#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2016 GENERAL - LIFE, HUMOR AND MUSIC NO THEME

This year I'm going without a theme. In years past, I've always gone to something like, “Music” or “Humor” and it wasn't entirely successful. This year, I'm just tossing the theme out the window and will write about some of the things that are still going on in da 'hood, and some music and humor. Just not in any particular order, or with any formal idea in mind.

Part of this is, I suspect, pure laziness, and part of it is that I've been trying to work with an idea for a “serialized novel” that seems to have some legs to it, so the focus is there for the time being.

I do however, always enjoy doing the A-to-Z Challenge and writing (I hope) short, and pithy little posts, so we'll see where we end up, shall we?

I may write about some of my fabulous bus trips in and around Tampa's 'hoods, which are every bit as horrifying as they sound. Last week, we had our “Safety First” kinda bus driver, which was a hoot, because this cat will NEVER make the bus kneel when I need to get off. Since I have very little depth perception, I've been lucky that I haven't bashed my teeth in on the pavement falling out of the bus. I have to REMIND him to make it kneel, although he can see I've got a cane and dark glasses. During our last encounter, there had been a messy accident at the intersection of MLK Blvd. and Nebraska Avenue.

It was just Alex's and my luck, too, that they parked this big, honkin' Fire Truck with it's butt sticking out across the two southbound lanes. They could have pulled up closer to the smashed up cars, but I'm guessing there was leaking gasoline. Thankfully, no one was injured. The police had a fine time directing traffic, though. There was a bit of dancing going on, 'cause Nebraska Avenue.

Five cop cars and a giant-ass Ladder Fire Truck showed up to block the south-bound lanes of Nebraska. We sat there while this idiot dithered about what to do; go left over the median, beside a semi, which just helpfully stopped, straddling both lanes of Nebraska, just north of the intersection and put out a bunch of hazard cones, 'cause Nebraska Avenue, which would have been totally okay, as the cops were directing traffic and would have let us through, or go up on the curb a little bit on the right-hand side of the semi, which would have been okay, because one other bus had already proven it could be done.

But, noooooo. This guy had to fuss and fume around like we were in some perilous situation that would end in a fiery death, if we moved so much as an inch. Some guy on the bus had driven big things in the Military and was trying to coerce the driver into (gasp!) taking a right turn, just before Nebraska and going around the Auto Parts Store, but the driver wasn't sure he could do that, without... tipping over the bus, I guess? On a normal 90° turn? So Military Guy was frustrated. The whole bus was. There were several women who were just coming off shift from the Hospital and I'm sure they were ready to get off their feet. I'd had a long day at Clinical Research and was tired; my essential tremor was misbehaving (stress and lack of sleep does that) and besides, “Mr. Safety First” was a misnomer and he was pissing me off.

A Hartline bus at the Marion Transit Center. When there are twenty buses coming and going all at once, it's like this giant bus ballet, with buses screeching and whooping, farting, speeding up, slowing down and stopping on a dime and it's really something to be a passenger. It could be a GREAT carnival ride.

So, the driver called the Bus Supervisor; some cat that drives around in a little official car, supervising buses, I guess. And he did so, because I think he figured he was about to lose control of the situation. I had already loudly suggested that one of us get off the bus, walk 50 feet to the cops and tell them we were either being kidnapped, or held for ransom. It got a laugh from everyone but the driver. So, the Supervisor showed up and “led” the bus, after talking to the driver and after giving a talking to Military Guy. The Supervisor led the bus to the same exact 90° right turn, that the bus driver could have turned down an hour previously, without the help of the Supervisor. The Supe then led us past a left-hand 90° turn, which would have put us out on MLK and closer to our destination. As we crept past this turn, I hollered out, “What!?! Is that turn too tight for ya?” I was really acting up. Shame on me. Not.

The bus came to a halt. The Supe got on the bus, and started chewing out Military Guy, again. I guess Mr. Safety First had tattled on the phone to the playground recess Teacher, like we were all in 3^rd Grade, but he got the wrong miscreant. I 'fessed up, and said “I wouldn't be so irritated if this schlemiel would kneel the bus like he's supposed to, every single time I get off this damned bus!” The Supe looked daggers at the Mr. Safety First and just got off and got back in his little buggy car and led us off to our destination, home.

