Here We Go Again

Remember Domino Rally? I never had a set but I wanted the deluxe set featuring the rocket launcher.

Well, I didn’t want to, but I began the process of visiting with my pain doctor after a three year hiatus. 

Since January, after a slip and fall down an icy hill (see previous post) my piriformis muscle, or butt muscle, has been giving me trouble. It feels like Ben Affleck beat me down with his “FAH Q” paddle as seen in Dazed and Confused. Not like a single hazing, but every single day. I thought it’d go away by now, but it hasn’t. It hurts every time I bend my waist. I fear sneezing. Also, sitting on hard surfaces is awful. I would benefit from one of those inflatable donuts used for a broken tailbone or hemorrhoids that could double as a pool floaty, preferably in pink.

My DRG stimulator doesn’t help with my piriformis in any way. However, before I was considered a candidate for the stimulator, I received five nerve blocks in my lower back that unsuccessfully gave me any relief, except for this very same pain-in-the-ass that I’m experiencing right now. Knowing this pain can be resolved, I decided to call my doctor and make an appointment to discuss another potential nerve block.

Sounds like no big deal, but it’s a HUGE deal for me, because I’m anxious AF. First of all, my doctor is all the way downtown at Rush. This means I have to be chauffeured by my wife because I can’t physically drive in stop-and-go traffic. (I probably shouldn’t be driving at all due to my foot drop and half my foot is numb. I can’t feel the pedals very well. Once, one of my doctors asked me who cleared me to drive and I told her she signed off on it and I instantly saw guilt on her face. That’s right, YOU DID THIS! Shame on you!) Second, I’ll be around people at the hospital. Like, a lot of people and they’ll probably be breathing. GROSS. At least masks are still required at medical facilities. Third, this is the initial visit, which means at least one more trip back. And finally, what is this going to cost? Can you believe some countries have free healthcare? Absolute madness!

While I’m worried, I am looking forward to seeing my doctor because he’s good at his job and, as I’ve mentioned before, he looks like Sean Astin, which makes me think about The Goonies, the LotR trilogy, and Stranger Things. When is that coming back? See what I mean!?! My doctor is the best. I also plan to discuss the battery life left in my stimulator because if I can get a two-fer deal in one shot, let’s do it. BOGO! Doc, while you’re injecting me with anesthetic just grab a scalpel, cut me open and replace my batteries with those new fancy rechargeable ones all in one shot. Perhaps I can save some time, money and stress. What do you say?

So, I scheduled my appointment and now I wait for two more weeks to pass. Anxiously. Please stay tuned and in the meantime, send me your thoughts and prayers because they really do make all the difference, but not really at all.

ICE!!!

I insist that you read the headline in Tom Thibodeau voice. I fell on that ice-covered hill in the background so that's why I gave it my middle digit. And while it doesn't look like much of a hill, I assure you that there's at least 5 degrees of slope happening there...at least.

It's winter and in northern Illinois and that means ice and the hazard of potential falls that come with it. This is a PSA for the elderly and disabled: Be careful on ice.

Our senior dog turned 14 on Sunday. According to this Pedigree calculator, our Treeing Walker Coonhound is 103 in human years! We've been good friends for a third of my life and he's been around for my daughter's entire life. Since about the age of 10, every single day we have with him feels like we've unlocked a bonus level. To celebrate his birthday we did an early morning walk in the woods. Then we enjoyed an afternoon nap while the Bears sucked some more for the last time this season. At dinner, he enjoyed some very rare filet mignon and for dessert we baked him a dog-approved cupcake with a candle, that amazingly, he blew out right on cue with a sneeze the very moment we finished singing Happy Birthday. Baller. Everything was just dandy.

On Monday, we attempted a short neighborhood walk during the kid's P.E. time slot because once again we are remote learning after NINE STAFF MEMBERS tested positive for covid last week, but this isn’t the time or place for my opinions on that. Unfortunately, the sidewalk outside was icy and the hound slipped. Soon after, we noticed blood dripping from a mangled-looking dewclaw and he was limping. We quickly returned home and called the veterinarian and he was seen within the hour. After an exam and X-ray we learned our dog broke his dewclaw and needed surgery to remove the entire broken digit. And for icing on the cake, they recommended a tooth cleaning. The total estimate was near $2K. Goddamn. First thing that needed to be done was bloodwork to make sure he could handle the anesthesia for the surgery. Like a jerk, my initial reaction was "2,000 FUCKING DOLLARS!?! Are you kidding me? Dude, he's 14. How much longer does he have? And for fuck's sake, another tooth cleaning? Can't we teach him how to use a straw or just buy wet food?" I eventually stopped sounding like my old man and agreed with my wife and kid that we'd do whatever it takes to help the dog. Like I said, (through gritted teeth) everyday is a bonus. They wrapped up his wounded leg and sent him home with us. Now we just had to wait for a return call from the vet with bloodwork results to make sure he has a good shot at surviving surgery at his age.

Pathetic-looking old AF dog.

The next day while still waiting for the return call from the vet, I went for my daily walk at the nearby state park. I try to go to the park five days a week and hike for at least three miles every visit. The dog used to come with, but he's just too old now and is unable to do it. Yes, I am disabled and that sounds like a lot of walking, but it's the only exercise I can do now and it's cheap because you can just go outside and do it. I suppose I could get a Pelotone bike or a MIRROR, but I like being outside and I already do enough self-loathing that I don't need another asshole yelling at me to push myself harder while exercising. Anyhow, the paths at the park were icy and halfway through I slipped on an incline and fell on my side. At first I panicked trying to grab onto anything to halt my descent and I stopped for just a moment, like Ralphie from A Christmas Story at the top of the mall slide, I had a temporary moment of clarity where I finally remembered what to ask Santa Claus for Christmas, "I want an official Red Ryder carbine action 200-shot range model air rifle!" And like Santa Claus who responded with, "you'll shoot your eye out, kid" and a kick to the face, I could no longer hold on and gravity took over. At first I managed a "NOOOOOOOO!" but then I accepted my fate and relaxed. I slid about 25 feet and finally stopped and I just laid there for a minute. I was muddy, my back hurt but I could still walk. Unlike the dog, all my digits were fine. Except for my ego and some general soreness, there was nothing wrong with me. So I got up, finished the walk and returned home. 

