78% Of Orlando Drivers SUCK!

Orlando? We Have A Problem!

I’m going to go out on a limb here with my second blog and risk alienating even more folk than I did with my previous (quasi) poetic introduction to the HypeOrlando blogosphere. But even if I alienate 50% of the masochists who came back for seconds – I’ll still have three readers moving forward, so let’s get to it!

Orlando recently received the dubious distinction of being the least safe city in America for pedestrians and cyclists. Unfortunately, it’s also our fourth year in a row. (Minimally fourth. I could only stomach checking back through 2011 before becoming to queasy to continue.) It is, unquestionably, past time to discuss, criticize and (hopefully) educate regarding Orlando’s aggressive, distracted, sloppy, lazy and ultimately, dangerous-to-the-point-of-deadly, driving practices.

Problem #1: Distracted Driving. This one is going to give me a stroke. I cannot begin to fathom what kind of serious mental disorder affects those who believe that they are perfectly within their “rights” -- to get out on the road in a several ton mass of machinery, the entire range of motion of which being their principle responsibility to direct from moment to moment; while similar machines (of similar deadly mass) maneuver all around from various directions and at varying speeds –  while they stare down at a tiny screen, typing tiny letters on a tiny-ass keyboards! OMG, WTF?!?! I mean what else is there to say, except, why do I see so many people doing it?! Watch the heads around you when you pull up to a light and see how many chins drop down…including (I’ll wager) yours!

Solutions (#1): Disable texting on all phones while the GPS shows the phone is in motion.

Q. But what if I am only a passenger in the car? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to text?
A. God forbid you should actually take the time to talk to Mom and/or Dad as they graciously drive you to your dance class.

Q. But we’re meeting friends and need to coordinate the rendezvous.
A. Rendezvous this -- meathead!,  Use Bluetooth and call.

Q. What’s to prevent me from just turning off the GPS altogether?
A. When GPS (2.0) is “off” the GPS (2.0) system will not track your precise location but will continue to
monitor whether or not you are in motion. So there! G’head, turn it off! (Now somebody needs to invent GPS 2.0)

The Navdy HUD display projects your smartphone apps on the windshield. Love this promotional picture;

could they have picked a more dangerous road to partially obscure? Imagine it in the rain, at night… your
Mom staring at you from somewhere on the road ahead – water dripping down her face.

                                   
Side note: The new Crowd funded "Navdy" Heads Up Display seeks to address distracted driving by placing your distractions directly in your line of vision. We have a problem people. We are obviously overstimulated to the point of mass insanity. I’ll call it: “Infosanity!TM” Instead of working to modify and control our, obviously, obsessive and dangerous behaviors, we invent new technologies as a workaround/crutch for our addictions. Nice.

Problem #2: oblivious drivers: We are the proud (and blessed?) denizens of the most visited city in the country. With 57 million visitors in 2013, many of the vehicles sharing our roads are from out of state. Many of these states (including most parts of our own) do not contend with anywhere near the roadway intricacies (chaos) that people find once they are here.

Observe: A 9 car grouping. The first two cars are doing a tad over twenty in a forty-five mph zone and, of course, driving right alongside one another. The driver in the left lane (driver 1) has slowed to allow his family gawk-time at a pair of large grey birds with red heads, driver 2 is looking (and looking…) for the upcoming turn-off to their resort area. (It’s ¾ of a mile away.) Drivers’ 5 and 8 are doing this seriocomic, stop-go, lane-change- dosey-doe (obviously, frustrated and trying to figure out which lane might open up first.) While drivers 4, 6, 9 are elderly and thinking everyone is a crazed idiot moving way too fast. Driver 9, clutches at his heart as he watches 8, with only inches to spare dart in front of 7 (thereby successfully assuming the 7 mantle.) causing new 8 to break suddenly and poor ol’ 9 (still 9) just behind him, to gasp as tail-lights flare, hand moving to his chest -- while continuing to be annoyed about the chubby Asian man who ludicrously picked the high money answers first, in search of Daily Doubles, winning three Jeopardies in a row – oh, brake! (Too late gramps!) In case you were wondering (though I doubt it,) driver 3 is checking out Ian Somerhalder’s latest (ghost) tweet.

While I could have placed this group in the “distracted” category. However, it’s not just their distractions that makes them such road nuisances, it’s their mindset. They seem to believe that since they are on vacation and because they see so many others on vacation (in all the varied spots they are visiting) that Orlando is not only a “magical city” (which it is) but a magic city – where everyone, everywhere is on vacation. Of what practical use are order, discipline and common-sense when you are on vacation! Yup. Deli(ti)riously oblivious.

Also in this category and this is going to get me in trouble – are the elderly. There are three types of elderly drivers: 1) Capable (but dangerous) 2) Confused (and deadly) and 3) Comatose (glimpsed peripherally, appearing as black hooded figures with scythes jutting out from their hearse windows.)

