Saturday, September 29, 2012


I woke up kind late-ish today. I haven’t been sleeping well. Lay it at the door of my dear, undeparted friend, PAR-FUCK-KING-SON. Now, that I’ve gotten that if not off my chest, at least off my keyboard. Did I mention there are no tests for this bastard? None, whatsoever. They do it by “observation.” Or the quaint term, “bedside diagnosis.” My dear friend, YumaBev, who runs the hilarious blog Parkinson’s Humor and can be followed on Twitter @YumaBev, had to go through a 9 year duel (from her description) before she was able to (convince her doctor) be diagnosed.

I just went through a similar conversation, with my psychiatrist’s assistant. Then, I talked to the Psychiatrist, who knows I have Parkinson’s. My own Primary Care physicians and my Ophthalmologists know I have Parkinson’s. When people start disagreeing with me because I’m not a doctor, I get really pissed. I’ve lived in this body for 56 years. If he/she who is disagreeing want to take it for a test drive and tell me I’m wrong, be my guest, otherwise, shut up. I worked in a Teaching Hospital at the University of Michigan for 5 years while in school. Guess what they do best there? That’s right, teach and answer questions. And they don't care if you're not a med student. Ask away. Guess what I do a lot of, even to this day? That’s right, ask tons of questions. I had this little job to help pay for my schooling, basically all I did was run around and bother doctors. I was supposed to run medical records from one department to another. They got delivered, just not in a timely manner. But, I got one HELL of a medical education. I digress.

So, when you have something that is not necessarily so definitive, doctors like to sit on fences. All well and good for their malpractice rates, but hell for the patients. I’ve just had enough of the psychoses and all the other little treats that are not so slowly being unveiled. The fourth of October can’t get here fast enough. I’m sure I’ll have to play the kind of game you get to play when you go to the Optometrist.

You know the one where they put the combination Wheel-of-Fortune-Darth-Vader-helmet-minus-the-helm doo-dad in front of your eyes and start alternating lenses. Then ask, “Is number one better? Or…is number 2 better?” Frankly, every damned one of those things ever in my entire life was a smeared blur with a light in the distance. They could have painted butter on one lens, motor oil on another, and cheese cake on the rest for all the clarity I ever experienced. I would mumble some kind of response and half an hour later would walk out with a pair of glasses that would take residence under the front seat of my car for the next year, until I received my friendly reminder, telling me it was time for my next eye appointment. I’m so glad I had vision insurance.

Speaking of driving, although who was, Andi-Roo over at TheWorld4Realz got me wound up last night with her story of traveling on the train. First off, why are people mean? Second off, why are they mean to my Andi-Roo? If I had been there, I would have socked that woman right on her stupid beezer! “Read. Go Read.” WTF? I mean, here are two bright-looking people asking which train to take to get to New York City and the Train Witch says, “Just Read. Go Read.” Or something akin and abrupt to that. Hey, no shit. We did “Go Read” Bitch. Maybe there’s a secret ritual or handshake or something and a City Fairy pops out and does mime indicating that you take train 8 ½ like you’re going to Hoo-Ville or Hogwarts. Aargh.

I thought that woman was just plain mean to Andi-Roo who looked like a sad thing at first but looked happy at the Elephant place. Andi-Roo, I didn’t know you have the most stunning color of blue eyes! Anyway, enough hero worship.

Driving. Ah, yes, driving. At the beginning of Andi-Roo’s train post, she talks about all of the wonderful construction and how it puts our nation's highway system in some kind of stasis. Yes, it has, for centuries. It has been going on for eternity. Dinosaurs were originally used for Highway Stasis back when the earth was first cooling and it was then that the first roads were laid. These roads were pronounced good and have remained pretty much the same to this day. Oh, there may be talk of road expansion and a bit of hot patch thrown down now and again, but the original roads that brontosaurus and his cousins, backhoesaurus and goldbrickodactyl built are the foundations for all the roads traveled today.

As governments and empires rose and fell, it became necessary to justify huge expenditures of money that had been wrested from the peasantry. The wealthy oligarchs couldn’t continually have festivals and high holy holidays with all their conspicuous consumption, so they came up with public works. If they weren’t building giant eyesores in the name of Whobius Frippus, they were busy paving and re-paving and re-re-paving roads, some of which actually went places. Cue the dawn of an era. One Roman Emperors, Flambius Corpeum Dirge in a confused attempt to meld form and function tried to pave the Apian Way using an entire Circus. This failed miserably when the elephants trampled the midgets and dancing poodles. The only up side was that an idea was born, and the putative Emperor tossed aside the midgets and elephants and had the road paved by the poodles. And people wondered why the Roman Empire died in 479 A.D.

The Dark Ages were really, really dark. I think roads were pretty much optional and were infested with outlaws anyway. You had to practically go to the Holy land or back down around Rome to get a decent road or at least a path during the Dark Ages so, we’ll skip ahead shall we?

Okay, here we are. It’s about 2003, so you know we’ve skipped. I’m still playing between Tampa, Orlando, Melbourne, all over Florida and the Southeast, the roads of which are ALL in some kind of state of construction. If it’s not the magical slowdown for 6 hours, it’s the driving on uneven lanes. There are cones, barrels, construction workers looming up at you, even at night; it's frightening. It’s a mess and it’s constant. It’s been like this since I’ve been touring since 1990.

Anyway, one night I’m between Tampa and the Mauseschwitz, driving home after a gig, tired, with so many cones, barrels, uneven lanes and so much odd shit going on. I’m following the cones, like the good driver I am. They keep veering right, veering right, veering right. The lanes are uneven. Then, clunk! I’m not on the road! I’m still following the cones, following the cones…WTF? I find myself with about 10 other bewildered drivers in the middle of some empty field, milling around, driving in confused circles, just milling in circles, kicking up dust, wondering how in the hell we'd all gotten there. It was the Bermuda Triangle on land. We somehow all staggered our way back out of the field and without benefit of an entrance ramp, climbed back up on I-4. WTF? Maybe we were in some kind of bastard Roman Games? Time warp? WTF?

Isn't this the 275 interchange to Nebraska Avenue? Wrong century, dude.

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