When I returned I found my DRG iPod controller and made sure my stimulator was still functioning properly and then decided to take it easy. As I recuperated in bed that afternoon my wife informed me that the dog's bloodwork was complete. He is as healthy as a puppy so we scheduled the surgery for next week. I swear to Christ if we don't get another six months out of this dog...just kidding, he's the greatest dog ever, even if he listens for shit.

Fast-forward to Wednesday and I decided to take some precautions before my hike. A couple years ago my sister had bought me a pair of crampons for stability on the ice and my wife dug them out of the closet for me to use. I never used them because I feared how it'd feel under my CRPS foot and I worried about my foot drop, but I had to try them. I arrived at the park and opened the box containing the brand-new traction devices. I quickly read the instructions and found an "L" on the first cleat so I securely attached it to my left foot. Then I grabbed the other one, which was also an "L" and put it on my CRPS-affected right foot. It felt funny because it was on the wrong foot, but it is not like I could exchange them now and, honestly, everything I feel with my right foot feels odd, so I went with it. It was like night and day. I was booking it. That hill I fell on the day before, I no longer had to sidestep down it like a mountain goat. I went full-speed ahead like a boss. At one point I caught up with one of the park’s regulars that I saw earlier and he couldn't believe I had covered so much ground in such a short time. He said "when you get to be my age, you take it slow because it's hard to move." I still haven't shared with him that I'm disabled. I have learned by watching Cobra Kai that you shouldn't show weakness because it will be exploited by your opponent. That’s right, I said opponent because he parks in my spot sometimes. In the end, I made great time and didn't have any falls.

I can't dance because I only have two left feet crampons.

I've now been home for about four hours since my hike and I haven't had any residual effects from wearing the crampons on my CRPS foot. As long as the trails are icy, I think that I'll continue to wear them. Also, I noticed they make a metal-like jingle sound as if I was wearing cowboy spurs so now I can either imagine that I'm Clint Eastwood or a Mandalorian. I mean they're basically the same thing, right? I highly recommend crampons even if you have CRPS. I think I should design some for the dog so we don't have to fear the ice any longer. Perhaps my invention will rival Charlie Rutherford Kelly's Kitten Mittens and I'll finally be able to make it rain.

CRPS Awareness Month

CRPS feels like this illustration. Also, orange is the color for CRPS awareness. Coincidence?

November, the PENULTIMATE month of the year, is Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome Awareness Month.  

I was going to copy and paste the Mayo Clinic’s breakdown of this rare disease but it was boring and it would take up way too much precious digital internet space, so here’s a LINK instead. 

According to the McGill Pain Index, CRPS rates higher than chronic back pain, fibromyalgia, and even childbirth. Now this disease really sucks, but childbirth? I witnessed our daughter’s birth and that didn’t look like a walk in the park. High five, wife! This makes me think about that Arnold Schwarzenegger movie Junior. Now, I’ve never seen this classic, but if he didn’t give birth by caesarean section, I guarantee his pain was much, much worse than having a CRPS flare-up. Also, did you know Danny DeVito was in that movie? Those two were magical in Twins, which I’ve seen about a hundred times at age eight. Maybe I should see Junior. (Looks up Schwarzenegger/DeVito movies…OMG, what is Triplets!?! Not only Danny and Arnold, but Eddie Murphy and Tracy Morgan, too!)

CRPS is an exhausting painful nervous system disorder. The pain fluctuates and is located primarily in my lower right leg. I call it the Devil’s Caress because, at times, it burns so bad that it feels like I stepped in lava. On top of that, every step I take feels like walking barefoot on LEGO. The cause of my CRPS is either from the moment I broke my pelvis in a multi-vehicle accident caused by a distracted driver or by the emergency surgeries that I underwent to have my life saved because of that accident. It’s a chronic condition, meaning it will never stop. I no longer take any medications, but I do use a neurostimulation device to reduce the pain. It took three years to become eligible for the stimulator which helps dull the pain by about 50%. My leg is withering away due to atrophy. When I stretch, my leg cramps up. When I get dressed, I have to sit, otherwise it looks like I’m attempting the crane kick and I risk falling. I can’t stand or sit in one place for long. The only exercise that I can do with a minimal increase in pain is walking, so I power walk like a mug everywhere depending on the weather. Colder temperatures increase my pain sensitivity. Illinois winters are rough sometimes. I probably should move to a warmer climate, but fuck Florida. I can’t sleep through the night due to insomnia caused by the pain, or it was my TBI. Anyway, I take cannabis to aid my rest. Some other weird issues that I have going on with my affected limb is hair loss, skin color is blue and it is 5-7 degrees colder than my left leg on average. Shit’s all jacked.

Unfortunately, for me, there is no cure for CRPS. Distractions are the best way to live with this disease, so with that I will now end this post and read the latest book my therapist has recommended. The last book I read that he suggested, The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment, was recently touted by Aaron Rodgers and, yeah, I don’t want to say Rodgers “should stick to sports,” because that’s how my favorite sports blog ended…however, now that I think about it, the writers of that blog quit en masse and started their own new better blog. Perhaps, Mr. Rodgers, you should stick to sports and leave for a better football division, far, far away from the NFC North so Mr. Justin Fields can own you, Green Bay Packers. 

 

You Look Fine

 

That guy looks fine. Knowing everything I know about him, I should let him know that.

It’s been 10 months since I last made a post. Why? Honestly, there hasn’t been much new going on with my condition. It is still painful, that’s why it is called chronic and I also feel no one wants to hear a complainer. As I write this, I pause for a moment and wiggle my right ankle and, yup, it still feels like I just rolled my ankle. Super tight, a slight burning feeling as if someone is rubbing my leg with fine sandpaper and overall discomfort in my lower limb. It makes me feel nauseated. I observe my calf and it continues to twitch uncontrollably as if a microscale alien wants to burst out of my leg. Nothing new. I’ve plateaued. I try not to think about it. I am mastering the art of distraction, but with my PTSD I have found that, occasionally, I still lose my shit over nothing. Because of that, I started going to therapy at the start of spring so my toolbox that I use to deal with my overactive brain has been upgraded. And if one of my tools breaks I simply need to stop by the local Sears to have it replaced for free and… oh, Sears is defunct? Dang. The times they are a changin’.