The Supe's car. It totally doesn't look street legal to me, but hey! What do I know; they're probably cutting corners, to save money.*

Sure enough, I had to ask Mr. Safety First to make the bus kneel, AGAIN, before I could get off of his stupid bus. Some people may think I'm making a big deal out of this, but it's truly hard to see other people with canes who have physical disabilities and then have to remind this guy to lower the bus for them. Certain disabilities tend to cause militant behavior in the person with the disability and for good reason. I can't always rely on people respecting the stick and the glasses. So, I'm wary.

Anyway, this is a big longish for an A-to-Z post, but it's a Not-Theme Reveal, so I thought I'd indulge myself. I am looking forward to the A-to-Z Challenge of 2016, whatever it is I write on; I'm going to do my best to make it fun!

_________

*Totally kidding. That was for (Believe it! Or not) "Bus Fest" a few years ago!

#ROW80 1ST QTR 2014 – WRITING PROMPT – TWO CATS

TWO CATS

 

Now that the A-to-Z Challenge for 2014 is over, I can honestly say that I am a much happier writer going “themeless” or at least with something a bit more complex than just “HUMOR AND HUMORISTS”, which was never the knee-slapper I thought it would be, I can return once more to my aimless nit-picking, meandering, diatribes, general nonsense and philosophical wonderings about just how many angels can dance on the head of a pin and is there anybody out there. That is NOT the fault of my awesome team and my wonderful team leader, Damyanti G of #teamDamyanti. I will be side by side with them again next year. The fault was mine in not preparing and not really thinking about how a "theme" can work to one's advantage. Lesson learned; but I am glad I did it because I always come away from these challenges a better writer and with great friends!

Writing about humor wasn't as funny as I thought it would be. Judging from the comments, my family was a whole lot funnier. Next year, I'm just going to write about them.

 

All of this is in an effort to forestall editing on my own magnum opus from NaNoWriMo 2013, Music of the Spheres, because while I think it has several wonderful ideas, it has a lot wrong with it, and I haven't the least clue of where to begin, as I am not a creative writer. I'm more about ideas, and I noticed when I was writing Music, my characters did a whole lot of standing around and pontificating. Not exactly the most exciting thing for a Sci-fi Thriller, even if it does include the Alien Undead Railroad Underground, or something approximating that.

So, stepping bravely back into the fray of blogging every day on my own whims, which is what I did when I first started “Homeless Chronicles Blah Blah Blah” I decided to write about some of the goings-on around and about Nebraska Ave., 33605, 33602, which I haven't done in a long, long time; I'm returning to my writing roots, as it were.

Imagine about twenty buses going hell-bent trying to keep a schedule, racing in or out, in a giant, tilt-a-whirl thing. Now, imagine smoking brakes, or non-functioning brakes and it's raining. It's THAT much fun!

 

Three days ago, I had to take the bus to Rose Diagnostics to get a chest x-ray for my pulmonary doctor. Not a big deal, and it's one transfer. I take the number 2 downtown to the Marion Transfer Center, where commences the Bus Ballet. For those just tuning in, the Bus Ballet is where every bus converges into a round-about at the same time, and it is a fine cacophony of brake squeals, snorts of exhaust and bus hornery playing. This is accompanied by near-misses, bus asses heaving into sight, zipping past squared-off windshields, that make them seem oh, so much closer, and just as quickly sinking out of sight, as if below the waterline. It is one of my favorite parts of riding the bus – call me an adrenaline junkie – and I always look forward to the MTC; it's always hectic and that day's was even more so, as I had to run to catch the number 14 to go up Armenia to Rose Diagnostics.

That done and quickly, I skipped back across Armenia to make my return back downtown, to take the #2 back up Nebraska Ave., 33605 to my house. I just made it and the #14 arrived on time. I sat down and was just kind of zoning. I was kind of tired, but was thinking about my last two A-to-Z blog posts. I looked towards the front of the bus and where people usually put their baby buggies, or their grocery buggies, I noticed a wire cage, about 3 feet by 3 feet, with a blanket on the bottom of it. My vision has been a bit worse than usual of late, so I really couldn't make out anything, except what I thought were two ears on the left hand side of the cage. I was on the left-hand side of the bus, in the only open seat.

