Homicidal Tendencies And All
November 19, 2004 ... 12:09 p.m.
Oscar: “I can so cook!”
Eibisch: “Alpha Bits don’t count.”
Oscar: “How do you think I manage most of the year?”
Eibisch: “I don’t know.”
Oscar: “Maybe magical sparkly gnomes leave me roast beef every night?”
I was going to write about how, one year ago today, it was my fourth full day in the hospital and I was very tired because my IV had fallen out again (third time!) around 1a.m. and it took a nurse nearly 45 minutes of sticking me with a needle before she finally just stuck it in the middle of my arm and how I was still getting labs drawn twice a day and still nobody knew what was wrong and how it would be another before they could tell me anything (“Good news! You do NOT have HIV!” Um, yeah, thanks.) and how I was three days away from a biopsy and how I just kept getting sicker and sicker and my family and my doctors were thinking I wouldn’t make it out of the hospital only they didn’t bother to tell me that and how, at this time last year, I was sitting in bed eating my lunch, which consisted of a cherry popsicle (because I don’t drink coffee or tea and didn’t want rubber jello or the beef broth -- liquid diets SUCK) and watching Golden Girls on Lifetime.
Yes. That was going to be my topic.
But.
When I got the mail this afternoon, this is whatgreeted me ...
That, my dears, is Captain Gel (r) with Bobby Knight -- after Texas Tech kicked our ass in Houston. Captain Gel, as you can see, is quite broken up by the loss and is being comforted by his former coach and current mentor. Or, in my interpretation, Knight is congratulating Coach Sucks-a-lot on his continuous conning of many UIowa faithful into believing he can coach.
[ed. note: I have no idea how that red thing got on there, I did not do that. But, hey, shoe fitting and all.]
And, far right, we have the Junior section hottie -- he’s got a body like ... whoa ... even if he is a walking physical therapy experiment.
Anyway, it’s a nice, glossy ad to sell tickets. This game is in Chicago, but they are advertising all kinds of special deals for tickets to Carver -- our home arena. Never needed that before. Never had a problem selling tickets, let alone Big Ten season tickets, before. Before, when we won 20+ games a season. Before, when an NCAA tourney berth was nearly inevitable. Before the winningest coach in UIowa history fired, and now Drake has him. For Captain Gel.
Bootsie and I rented Elf and then spent a half hour discussing the song “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”.
I have heard 6 or 7 versions and, see, it’s not just a duet -- the man is coaxing the woman to stay. In most of the versions it sounds like neither party is even remotely interested.
The best version, in my not so humble opinion, is Dean Martin’s. Sigh. Dean Martin could coax me into or out of anything. Anything.
What’s with all the furor over the Desperate Housewives NFL lead in? This is getting out of hand. A woman’s bare back is offensive? Or perhaps it’s something else that the “Family” associations find offensive ... maybe that it was Terrell Owens instead of Drew Henson. But we wouldn’t want to admit that, would we? Or not airing Saving Private Ryan? Let us not air a movie that shows actual, or rather near-actual, events because they are violent and graphic (but let’s watch CSI and make Grand Theft Auto and Halo our #1 video games) or the children -- think of the children -- might hear swear words (10’ll get you 20--your kids probably know more swear words than you do). Primetime airing time the problem? Bull. “Lost” airs at 7 p.m. CST on Wednesday. Prime time, baby. And they’ve shown blood spurting from a stab wound, a guy sucked into a jet engine, someone doing heroin, a woman in only a bra (twice!) and panties (once), a bloody and mangled corpse in a tree, “afterglow”, blood pouring from a head wound (twice!), a skinned boar and the roasting of said boar. I’m sure there’s more but, amazingly, I haven’t been traumatized enough to remember. Imagine that. Except for the bees. The bees were traumatizing.
No. I think the reasons behind not airing “Saving Private Ryan” are a little more sinister. I think it’s for the same reason the news is not allowed to show us flag-draped coffins from Iraq or Afghanistan.
One of which, last week, was an Iowa National Guardsman -- not an Airman or a Marine or Army or Navy -- NATIONAL GUARD, people!
A video game is one thing. But 1,200 coffins and a realistic depiction of war? No, no, no. Can’t have that. Keep the reality of war far away or the public might start having a problem and Dubya needs to invade Iran for ... some reason that 59,459.765 dolts will think sounds reasonable. Possibly “There is a clear connection between Iran and Al Qaeda” or “Iran has nuke-you-ler weapons aimed at us” (HELLO! SO DOES NORTH KOREA!! Of course, North Korea does not have oil...) or “Iran is full of evil-doers” (Sudan, anyone??? Of course, Sudan does not have oil and, really, when it comes right down to it -- who cares about human rights violations, atrocities and genocide?) or the War for Dummies excuse “Iran is only one letter away from being Iraq.”
Because, seriously, does anyone honestly believe the “tramitization of America” excuse? Do you? Do you think Dubya is traumatized? Clinton? Powell? Condoleeza? Do you? Because I guran-damn-tee you that half, if not the vast majority, of our political and military leaders watched Lee Harvey Oswald murdered on live tv. And people my age are obviously living in reclusive woodland shacks after Hinckley shot Reagan on live tv.
Indeed I, myself, had just recovered from the trauma of the Challenger exploding on live tv and the sight of Nicolette Sheridan’s shoulders has me back on the edge. The EDGE, people! I am a mere manifesto away from becoming a unabomber!
I mean, I saw the Super Bowl Half Time Boobgate live on tv. Was it intentional? An honest wardrobe malfunction? I don’t know and, quite frankly, I was more traumatized by being forced to listen to Justin Timberlake whine sing.
I saw Platoon in the theatre and I watched M*A*S*H and Tour of Duty religiously. I am not traumatized. I am weird, yes. Traumatized, no. I was made to understand the difference between “acting” and “reality” and that, although these shows depicted a reality, they weren’t my reality.
Oy, America. Get a grip, before I do something drastic to get away from you and move to ... Berkeley.
Just read that veterans in our region have a 6 month wait to be seen at the VA hospital, because several have closed in the last four years. Huh. Smooth, Bush military voters. And their imminent danger pay went down, their time away from family pay went down. Hopefully, they’re somewhere like Germany or England or Hawaii and are in virtually no danger of anything but boredom. Or sand fleas.
Way to protect your benefits. Say hi to the Ayatollah for me.
These are the first holidays without my brother. He was in the residential treatment facility, but he still called and we did take him out to eat and stuff. Every so often, I start crying because it’s hard to think of him in that place. And he was so skinny and little that last time I saw him. And I wonder if he’s sleeping or if his clothes fit or if he still has his toys or if they’re cutting his hair the way he likes. Will he have turkey? Pumpkin Pie? Does he get cucumbers (his favorite)? I wonder and hope and pray that he finds a family.
A lot of the time I feel like I failed him. Like I could’ve or should’ve done something more or different. Like what, I don’t know. Just something. I wonder if he thinks about us. Most of all, I wonder if he remembers me. If he does now, for how much longer?
We aren’t allowed to have any contact with him or even see him, so I left a bunch of clothes and a Thanksgiving dinner -- canned goods, frozen turkey, etc. -- at the center’s donation area. I left a bag with 3 cucumbers there, too. He might get cucumber slices on Thanksgiving. I think that would be nice. Maybe one of his counselors will hear about them and maybe intimate to the boy that he is thought of. I’d like to think that might happen. Wishful thinking, I’m sure.
I miss him.
Currently Reading: Six Questions of Socrates by Christopher Phillips
Listening To: Wander This World by Jonny Lang
...let me up, I’ve had enough...