One thing that I could do better when it comes to handling my emotions is when I get the obligatory, well-meaning comment “You look fine.” It’s usually from someone who knows what I’ve been through offering what they think they have to. They look at me from head to toe, and force a empathetic-looking smile. GAWD, I'd rather you talk about sports or the weather —How did Nagy do a complete 180 on Fields? There must’ve been pressure from the top. Was it Virginia McCaskey? Or, I knew Gruden was a shitbag! Or, how about these unseasonably warm temperatures? I think I might be pro-global warming.— Instead I get the awkward conversation topic of my appearance. I generally respond silently with a nod, accompanied by a sheepish half-crooked grin and then the other party, which again is trying their best even though no one asked for how they think I look, sometimes will add, “I mean, for everything you’ve been through, that is.” Yes, I am a living miracle or as I see it, like a weed that won’t die no matter how many times I’m sprayed with your costly Ortho herbicide. I’m the irradiated cockroach that survived the nuclear Holocaust.

You see, as Lord of the Grievances, I am learning through therapy how to let things go and live in the present. For example, recently, the village president of our small town stopped by while I was cutting the grass on the riding mower, one of the few chores I can do with relatively minimal pain. BIG TIME STUFF parked in our driveway and walked into the yard and waved me over. This must be important I thought to myself. Perhaps he was here to tell me the boys back at the garage were finally on their way to remove the racist (won’t be sharing) and vulgar (above) graffiti spray painted under the vehicular bridge that spans the creek behind our house where young children play. My wife had reported the crude-looking graffiti to the village back in January, March, July and again in September done by some local teenage artists. ‘Crude’ is me trying to dress up the terrible compositions. El Barto’s portrait of Principal Skinner with the word bubble  “I AM A WEINER” on the Springfield Elementary School wall from S1 E2 looked like a Rembrandt in comparison. I turned off the mower, struggled to get off the machine, because I stiffen up after sitting for too long, and walked over to speak to him. As I began my slow saunter over to The Man, I wondered to myself, what could he possibly want? I don’t think I’ve ever said more than ‘hi’ to him at church. Whatever, a new adventure awaits. He started off with “I don’t want to anger you, but…” I stared blankly and motioned forward as if to say let’s hear it. He continued, “We are going to have to start cracking down on clippings in the street. I mean ticketing offenders.” Still silent, I just watched him as he continued, “Motorcyclists could slip on the grass that you left in the street and have an accident.” Then he gazed back at me expecting a response. ***crickets*** “So you gotta blow that off of there,” while pointing at the street. Really? Twice daily I watch newly teen drivers, as well as experienced adults, race past my house, not only ignoring the posted 20 MPH school zone signs and stop signs, but they do this while driving distracted by staring at their phones. A deep cut for me. But who am I to complain, amirite? Besides, the kids walking to and from school have already had their shot. Yet here I am learning about the dangers posed to cyclists by negligent homeowners like me not properly disposing of my grass clippings, not that I wasn’t going to take care of it eventually like I usually do since I was still in the middle of the first part of the job, but that’s enough of my nonconformist thoughts. #smalltownliving So I struggled, but managed a meek “OK” and he finally left. In the end I decided to just let it go and move on.

Another example of my extraordinary letting-it-go ability is from five years ago, just a few months removed from my accident, my wife’s boss stopped by the house as he saw me, by myself, relaxing on a hot summer day while sitting in a lawn chair, sipping some iced tea under the shade of a tree in our yard. Again, #smalltownliving. He started with normal, mundane chit-chat, but then out of nowhere, he asked “Does your dick still work?” I nearly spit out the tea I was in the process of swallowing right outta my mouth like a bad sitcom. What in tarnation did he just say? Did he just ask me what I think he just asked me? Should I ask him to repeat that? I kept my cool and I answered with a passive “Yeah,” hoping I misheard him. He then replied with “Good. She’s a good girl and needs to be taken care of.” Holy shit! I didn’t misunderstand him. He actually did ask me that. What do I say now? Jesus. Fortunately for me at that moment his adult son with cerebral palsy, that he left out in the sweltering July sunshine that was belted into his seat of the Gator ATV that Bossman rolled up in and left parked at the edge of our yard, called out for help and needed immediate assistance so they had to go. Whew. Anyway, I let that go too.

So, yeah, I’m understanding of many things, people are weird, but as a chronic pain sufferer, “You look fine” kinda rubs me the wrong way on a difficult day. I know, it’s me, not you and I gotta work at getting over this hurdle. Before I do I just want to remind you that post-mortem photography was a thing in the nineteenth century. I understand that the kick-ass old daguerreotype that you have so proudly displayed in the parlor you wanted me to notice on the way into your home of your great, great, etc. uncle makes him appear so angelic and innocent as an infant forever frozen in time, but that is because of rigor mortis. Your ancestor was dead and merely posed to look that cute, not because he was fine. Don’t get it? May I recommend a future vacation travel destination? I hear there’s an old amusement park near the Chernobyl disaster site in the ghost city of Pripyat that has been untouched for over 35 years that you should check out firsthand. It looks vintage and quite fine as I’ve seen in pictures. Point is you have no way of knowing how anyone is by looking at them, so maybe just save it. I know you mean well, but it may be taken the wrong way. Instead, let's talk about that White Sox fan wielding Gandalf's staff. Or maybe just keep it simple and ask how I'm doing, ignore my reply and then you can tell me all about those goddamn liberals and their vaccines and masks that do nothing and are in fact killing us. #smalltownliving

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to patrol the neighborhood and look for violators not obeying the grass clipping laws of our fair community. Since the town defunded the police¹ years ago. I may have to take matters into my own hands and perform a good old-fashioned Mayberry citizen’s arrest. 