The two cats were this laid-back. Their owner was so solicitous, but they hardly seemed perturbed. The tuxedo cat was a domestic short-hair, but they looked much like this. As the bus bumped over the ruts in the road, the cats' heads bobbed and swayed along with the peoples' heads.

 

At the next stop, the man who was sitting on the right side of the bus, left his seat and I moved over and up one and I could see then what was in the cage. There were two cats. One was a ginger cat, red-and-white striped and the other was a tuxedo cat. The pair were laying side-by-side and although it was warm on the bus and noisy, they seemed perfectly okay with all of the people getting on and off the bus. The bus was noisier than usual and had worse-than-normal bus shocks, as in non-existent. We may as well have been riding in a Conestoga wagon going west during the 1880s, but these two cats rode along fine, their little heads dipping and bobbing in time, with the rest of us. They were more well-behaved than some of the kids I have encountered on the bus. Their owner, a guy in his mid-30s, wearing a wife-beater, denim shorts, tattooed, with 'banger signs and chains, was standing by them, with another cart with food, kitty litter and litter box and he would occasionally stroke one of them or talk to them.

When I was homeless, one of my roommates, who was given to confabulation told me that someone had chickens on the bus, and I told her she was full of it. Maybe she wasn't. . . nah, she was, because she conflated everything else.

When we arrived at MTC, he was the first one off, cats, cage, cart and all. I stopped and asked the bus driver if that was permissible as I have a pet who needs to see the vet. Mama needs her annual check up and I have been pondering on how I am going to get her to the doctor. The bus driver said, “Well, he should have had two carriers, but yes it is allowed.” Happy day! Now of course, getting Mama to go along with the bus ride will be another story and probably not a happy one!

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE – LETTER “L” – LAUGHTER

LAUGHTER

When I first planned out my theme, I had planned to write about a good blogging buddy, Cary McNeal, who helms, wrangles and writes LOTD (List of The Day). However, he is hard to quantify and he deserves more than just a quick post; a book would probably do him justice. Kind to a fault, and tirelessly combing the internet for oddities, marvels, random craziness and things that defy description, he would be better served with a longer post. Besides, I still owe him for lurking around his site for years, before I ever started to engage with the innerwebz, or blog myself. He thanked me for coming in from the cold, when I took that brave step.

My fellow minion on #teamDamyanti, Guilie Castillo Oriard, who writes and blogs at "Quiet Laughter" and puppy. Who doesn't laugh like this holding a puppy?

So, I looked to the wellspring and inspiration for my Theme: Humor and Humorists and landed on Laughter, and I found out some very interesting things about laughter and laughing. There are certainly physical cues and psychological ones as well, and some of the things that make people laugh are universal to everyone and every culture. But, what I found interesting is that there are schools of thought regarding laughter and what triggers it and if it is organized or unorganized. Geeze! I would never have thought it was that complicated, but then, I know from experience that laughing is good medicine. I have essential tremor, or familial tremor, and before I received Medicare and was able to find a good neurologist and get treatment, the only thing that relieved the tremendous pain associated with this condition would be a hearty laugh. Bring on Cary with LOTD and the folks at Cracked.com! I would laugh myself practically into the “Red Zone” of laughter (apoplexy and hernias – my term) and it would relieve the pain. Noel Coward was right.

For me, a post about laughing, must feature a cat. A laughing cat is even better!

But I did not know that laughter is also sequentially-organized and precisely placed relative to surrounding talk. This places it beyond the category of a mere response to humor and in the category of a tool of diplomacy, as it were. More than a simple external behavior caused by an “inner” state, it is highly communicative and helps to found relationships and accomplish actions. Who knew, when Kissinger was yucking it up with U Thant at the U. N.? Or when Boris Yeltsin was telling Little Ivan jokes to Bill Clinton? Da!

Boris: "How does every Russian joke start?" Bill: "Dunno, Boris." Boris: "By looking over your shoulder." Bill: "Ha ha!" Boris: "Is no joke! Is pravda! Just keeding!"

As mystifying as I found this to be, I also found out that animals laugh. Well, that's probably not a big secret. I think they're laughing at us humans all the time, but that's just a philosophy of mine. There have been studies done with primates, rats and dogs. All have some type of laughing behavior, but what I found most interesting, was the study done with the rats. The rats apparently have a type of “tickle skin” that they like to have rubbed, or tickled. When this was done with a rat subject, the rat would display a positive emotion, or would bond with the human “tickler”. Rats are pretty smart and they are sensitive emotionally; my aunt had one named Snoopy that rode around on her shoulder for years. It was to have been her sons', but the rat took to my aunt and stayed with her almost constantly.

