as I look forward to resuming my writing career. Many things have been left unfinished; I really want to get back to my life.

You can never know what the future may hold. It's a cliché, but no less true for that.

It's a sunny, not-too-warm day today. The day before Mother's Day.

Nothing much new going on. I'm waiting to see if T. H. and her husband make good on their promise to pay up on the $12,000 she owes me, despite her bankruptcy. She is an amazing person; she broke every promise she made to me over 12 years and then in the end, acted as if I had somehow wronged her. It's a shame that she's a special ed teacher, yet she has single-handedly made a mess out of the life of one of the few disabled adults she has known. She and her husband have three small boys; I hope they straighten themselves out before those children become aware of the scam their parents perpetrated.

Speaking of abuse, everybody's hot on the trail of the Abu Ghraib scandal. I really enjoy Rush Limbaugh's take on the episode, that it's just "people blowing off steam." Like Jay Leno said last nigth, "what, is this guy (Rush) on drugs?" I know when I feel down I always find it's helpful to blow off steam by stripping people naked, piling them in pyramids, snapping leashes around their necks and then taking photographs. What a souvenir of my duty in Iraq! Rumsfeld was on point yesterday at those committee meetings. He started out by apologising, but then he was unable to admit to any specific act of wrongdoing. Everything went perfectly and according to plan, he maintained, except for those ruffian guards and the person who leaked the photos. Over and over again he kept saying, "the problem is the photos." Sorry Don, the problem is the immorality and incompetence of you and Bush's administration.