¹ Years back we used to have a police force of one, but then taxes, so the officer was let go. Now, nothing ever really happens around here, but when it does, like the time a man at the local car show set his truck on fire with gasoline and later went back into the burning vehicle to retrieve knives to throw at another man in the crowd, shit can get outta hand fast. The assailant, who I bet looked completely fine, was restrained when a few heroic individuals from the crowd forced him to the ground and sat on him until the authorities arrived. The man later died at the hospital after injuries sustained from all his excitement. A dedicated village law enforcement agent would have been a good thing to have on hand, but money. Read story HERE or try this LINK. It’s not that in an emergency we don’t receive help, it’s just that it takes county officers about fifteen minutes to respond because of the distance involved. (I timed it once after calling the police when we noticed someone with a flashlight inside an abandoned home near us one late night. I suspect it was the old residents who moved abruptly and they were tearing out the pipes for money, but I dunno, they left before the cops arrived.)

Crunching the Numbers

Thankfully, 2020 is hours away from completion. I have heard many people talk of how awful this year has been and I concur. But just imagine being old or, say, disabled and listening to people complain that they can’t do anything and they’re sick of being at home all the time. Boo-hoo. I apologize, the airing of grievances holiday was 8 days ago. Here’s some figures from 2020 that I came up with:

NOTE - this is all completely pointless, including the numbers provided below, except for my walking distance. That's some real substance there.

# of empty Fireball bottles found littered in 2020: 247; 240 found in LaSalle County and 7 in Kendall County

This started out as a joke when we lived in Ottawa and I quickly became obsessed. Collecting them made my walks more entertaining and I'd imagine a backstory for each find while also cleaning up my community. I am able to see the empty bottles of alcohol easily because I'm always looking down. You see, I need to watch my feet so as to not trip over them due to my foot drop. On top of that, the nerve damage makes it quite difficult to feel the ground. Also, spotting the red cap and safety yellow-colored label with fire-breathing demon make them stand out over other discarded containers. They pretty much emit a glow that I can see from a distance as if they were helpful items in a video game that mustn't be overlooked.

I don’t count the bottles unless I’m able to retrieve them and dispose of the waste properly. So, unless I see a glass handle of Fireball, my self-proclaimed Holy Grail, on the side of the road while driving, I will not be stopping to recover every hotel mini-bar bottle I see. However, I will come to a screeching halt if I see the glass bottle. Just like I would if there were a family of ducks crossing the road. (I have a soft spot for birds, because remember they are dinosaurs.) Even if there were a semitrailer tailing me too closely, because fuck semi trucks. Never forget: Me 1, Semis 0.

# of Cubs playoff wins in 2020: 0, again.

The Cubs haven’t won a playoff game since their last NLCS appearance vs. the Dodgers on October 18, 2017. The game before that win, Carl Edwards Jr. walked, then LA pitcher, Yu Darvish on 4 pitches to force in a bases loaded run. Remember that? Good times! Oh look, Darvish was traded to San Diego earlier this week.

If that’s not bad enough, the Bears haven’t won a playoff game since January 16, 2011, against a sub-.500 opponent, the Seattle Seahawks. The following playoff game on January 23, was against the Packers that I covered from the sidelines where Aaron Rodgers landed on top of me in the north end zone just past the pylon, uninvited mind you, and broke my film camera. If anyone ever tells you that greatness doesn’t just fall into your lap, please let them know they are mistaken. It literally happened to me. 

I don't foresee Chicago winning a playoff game anytime soon even if they miraculously defeat Mr. Rodgers and the Packers on Sunday nor if the Cardinals lose and the Bears back their way into a post-season spot.

# of moves my family made this year: 2

I’ve discussed this ad nauseam. Briefly though, moving is the pits. If you don’t have to move, don’t move, especially during a pandemic. Thinking about those potentially COVID-19 infected people touching my stuff still creeps me out.

# of days I’ve been alive: 15,018

# of days since we’ve had the Treeing Walker Coonhound: 4,637

The dog and I have been together for 30.87% of my life. And no, I have nothing to do with hound's Twitter account. I'm not Tyler Durden.

# of books read since January: 5.23 definitely not enough

• The Adventures of Tom Sawyer Twain
• Damned Palahniuk
• Doomed Palahniuk
• The Invention of Sound Palahniuk
• Point B Magary
• Don Quixote Cervantes (currently reading)

3 of the 6 were Chuck Palahniuk novels. I know I need to broaden my horizons. This count doesn't include trade paperbacks, young-adult novels (I get recommendations all the time and sometimes I oblige), kid, picture, art books, etc. I’m sure I’ve read more books, but my TBI messes with my memory and attention span.

# of video games completed this year: 6

• NHL '94
• Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2: Turtles in Time
• The Last of Us 2
• Legend of Zelda 3
• Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening
• Hyrule Warriors 

Again, 3 of the 6 were the same type. That's because The Legend of Zelda is the greatest video game franchise ever created, contrary to my kid's declaration that Pokémon is. Oh, and 4 of the 6 I had already beaten decades ago.

Pokémon card game record in 2020: 36-33-01

The kid and I tied once and I started looking into if that was actually possible - to tie that is - and it is, but you’re supposed to do a sudden death round which we didn’t. As I looked more into the official rules of the game I began to feel weird and I found myself asking, “What am I doing, man?” Like an addict asking that question to their reflection in the mirror and I stopped going down that rabbit hole cold turkey. 

My record is only above .500 because the kid plays me like a fiddle. If she wanted to, I'd have only won a handful of games. She handicaps me so I keep coming back for more. Like a Pokémon Bobby Fisher.

# of puzzles the family has put together in the past week: 3; 2 Christmas scenes and 1 Pokémon for a total of 2000 pieces

# of shows started and did not finish in 2020: 12 (that I’m aware of)

• Ozark S3 - We started the series this year, but lost interest. I did enjoy the way Laura Linney would belt out “CHAROLETTE!” I think that’s why we watched it so long.