The look on the kitten's face is priceless. I'm not sure if the cat even care that the dog is got practically his whole head in his mouth, but by the expression on the cat's face, something tells me this is not an unusual tableau at the breakfast table!

This is just scratching the surface regarding the role of Laughter in our lives and in the lives of the other creatures on this planet. Just as we have the ability to feel deep sorrow and loss, these are tempered by the wonderful gifts of laughter, joy and most importantly, love!

BOOK RELEASE ANNOUNCEMENT AND RAFFLE-COPTER!!!

Title: Golden Dawn

Author: Aldrea Alien

Genre: Paranormal

Release date: April 18^th, 2014

From now until April 18th, I will be show-casing Aldrea Alien's newest release, Golden Dawn. This will include an raffle-copter (be sure and enter!) and well. . . I'll let her take it from here!

 Family and blood.

After 1100 years, these simple words mean everything to Herald. His life has been ruled by keeping his siblings safe, keeping them from becoming prey whilst feeding on the weaker. His failures have been many and measured by those he has lost. People like his twin brother.

There has always been an enemy to push back or defeat.

Just who the enemy is comes into question when Herald meets the dangerous, angelic creature he is to guard. Wondering where his true loyalties lie is a dangerous thought. No matter whether he chooses family over the heart, it will mean death.

Only the right choice will ensure the life taken is not his.

Buy Links:

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/411514

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/golden-dawn/id828141989

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/golden-dawn-aldrea-alien/1118739415

MuseitUpPublishing: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/coming-soon/april-2014/golden-dawn-detail

Bookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/golden-dawn

Omnilit: https://www.omnilit.com/product-goldendawn-1429463-234.html

CoffeetimeRomance: http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookStore/pubs_product_book_info/museitup-publishing-c-98/golden-dawn-p-11898

Andrea Alien

Author Bio:

Born and raised in New Zealand, Aldrea Alien lives on a small farm with her family, including a menagerie of animals. Since discovering a love of writing at the age of twelve, she hasn't found an ounce of peace from the characters plaguing her mind.

Website: http://www.aldreaalien.com

Blog: http://thardrandia.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Aldrea-Alien/262519090516776

Twitter: https://twitter.com/@AldreaAlien

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7328363.Aldrea_Alien

a Rafflecopter giveaway!!

A-to-Z Challenge 2014 - Amusement

(Warning: Containts Adult Language)

I participated in this challenge last year on the spur of the moment and had a great time. I didn't exactly have a theme and although I have one this year, it is broad in scope; I picked “HUMOR AND HUMORISTS” because I am a “pantser” in that I write by the seat of my pants, seldom edit, and just go with whatever comes into my head. This can be terrific if one has a good grasp of vocabulary and sentence structure and can write essays or mediocre short stories fairly quickly. It sucks when you write novels; believe me. I am the voice of experience in this. I have a great novel on paper and a great novel running around in my head; however, they are not the same book. I just haven't worked up the gumption to sit my happy ass down in my writing chair and put them together. I've been too busy lolling about in my gaming chair, which is the same chair, by the way, as my writing chair, playing Runescape and giving people hell, who deserve having hell given them, to do any editing, but that is neither here nor there and has nothing whatsoever to do with humor, but is one HELL of a run-on sentence, which should be avoided at all costs, which if I were teaching English grammar, I would admonish my students to avoid. But, I digress. Still. Damn! My mother, the English teacher would have been proud of the above , right there!

Just what does make us amused? By amused, I mean of course, what makes us laugh and tickles our funny bones? I think it is fair to say that a sense of humor is almost as personal as a person's concept of what faith they follow or why they vote a certain way. There is no general formula for a sure-fire laugh-getter and I find, at least in my case, the more obvious the joke, the more stale and failed the attempt becomes.

                                                                                                    courtesy: blog.pavelife.com

I think, that certain forces come into play when it comes to things that make us laugh. Universality for one. One of the reasons people like a comedian like Bill Cosby, or Jim Gaffigan are funny, although they are completely different is that we can relate to them. Bill Cosby used to do stand-up about his childhood and it resonated with every kid I knew growing up in the 60s. Jim Gaffigan and his absurdities with “Hot Pockets” is just as funny, because it is absurd, just in his voicing of it. 

                                                                                               courtesy: thrillist.com                                                                          

Some people are just bowled over by physical comedy, which more sophisticated comedians in the 30s, 40s and 50s dismissed as low-brow, but I defy anyone to not laugh at the stupidities presented on America's Home Videos. I will also sit down and watch the Three Stooges, the Marx Brothers, who are screamingly funny, to this day, and the physical comedy of Chevy Chase, particularly his “Fletch” series. Woody Allen's earliest movies combined sophisticated angst, Freudian dread with slapstick in a way that has never been paralleled.

courtesy: clclt.com

"Love and Death" by Woody Allen is a great movie and a huge joke on Russian Literature; from Pushkin to Gogol to Chekhov, no one got out of this movie unscathed! This is a reference to Dostoyoevsky's "The Idiot"

But what of more sophisticated comedians and humorists? George Carlin was probably the best of those, as profane as he could be. He was also taught by Jesuits, as was Bill Maher and myself; I have found that anyone with any kind of Jesuitical background, (maybe it's something in the rarefied atmosphere) leaves us with a playfulness for the language, which does take a certain flair to appreciate. Be that as it may, I appreciate a good pun, which as my long-suffering mother used to say to my father whenever he came up with some tin-eared horror, “Glenn Wallace, enough pun-ishment!” And so it goes.

Randomness and random anything cracks me up. Stuff that just pops up out of the blue will have me on the floor rolling around, holding my sides in a red-hot minute. When I was homeless, I had two roommates, and one had already gone to bed, and I was already in bed. The third was getting ready for bed, and I heard her say, “Okay, I'm going to eat this turkey now, and go to sleep!” I laughed like a hyena for 15 minutes. She finally walked into my little cubby-hole to find out what was so funny. I wiped the tears from my eyes. “You're eating a turkey? At 11 o'clock at night?” She looked at me and snorted. “A cookie, you asshole.” Off I went again. “I liked it the other way.”

Amusement is to be found in stunts in movies. I love Jackie Chan movies. I have never seen such well-timed or closely-executed stunts in moves, save “A Fish Called Wanda,” with people disappearing in the nick of time, behind doors, into closets underneath sinks, all while the unsuspecting person is kept completely in the dark as to their presence! It's a marvel to behold, while you're laughing at the ridiculousness of the whole preposterous plot.

With Owen Wilson as some kind of Zen-Surfer-Cowboy. Can't miss.

The last are the authors and writers that have amused me, past and present. I have admired Robert Brockway at Cracked.com for years and we have struck up some sort of passing-back-and-forth-of-Tweets-and-snarky-notes-thing,-that-doesn't-really-qualify-as-a-friendship,-but-more-of-an-awareness-of-one- another-thing. I will be honoring him with a post on my letter “B” whether he likes it or not. I haven't told him yet, because, as per usual, I didn't get around to it. I am sure he won't mind. I think. He is one HELL of a writer and a very funny man and I truly, truly respect him and his craft! Have a great and fun, A-to-Z challenge, 2014 everyone!

THE GREAT THEME REVEAL FOR THE A-TO-Z BLOG CHALLENGE 2014

I had to think about this whole theme thing, long and hard. You see, last year, I jumped into this challenge at the last minute, kind of like the way I jumped into NaNoWriMo in 2012. A-to-Z, 2013 turned out spectacularly for me, in that I actually finished the damned thing! I did not finish NaNoWriMo in 2012, but quit a mere 1637 words into it, because at the time I was trying to cope with severe and untreated symptoms of Parkinsonism, or essential tremor, – another movement disorder that is closely related to Parkinson's Disease – which was making my life an unmitigated hell. I was still sans treatment at the time of the A-to-Z challenge, but was undergoing testing, after finding this neat-o neurologist at the Parkinson's Center of Excellence on the campus of USF. It's been an arduous journey and is not yet done, but I'm digressing, and I want to remain on point. Suffice it to say, I am being treated and it helps; it's not a cure, but I'm feeling much better and the tremors and pain and all the other assorted psychological aspects of the disease have abated. I'm still crazier than hell, but I know what to do about it.