• Schitt’s Creek S1 - For the name alone we tried it.

• Fargo S4 - We still plan on watching this.

• Space Force - Lotta big names here and I'm still waiting for something to happen.

• Black Mirror S1 - I'll stick with The Twilight Zone, which reminds me, I need to watch the Jordan Peele iteration.

• The Boys - I should like this, but, yeah...

• The Man in the High Castle S4 - This was the final season and I've invested some serious time into this show so I feel the need to complete this eventually.

• The Watchmen - I may return to this, but what was with lord dick science guy and his clone people he destroys? Also, does he live on Mars or something?

• Westworld S3 - Waning interest after season 1 and painfully made it though the second season.

• Curb Your Enthusiasm S10 - This is modern day Seinfeld and I'm neurotic like Larry David so I'll return to it. A big reason for many of the unfinished HBO shows was due to our HBO Max subscription ending. The main reason for that sub was to watch Last Week Tonight in its entirety, because watching only the main story on YouTube leaves you wanting more. Once the season ends, so does our sub.

• The Society - I have no clue what this is, but my wife said we tried it. TBI?

• Hunters - I'll stick with Mindhunter, but go ahead and kill all the nazis that you can.

# of shows started and completed: 7 (that I’m aware of)

• It’s Bruno! - There is no way to explain this one. It is not actually good, but I watched it all.

• Tiger King - This was like what I suspect watching the first moon landing was like and only because of COVID-19 lockdown. Everybody watched.

• It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia S14 - The gang could be in a hospice facility and I'd still watch their adventures.

• Silicon Valley S6 - What happened with Mucinex/Dead Pool bartender guy with all the drugs?.. Erlich Bachman!

• Homecoming S2 - Drugs that induce memory loss thing got me interested in this one. Memory loss is terrible, even if it feels that sometimes it'd probably be best to forget tragic events. I think erasing memories only stymies growth. There are many things in my lifetime that I'd like to forget, but I wouldn't be me if I could just erase it.

• The Mandalorian S2 OMG. - Boba Fett has been redeemed. That Fett episode, The Tragedy, was directed by Robert Rodriguez and he used his kids and some of his toys to mock up the action scene before production. If I were a doll an action figure collector and I got the opportunity to meet Mr. Rodriguez, I'd first compliment his work and next ask him how could he have blown up the Razor Crest? You like SW toys, right? Because when that occurred it was if 28,181 voices cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced after remembering they purchased this $349.99 toy earlier this year. Was that some kind of Rian Johnson Last Jedi reference of tearing it all down?

• Better Call Saul S5 - Jimmy was great in Breaking Bad, but better in this. And Moff Gideon makes appearances.

My wife and I would begin a series with high-hopes and tell each other how if we stick with them we will be rewarded. Then after a few episodes we'd would bail and go back to Family Feud with my man, Steve Harvey. He’s always gotta good one for you multiple times a night and I swear I’ve yet to see a rerun which is astounding.

As of this writing, we are giving Arrested Development another shot. In the past I said the hand-held camera bounce made it unwatchable, but now all shows do this and I'm used to it. This time is promising because we are now eight episodes in. The turning point for me was when The Fonz appeared on screen as the Bluth family's attorney. I've always said to my wife that our lawyer looks exactly like Henry Winkler.

# of movies watched in a theater this year: 2

• Rise of Skywalker
• 1917

I saw people discussing what movie they first saw ever in the theater and their last on the Twitter earlier this year before the pandemic. For a moment I thought Rise of Skywalker was my last and I thought to myself, “Wow, how cool! My first movie was Return of the Jedi and my last was ROS. I’m the coolest [geek] ever!” But I forgot all about 1917.

# of Terminator movies made: 6 And the percentage of those that are actually worth watching: 33%

We watched Terminator: Dark Fate a week ago. In an alternate reality, after successfully killing John Connor, we find Schwarzenegger’s terminator character has a family and even owns a business named “Carl’s Draperies.” Yes, really.

# of days since I had my permanent DRG stimulator installed or as I like to refer to it, my cyborg birth: 685 or 4.56% of my lifetime.

I wonder when the battery will need to be replaced? Will it beep? Will the unit self-destruct like a starship overrun by aliens in deep space? Cool. 

Average # of miles I've walked daily in 2020: 2.4 or 878.4 miles, approximately, for the year. 

This is fist pump territory. This is an increase of 3/10 of a mile per day over last year, which was 2.1 per day. My average dropped dramatically in October as I was projected to be at about 2.6 miles per day for the year. However, I started multiple home improvement projects and my slipped disc re-activated when I removed the mallard wallpaper from the basement and installed new trim throughout our home. My back has since improved and next month I’ll be begin removing terra cotta tile with a scraper and hammer drill. 

Happy New Year! Get vaccinated and then party like it's 1999.

I was really going to go all out and hire Robert Stack to do a voiceover for this post but he passed away 17 years ago. Then I looked into Dennis Farina and he too left us seven years ago. I couldn’t afford them anyway, just like I can’t afford to pay someone to edit my ramblings. Instead, here is someone I saw cosplaying as Boba Fett at Star Wars Celebration Chicago in April of 2019.

If this is your first visit here, welcome. This is more or less a journal for myself and what it’s like to live with chronic regional pain syndrome. The best way to describe what it is like to live with CRPS is the meme of the dog drinking coffee and everything is on fire and its response is “This is fine.” It feels like my leg is on fire and the more credence I give it, the more it hurts. I’ve found that the more I distract myself, the less pain I feel. This blog is one of my many distractions. On that note, I truly apologize for the bad editing and the poor usage of words. I never studied to write or actually claim to know anything of importance. However, one day I'm going to sit down and actually learn how to use hyphens correctly. I promise.

I’ve been thinking about my dental issues that I wrote about recently after coming across that Tweet:

“Many people with CRPS develop swollen gums and brittle teeth. Some reports suggest that 75% of people with CRPS have dental issues.”