I finished last year, by dint of keeping my posts short and snappy and just having fun with reading others' posts and commenting. When the most awesome Damyanti announced that she was co-hosting again this year and looking for assistants, I jumped on board. Damyanti has been a magnificent presence at the A-to-Z challenge that was started by our own Arlee Bird, several years ago. As I have become a larger presence in the blogging world, I find myself becoming part of a larger community that spans the globe and that, all by itself, is pretty terrific!

It also didn't hurt that I actually finished NaNoWriMo 2013 this year and have a manuscript, albeit, an unpolished one to show for my efforts. But that's a story for another day. This is not about the other blogging communities (shout out to IWSG, ROW80 and Blog Blitz!) but our A-to-Z Challenge; 26 letters of the alphabet in 26 days! A post for each letter, every day, with the exceptions of Sundays, during the month of April.

So, without further ado, and since I am on the team that is responsible for the assistance and creation of “themes” for people who are having issues with letters (“Q”, “X”, and “Z” are the usual culprits) I will reveal my theme: HUMOR AND HUMORISTS.

Yep, it came to me yesterday, while I was sitting in the ER waiting room for about the eleventy-billionth time – please name your next wing after me, TGH – with another stupid eye problem, that HUMOR AND HUMORISTS is the perfect theme for me!

I've got to be the only person in the world (well, maybe not the only one) that is legally blind, and has Parkinsonism so severe, that at times, when I make a taco salad, it looks like a piñata exploded in the kitchen. I have no depth perception, so everything is the same size. A mouse the size of a canoe ran through my bedroom, recently, where my computers are, and I almost jumped into the closet. When JC wanted to know what in Sam Hill was going on, I told him I was practicing the dance steps for “What Does the Fox Say?” So he bought me a Leopard Hat and Shirt at the Dollar Store and now I'm gonna have to learn the damned thing. “Ring-ding-ding-ding-a-ding-ding-ding!”

But at least I'm not the only person in this house that does stupid stuff. During the Olympics, we were looking at the news, and the sports announcer in Sochi, Russia for no discernible reason, helpfully mentioned that there was snow in every state of the United States, except Florida. We were watching some Olympics; ice-skating, where every routine was skated to Tchaikovsky, blaringly and hollowly, with echoes that lasted for eons, so that the music became just a huge A-minor smear. The only way I knew the piece was over, was when the people on the ice were no longer twirling, or falling down.

Then, we watched some more Olympics. Curling, with the Norwegians and their pants; all looking like someone was on one hell of a bad acid trip during the designing, or else the athletes raided their grandmothers' quilting bins and did a one-off. They were sporting colors that don't exist in nature, or at least on this planet. Ten minutes of this and I'm thinking that cleaning the house isn't such a bad idea.

Cut to the local news. The sports comes on; thank God the Norwegians and their Dayglo pants aren't part of this broadcast. JC pipes up, “I hear that there's snow in every state except Florida.” I look over at Alex, and we both just lose it. JC listens to us howl and yawp like hyenas for a few minutes and then asks what is so funny. We tell him, “We were here when the guy said there is snow in every state except Florida!” And off we went again. JC makes it worse when he says, “I didn't hear that!” Oh. Jesus. Stop. Now. Now. Because, I'm in the Red Zone of Laughter; the kind of laughing where you may have apoplexy and get a hernia. JC is hard of hearing and he finally catches on and gets into the moment and he has that sort of hearty laughter that makes you laugh, even if you don't know what in the hell is going on.

Laughing is good for the soul and is certainly good for the body; it helps to release endorphins and they are good for nerve endings. I make it a rule to laugh as much as possible, but kindly. Never cruelly, or at the expense of someone else. God has given us the capacity to do many things and there is no injunction against humor and laughter in any religion or faith, culture or nationality that I know of.

Some of my posts will be on funny topics; some will be on funny writers, present and past. Last year, I started out this challenge with an honest-to-God spreadsheet with all of the letters A, B, C, and so on, with the topics listed. I think I had this half-assed notion that I was going to fill it out and hand it in to Arlee Bird for a grade at the end of the challenge, or something. I had a topic picked for each letter, but that went out the window the second day of the challenge, when I wrote about Beethoven and his 3^rd Symphony, instead of Bravery. I'm glad I did so. I may have a theme picked out, but I have no earthly clue what I'm going to do for the letter “A”, but I've got a few days to think about it. It'll come to me.

ROW 80 4th QUARTER - POST 4 – TRIP BACK IN TIME TO GESTAPO HEADQUARTERS AND JEFF’S DEATH, PART 1

After my much-anticipated trip to the Neurologist and what I was sure would be a slam-dunk “bed-side” diagnosis of my Parkinson’s Disease (you have to exhibit 2 of 4 symptoms, there are NO quantifiable tests), I came home in a frazzled state of mind. Worse than my usual state of mind and felt I had been set up. I had all of my paper work and all of my ammunition; MRIs, EMG test results and corroborating documentation from leading neurologists.

The verdict? “We’re not sure you have Parkinson’s Disease; you also have malnutrition, you need your thyroid checked, you take B-12 injections every month, you’re blind. You have mild neuropathy.”  They blinked at me and here came the zinger, “You’re bipolar.” More blinking. “We must rule out stoofs.” This after almost two hours of neurological TORTURE and making me run into walls and try to touch their goddamned fingers. I CAN’T SEE, YOU STUPID SHITS; DON’T MAKE ME DO IT 20 TIMES. I am not an act in a circus.

No. Fucking. Shit. Guilty to all of the above, but for one, assbites. This shit has gotten WAY worse, every fucking symptom I just told you about over the last 2 MONTHS. The tremors, the pain, the ear-hooting, the 1000-yard stare non-vision, the neuropathy, all of it. I’ve had all of that other shit for years. So, tell me, Dr. Mengeles, why the FUCK didn’t you just come out and say “We’re going to wait until Medicare will pick up the tab in March of 2013. We have no intention of lessening your suffering until then.” Fuck you, you Nazis. And Dr. Mengele? If you ever, EVER barge into a room again and say to me “Why are you here?” in that tone of voice as your first word of greeting to me? I will behead you. I mean it. You suck. You can just goose-step right out into traffic.

This Guy Would Have Been a Better Doctor

I was all set to go off and sulk for 2 months or stay up for a month or set my hair on fire and run down Nebraska Avenue, 33605, but the last time I chose number 2, it earned me a stay at the State-Subsidized Happy Acres. Rather then eat a bunch of pills, stay up for several weeks, have a psychotic break, try to climb in the fridge, go back and play “Wheel O’ Death” with those fine folks at St. Joseph’s Hospital, I decided to write about it instead. Besides, and this is the worst, not the possibility of dying; the fact that I would do something so wantonly callous and thoughtless to JC and possibly leave him behind. That leaves me colder than cold.

One of our compatriots from the shelter died, precisely 5 weeks after Wade died. Jeff wasn’t well and didn’t really take care of himself, but he had a companion who looked after him, Dana McKinney. Ms. McKinney is a dear and loving woman. She promised Jeff, that he wouldn’t die homeless, and she saw to it. I weep now as I write this. I couldn’t always understand their connection. They were rather like 2 children. He would get a bit huffy and leave her behind, but in the end would always return where she would be waiting patiently. Sometimes, when people aren’t well, they require a great deal of patience. We all require a great deal of patience.

She would come by and visit us after we moved, every so often and they were doing okay. He was still working, but had put on a great deal of weight. I didn’t really care for him, because he could be loud, and I was concerned for her. As always, I’m on the outside. I once again, for the millionth time, have had the lesson, “Thou Shouldn’t Judge,” driven home. So has JC. He was critical of Jeff as well and worried about Dana; we needn’t  have.

They moved about 2 months ago. About 2 weeks ago, Jason, who still lives at Happy Acres texted us with a very confused message about Dana and Jeff had died. I called Dana and got an answering machine. She, then called Jason, who called me and we were on some weird 3-way phone connection. Jason is in the main Guy/Frat Party house standing next to Mike, the Manager who’s on the house phone talking with Dana, who’s on the hospital bedside phone at St. Joseph’s with Jeff, who’s in the process of dying. Jason’s on the phone with me, so we have this fucked-up round robin of death thing going on. I want to do nothing so much as hang up the phone. This is so Nebraska Avenue, 33605. Touching, yet a scramble-fuck-wheel-o-mortality of hilarious. These are dear, dear people. We really do care. Possibly because in many cases, we’re the only family we have, as fucked up as we are.