My conclusion after some more thought: Yes, I have CRPS, but that’s not the reason my teeth are in decline. I mean, if I really wanted to go QAnon-like conspiracy deep I could connect the two, but I think that it’s much simpler or, from a certain point of view, more complicated depending on how you look at it.

First off, we moved to that home in Ottawa last year that had lead pipes and we needed to drink filtered water. After some investigation, I learned that the type of water filter our refrigerator used had removed most impurities including fluoride. Up until we moved to that home I drank tap water like it was free. Public water departments like to add fluoride to your drinking water as well as LSD (check out Wild in the Streets if you would like to know more). I rarely used the Brita filter — as seen in that article I linked — because it’s a pain-in-the-ass to use and the photojournalist just needed to illustrate the story quickly and move onto another assignment. Why does the filter annoy me so much? Who wants to pour water through a pitcher and wait for it to filter? Why not call me on the telephone next. Ahoy-hoy.

NOTE - If you have a Brita water filter have no fear, I have learned that it leaves most of the fluoride in your water. However, I didn't look into the other additives.

Secondly, all that medical cannabis I was consuming to help with my insomnia, which has since improved from last year, would leave me dehydrated like the sarlacc in the Great Pit of Carkoon. I’m talking pre-special edition sarlacc when it had no fast-moving beak and resembled something else entirely. If you look into what that creature symbolized back when Return of the Jedi premiered (first movie I saw ever at Meadowdale Cinema!) and knowing what Lucas was going through at that time which led to a divorce... ICKY. I will provide no link to this theory or images. Anyhow, how about that Boba Fett return? If you are one of those that says that’s not possible, let me tell you something ***CLEARS THROAT FOR GEEK VOICE*** back in 1991 according to Dark Horse’s comic book series Dark Empire which takes place after ROTJ, we find Boba Fett is still alive after the sarlacc finds him “somewhat indigestible.” I know it’s not canon, but seeing Mando come blasting out of the krayt dragon’s acidic mouth with his jetpack in this season's first episode, clearly a precedent has been set... Oh, where was I? That’s right: DRY MOUTH = CAVITIES. Pot, aka weed or ganja, whatever you want to call it, makes me like desert thirsty and it gets bad. Even the tonsil stones (more gross) have increased ever since I started using the Acapulco gold. I’ve since cutdown on my intake of the Maui wowie, since it leads to dry mouth, which leads to cavities… and I now have a surplus of Bubba Fett. Anyone interested in a season two finale watch party of The Mandalorian next week? Ah, but Covid-19. UGH. I can’t wait for that vaccine. Spring Break 2021 here we come! Or 2022!?!

Finally, the last thing I point to as to why I had that bad dental checkup last month is because I did a poor job of taking care of my teeth as a child. I still remember being bummed out when my old man scoffed at the price of an in-home soda fountain machine after we watched a demonstration at Spring Hill Mall circa 1990. If he could've gotten over the sticker shock of the initial price, that machine would've paid for itself in a week if he realized how many cans of pop I went through in a day. Back then I was really living the Buddy the Elf lifestyle. LIKE A BALLER. Speaking of Buddy, Happy Holidays!

Light 'Em Up

Christmas and the holidays were always special to me growing up. As I aged, not so much, but when you have a child, making that magic happen is rewarding. I’m no Clark “Sparky” Griswold (how about that Randy Quaid, huh?), but I have found that I like multi-color lights along the roofline, as well as vintage blow molds. Sorry, but your air-blown Olaf from Frozen that you leave deflated during the day looks like dirty laundry in your yard and is lame. 

In 2014, I went to the hardware store for an after Christmas sale and purchased 13 strands of the classic C7 lights, not the safe LED-style that probably last forever, but the classic glass bulbs that burn your fingers and need to be replaced about once a year. I put them up on our two-story home for the first time in 2015 and quickly learned that you can’t combine more than four strands at a time, otherwise the fuse in the cord blows. And you have no idea which fuse it is, so you have to move the extension ladder to each connection and check the tiny fuse box and it always is the last strand you check without fail.

Then just days after I removed those lights after New Year’s 2016, I was in that near-fatal accident and developed CRPS and my decorating skills for the holidays became limited. Yes, we purchased one of those star shower laser light shows due to my inability to do anything more than insert a plug into an outlet and jam a stake in the ground (as long as the ground wasn't frozen yet). This is mostly because I couldn’t tolerate the pain of standing on a ladder rung, specifically, the arch of my foot. It’s much like stepping on a nail. (Yeah, I’ve done that too.) However, now it feels like an electrically charged nail. It is excruciating and it makes you want to puke. Don’t even get me started on making fists with your toes.

But now I have the DRG stimulator and the pain has been reduced and I wanted to give it another shot. (Last year, our home in Ottawa didn’t have many outdoor outlets and we were figuring out how to pay that $5k rabies vaccine bill, so we never called an electrician to get more outlets. Then we moved to our current ranch home in August and I felt it was time to try decorating the exterior of our home again.)

I got started on Saturday afternoon as my wife and our kid trimmed the newly culled balsam fir we procured the day before at a tree farm in Somonauk. The first climb up the new Little Giant ladder was the most difficult. I still felt discomfort, but it wasn’t vomit inducing. My confidence grew as I became distracted from the pain as I planned every next step. When your mobility is limited and every physical move hurts, you try your best not to waste those movements, like the saying ‘measure twice, cut once.’ The biggest hurdle, after the pain, that needs to be accounted for with having CRPS is weather because it directly affects the pain levels and I couldn’t have asked for a better forecast on Saturday where the high was near 50. I did struggle with my foot drop on the roof’s slope and had to slowly shuffle, but that’s better than a face dive onto the ground from the top of a one-story house. 

I finished the day worn-out physically, but mentally, I was satisfied. I retrieved my wife and daughter to take a look at my progress knowing full well I had more to do Sunday, but I knew they wanted to have a peek. They came outside and I expected the obligatory “good job,” which I got, but they meant it, especially the kid. She lit up. Her enthusiasm and smile melted my heart and I got a little teary-eyed. She then gave me a hug that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Like the season, it was magic.