I can hear beeping and yelling from the hospital. I can hear some kind of football game “12 to 3 Bobcats!” and cheering. I can hear somebody threatening someone with a knife “Yo Dude, dem’s my Twinks; I be cuttin’ yo ass! Git yo hands off ‘em!” and rap: “BOOM-dada BOOM-dada BOOM-dada” in the Frat House. Dana’s quiet hitched-in sobs. Jason’s breathing. Mike and I are silent. I’m standing next to JC. He’s looking down at me with his blue eyes. He has such blue, blue eyes. Beautiful eyes, with black lashes. We always argue over who has the prettiest blue eyes. He does, by miles. I look down; I’m welling up. Gradually, I notice the sounds dying out, the TV goes off, music stops, the banter stops, I can’t even hear Jason’s breathing. Just Dana’s quiet  sobbing. It’s absolutely silent…. No beeping. Utter silence for maybe 20 seconds. A long time on a phone. First Dana, then Jason says, quickly, “Jeff’s gone.”

More Front Porch Drivel and My Half-assed Views on Stuff and Things...

I haven't been around for a bit, because (1) it's  hotter than hell here in Tampa, and (2) my new hobby as a professional patient has kicked up a notch. Nothing like going in to get one thing fixed and the Doc finds 40 more cans of previously un-opened worms. Yay. Enough of the drama.

Well, Mr. C has been at it again. My wonderful friend H had a run in with him recently. We're all still recovering from the encounter. H is one of my favorite people of all time. She is without doubt, one of the funniest, most hilariously mordant people I have ever met. She has a razor-sharp sense of the absurd and appreciates idiocies and idiots of all kinds. This whole thing started one night, when we were all sitting on the front porch, playing dice or Uno or Whist or something. Maybe it was Euchre. Well, Mr. C was in the kitchen, "cleaning" his dishes. This consisted of him rinsing them, and trying to stuff them in the dishwasher. The only problem; the dishwasher is almost through the rinse cycle and his dishes are dirty. H was sitting closest to the open window on the porch. The following conversation went like this:

H: Those dishes are clean. Don't put your dirty dishes in there.

Mr. C: (grunt) mumble, mumble... (clatter dishes around to distract H)

H: Ya dumbass; don't put your dirty dishes in with the clean dishes. Dumbass.

Mr. C: mumble, mumble... (proceeds to take Dishwasher detergent and pour it into the empty Dawn Dish Detergent bottle. Uses up all of Dishwasher detergent trying to clean dishes with dish rag)

H: Dumbass; that's for the Dishwashing machine, ya dumbass. You don't wash the dishes manually with that soap. Dumbass.

And so on...

Well, we ended up having to use shampoo to wash our own dishes until we could buy new "house" cleaning-type stuff. But I digress.

A few nights later, H was cooking dinner for several of us (we take turns with chores) and was finishing up the supper. Mr. C came into the kitchen and wanted to cook. The kitchen is small and there is very limited counter space. H had taken up most of the counter, but was finishing up and starting to put things away. Well, this wasn't immediate enough for Mr. C. He apparently was King or Grand Poo-Bah or Head Tamale or Top Banana in Cameroon and expects to be obeyed IMMEDIATELY. So, he says to H, "I wish for counter space." H looks at him, and says, "Bite me." Mr. C. looks rather befuddled and says, "I do not wish to bite  you; I wish for counter space." Mirth and hilarity ensued.

This, in a roundabout, diverting way illuminates something I have learned about myself fairly recently. Without getting saccharine, preachy and all that kind of "life's lessons learned" nonsense, I realize that I really have come to appreciate and enjoy what I have, as little as it may seem to someone else. I've had more peaceful surroundings and much more material wealth, but I was either unhappy, or ill and I never took the time to really enjoy and appreciate all the other people and things around me. Yeah, I know, boring truisms, but there it is.

All anyone needs to do is look at what is a partial list of blogs that I follow, to get a sense of what I appreciate and value in life. Heh.

Coming next: GAME SHOW, WORST I.D. CONTEST, and FEATURED RECIPE OF THE WEEK!!! only found here at Homelesschroniclesintampa.