If You Want to Crown Them, Then Crown Their Ass!

 

I went to the dentist a week ago and I am still reeling from my visit. I received some not-so-good news and I’m having a hard time accepting it.

If you’ve ever had a cavity, then you know that when the hygienist starts poking around the scraper in the same area more than once, you realize there may be an issue. Then, if your hygienist sighs like Marge Simpson multiple times, you know without a doubt, that something is amiss. So after my hygienist, who I will call Allison, finished polishing my teeth and went in search of the dentist to have a look inside my mouth, I tweeted a dumb joke about my visit, because humor is how I cope with bad. After five minutes of Allison’s departure, I started to feel uneasy and I put down my phone and began drumming my fingers on the armrest of the slightly reclined leather dental chair I was seated in. I needed to calm down and to stop fretting. I clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers to stop the repetitive, compulsive habit and took a deep breath. I looked around the room and began counting the ceiling lights that needed to be replaced. How do they change those bulbs? A pole? Not helping. Then I found myself nervously staring out of the office’s huge plate glass windows at birds, squirrels and chipmunks filling their bellies from multiple feeders that had been placed outside for the patients’ amusement. It’s really an impressive forested view and it is one of the reasons why I like this particular dentist office. Suddenly all of the smaller critters disappeared as a hawk swooped down and landed on the ground. Boss! Have I mentioned that I am fascinated by dinosaurs? Birds are modern day dinosaurs, if you didn’t know. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if the raptor had trapped some prey in its talons, so I tried to get a better look by leaning forward when at that moment the dentist had entered the room and I forgot all about the badassery of nature that I was witnessing. 

Another deep breath. I had never met this dentist. She was the wife of one of the other two dentists that own the practice that normally see me. She grabbed a scraper and Allison called out a number. The dentist clutched the scraper and poked a tooth repeatedly. Then Allison announced a different number and the dentist prodded another area. Then we went through the process again and again. I was ready to call “BINGO!” but as you know, it’s impossible to form coherent words when your facial orifice is filled with foreign objects and yet that never stops dental professionals from asking you questions while they work. The dentist finished and then asked if I had an electric toothbrush. Indeed, I do. I’ve been using them for nearly two decades. She looked surprised. 

“Do you brush twice a day?” she asked. 

“Yes, of course,” I replied.

I even offered up that I floss daily. I really do. (I suppose I did forget to mention I use a fluoride rinse too, but was it necessary? No, she had already moved on.)

She then shared her diagnosis and I was left in disbelief. I need four fillings and a crown. What in the goddamn? I just had my first crown done after my last six-month visit and it wasn’t pleasant. 

I admit it, as a child I was terrible when it came to oral hygiene. It didn’t help that I drank soda and ate candy for meals as if I lived at Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

(Remember when Johnny Depp played Willy Wonka and saw his dad, the dentist, who gave him an oral exam and he had perfect teeth? What was that? Why did they remake that Gene Wilder classic? And Johnny Depp as Wonka? I once had an editor who sent me to a film location to try and snap a photo of Depp in Aurora more than a decade ago like I was paparazzi. She, the editor, was a big fan apparently. I missed his face but I did manage to capture his hand as he waved to the small crowd from an SUV behind the Paramount Theatre. They’re Just Like Us!)

By age 10, I already had seven cavities filled all without novocaine. My parents didn’t believe in paying for anesthetics, because, duh, that costs money. When I was 13, I face planted into the gym floor while attempting to block a shot as if I were Dennis Rodman during a co-ed basketball game during P.E. That didn’t go over well with the ladies. (Two years later while pretending to be Chris Chelios this time, I accidentally gave my future wife a black eye with my elbow while playing floor hockey. I’m very serious about winning (check my last name) and that we all should be treated equal, male or female.) Anyhow, I cracked my front teeth in half and the nerves were exposed. I collected my teeth and put them in milk, like it was going to help, actually thinking they could be, like, stitched back in place. It doesn’t work like that. My teeth needed to be repaired with bonding and without any novocaine ($, remember?). I went through hell, so I developed a fear of the dentist. 

Fast forward to my twenties and I was eating fries - you know, that extremely hard food - and I cracked a molar and had to have the tooth pulled. Before the tooth was extracted I was offered and accepted the novocaine since I was paying and it didn’t cost much from what I can remember. Guess what? Anesthetics really helps with the pain. Who knew? From that point on, my dental habits changed completely and I’ve made every six-month visit since I was 23. I even had my wisdom teeth pulled and it really wasn’t that bad. I went 13 years before my next cavity. It was after my accident in 2016 when I developed complex regional pain syndrome, aka CRPS. I didn’t think much of it. I mean, I was sedated with Haloperidol in the ICU for over two weeks with a ventilator tube jammed down my esophagus. Suffice to say, I took a vacation from brushing my teeth. Only having one cavity after that trauma is pretty, pretty good, if you ask me.

Then I had the crown earlier this year and now my current situation of four more cavities and another crown needed is a lot at once. What is going on, I wondered.

That very same day I came home from the dentist, coincidentally, I saw a tweet from a CRPS organization that I follow on the Twitters that states:

“Many people with CRPS develop swollen gums and brittle teeth. Some reports suggest that 75% of people with CRPS have dental issues.”

Look, I understand I haven’t always done a good job taking care of my chompers and I knew eventually I’d pay for my neglect as a youngster, but I speculate that there may be a correlation between oral health and CRPS.

The Dog Days are Over (they ended Saturday)

 

It's been 62 days since we moved back to Newark and there have been numerous challenges, but Here Comes the Sun[flowers] 

The DRG stimulator in my back has been put through the wringer for the past two months and, like the Energizer bunny, it keeps going and going and going... I was instructed by my doctor not to overexert myself, nor lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk in the first year after surgery. Since it has been 18 months since surgery, it's now time to go balls-out! (That idiom probably doesn't mean what you think it does, just like "over a barrel," which just sounds filthy. I learned the origin of that one recently after looking it up when we were negotiating the price of our new home with the sellers, i.e. the sellers put the buyers over a barrel.)

The first challenge we overcame together as a family was living out of boxes for 53 days. I am okay feeling cramped and uncomfortable for a spell. I once lived in a pantry during college. The dimensions of the pantry were approximately 5 feet by 9 feet. A friend built levels for me, like Cosmo Kramer’s vision for his apartment from the Seinfeld episode, The Pony Remark. The room was a real tight fit. I had a clearance of about 18 inches between my bed and the ceiling. I could hear squirrels, or perhaps it was rats, crawling about the ceiling and walls early in the mornings. They were my all-natural alarm clock. That pantry still felt more spacious than living at my in-laws with boxes piled floor to ceiling. Trying to move about in crowded spaces is the pits, especially for a no longer able-bodied person. It’s no wonder my average daily walking distance during that time dropped to about two miles.

At the beginning of August we visited Devil’s Lake and that’s when I really started challenging myself physically. When the pandemic began we figured our annual camping trip would have to be canceled, but Wisconsin don’t care. Originally, we planned on going to one of the coasts or Colorado. We made our campsite reservations back in May, thinking if we needed to back out, no big deal. We ended up going and believe it or not, tent living was a nice getaway from box living. 

Camping during the pandemic was different. The bandanas our daughter designed for our vacation doubled as a mask this time and we used them just for that. This year’s theme she came up with was “Camp Covid.” We didn't mask up full-time, but some of the hiking trails are narrow and at the top of the bluffs things can get crowded. Most hikers were not wearing masks, but that didn't really concern me. What did, however, was the bathrooms at the campgrounds. If this virus is airborne (has that been confirmed yet?), I don't want to share a communal bathroom. Fortunately for me, I used the handicap accessible restroom with a shower. This made me feel a little safer from the virus. Now, I know I look normal and you'd think nothing is wrong with me if you didn't know me, so every time I would exit the restroom I did so very slowly, half-expecting a line of wheelchair-bound persons outside the door just waiting to use the special bathroom and then I'd feel real shitty. Or I imagined Tonya Harding's ex-husband lurking in the shadows waiting to take my knees out like he did to Nancy Kerrigan in 1994 as retribution, since it appears that I don't have any special needs.

There was only one time that the private bathroom was in use and I had to use the 'commoners' bathroom. You better believe I wore a mask. While in that bathroom I noticed someone had scratched "Fuck Obama" into a dispenser. You could tell that the bathroom had been painted and remodeled within a year (we go to Devil's Lake that often). It's weird thinking that someone feels that much animosity toward our forty-fourth president and here I am at Camp Covid wearing a mask to protect myself from a goddamn potentially deadly virus that could have been contained if we actually had better leadership. Christ, this country and the people that live here.

In the end, I personally hiked an average of four miles a day and climbed 75 floors. I am very proud of that accomplishment, considering I didn't use a cane and I still have foot drop.

Two days after our trip up north, my wife and I went to donate blood. It's something I do because had others not donated blood when my accident happened, then I wouldn't be here today. I had 3+ transfusions after that accident. That's a lot of blood, man. Also, the American Red Cross now tests for COVID-19 antibodies. I suspected that I may have had the virus since I came down with something over the winter. I didn't think it was the flu because I get a flu shot every year, not only to protect myself, but because the Jewels gives you a 10% off coupon when you get vaccinated at their pharmacy. Anyhow, when we entered the donation site together, my wife was booted for having a temperature of 99.7 for precautionary reasons, but they let me donate. I found that baffling. I mean, we live together. If she's got the COVID, then so would I, but whatever. I filled the bag that held my unit of blood in 4:44. Even the phlebotomist was impressed. I said it's because I can fist pump harder than the Jersey Shore bros. My antibody test came back negative in the end.

We closed on our house just over a week ago and we are still partially living out of moving boxes while we have new floors installed, which is currently happening. In fact, it's very loud and the workers like to sing along to songs on the radio, including works by the Goo Goo Dolls, Dolly Parton, Pearl Jam and, surprisingly, Elle King's Ex's and Oh's. BTW, fellas, she's got electric boots, not boobs. The home is a small ranch, but the yard is dynamite with plenty of space for a couple honey bee hives (so after I establish the hives, I can teach my dog how to shoot bees from his mouth when he barks.) The house is much smaller than our Ottawa home, but it's definitely our forever home. We knew eventually that we'd have to downsize, but I didn't think it'd be after only 11 months, but when opportunity knocks you should answer. The previous owner built the home in 1975 and the fixtures are still here today. We will be updating, but have a look below. Still in the home are four home phones (including one in each bathroom next to the water closets) and multiple thermometers inside and outside of the home, as well as clocks everywhere. FANCY. My wife thinks that perhaps the previous owner did a Time & Temperature service over the landline telephone like Kramer pretending to be the Moviefone guy. Yes, that's right, another Seinfeld/Kramer reference! It's a shame Michael Richards had that racist rant while doing stand-up back in 2006. I can't look past that, just like when I hear/see a Subway commercial and all I can think of is that Jared Fogle sexually exploited children.

Moving is the worst. Like I said last time, I will never do it again. This time around we didn't ask the same suckers friends that helped us last year, instead we asked different suckers friends from in-town. Honestly, if not for them, I think I would've killed myself and I'm grateful for all the help they provided. Just hours after our closing I started moving items. I didn't wait for help to arrive. I was carrying the equivalent of 12 gallons of milk at a time so I didn't have to make so many trips. I continue to believe that I am as strong as I was pre-accident, which is FALSE. The stimulator provides some pain relief, but it definitely does not make me stronger or even half of what I used to be. And the foot drop slows me down like Frankenstein's monster. About an hour in, it felt like I had a hangover and no matter how much water I drank, I was still thirsty. The way I saw it, the more I pushed myself, the sooner I'd be done, but that just made me more exhausted. Then the help arrived and I took a break.

Since the start of August my walking distance is trending in the right direction again, averaging 3.2 miles daily.

Uh-oh, someone is a fan of Alanis Morissette's You Oughta Know. He is hitting those notes like a BOSS!

That is all for now. Take care of yourself and each other.