Solutions (#2): Firstly, we need to amplify our patience quotient. Secondly, we have to abandon the polite southern discipline of not using the horn. The horn is there for a reason peepo and for a monotone uberfart it can actually be quite expressive. A quick double tap on the horn can be a friendly “Thanks!” or “Hey, look out!” A slightly longer, single honk: “Wake-up! The lights changed.” Or a little longer still: “Jeez, they’re only Sandhill Cranes! Go stare at Princess Elsa -- Michigan dork! And of course my fave the “Brooklyn Bomber:” leaning on the sucker for about 4 seconds. (No interpretation necessary.) Ahhhh… so therapeutic! (Even just writing about it is like opening a pressure valve.) Finally, for the solution to the elderly dilemma. (The Logan’s Run “fix” is out; mainly because I would have been incinerated 18 years ago.) Hmmm… perhaps we should begin with more caring families/friends/neighbors who call their elderly parents/grandparents/friends more often to ask if they can get them anything from the store (even if this means they have to bring it to them and spend thirty minutes “gasp!” speaking with the codgers.) Perhaps more shuttle services from medical parks and doctor’s offices. Hey! How about a delivery/car service particularly designated for use by the elderly and subsidized by the municipal government! (Call it “Car Wise.” They’ll feel smart using it!) Failing any (or all) of the aforementioned, how about this: road tests every two years after 65 (70?). Booyah! Solved!

Problem #3: Lack of Driving Skills. “Skills” being a rather broad term requiring elaboration: (but only tangentially subjective) By “skills” I mean: an aptitude not only for maneuvering the vehicle and operating it with a proficiency that not only improves the safety of yourself and your passengers, but increases the safety of everyone else in your immediate vicinity as well. This is a learned ability and requires being keenly aware of the intentions, and positions of pretty much everything that is currently moving around you; not only at the current moment but for any moment in the next 3 – 10 seconds. This requires gauging not only the physical (and mental) intentions and conditions of the other drivers and vehicles around you but taking into consideration other overlying conditions (i.e. weather, pedestrians, bicyclists, the stability of the cargo on a truck, etc.) that currently affect your immediate and upcoming vicinities. (That’s right, you’ll need to look ahead!) And integrating all these together, continuously and repeatedly, for the entire duration of the drive. (Kind’a like God recreating the entire universe every microsecond… but on a significantly less grand scale.) Unfortunately, it seems very few drivers are willing (or capable) of acquiring these (semi-)complex mental acrobatic skills. But there are methods by which you can “fake” them.

My Next Blog will continue to explore this traffic theme and tell the story of Orlando’s Greatest driver: The legendary Walker Sloan. I will also include a handy set of rules delineating how you too can become a bad-ass driver.

My Kick-Ass Blog! (Originally Entitled: Your Ad Goes Here)

Welcome to my latest blog, I’m Orlando Scout
A handle steeped in irony, as I rarely venture out.
With your kind encouragement, perhaps I’ll make a change.
I agree this rhyme’s annoying (not-to-mention, strange.)
But who am I to argue with my flighty/fickle muse.

Hmmm…
choose, refuse, Baloo’s, in the morning she’s a.m. muse…

Oh!   Hello! Orlando Scout here. aka Paul R. Martinez

Seems you caught me smack-dab in the middle of massaging a stanza! How awkward! Well, anyway, I’m glad you’re finally here -- do I have a blog for you!

Wait -- do I ? Why yes! Yes I do!

About the only thing I can promise, is that my kick-ass blog (whoa, that’s a much better title) will be unlike any other blog on HypeOrlando. Why? How? Is that necessarily a good thing? Is it true?! All good questions -- which I presently (and politely) decline to answer. I suspect the answers to all your, oh-so-intelligent, queries shall become evident as we proceed.

First, a little about me. I have spent 29 (total) years in Brooklyn, N.Y., Flatbush to be more precise. Received a top-notch education in the public school system and attended Brooklyn College… briefly. (2 years)  The next 14 years: a blur of life (and death) then Florida for a Schnauzer and Marriage. I still have the Schnauzer! Yay! (But not for long…boo!) I’ve been here in Orlando for 1 ¼ years (and 2 days) as I write this… which brings me to you!

You really have no idea how fortunate you are to have found this page do you?

I am indeed a cipher, to myself probably more-so than to others. (w.t.f. does that even mean?!) I have one quality, a grace actually, that defines me above all the rest: an abiding and unrelenting faith. A truly precious gift and one which I have not seen my way clear to embrace to its fullest extent. Due to an equally abiding and unrelenting ego. (Steeped in childish spite!) I attempt to tell myself that this great (and true) faith is “enough.” That never harming anyone, or anything, other than myself and a few lizards (corralled for Her, partially blind, Majesty’s amusement) and keeping at least 7 of His Commandments at all times, is sufficient to earn His continued blessings and remain in His good graces.

I have since(rely) begun to doubt this.

I think tremendous labors and self-sacrifice need, necessarily, be involved. (Gah!) Coming out of my “shell” and actually affecting a change in the world. (Gah!) Even helping people... In one 9 mos. chapter of my existence, I cared for a man dying of A.L.S. (Lou Gherig's Disease) seeing to every one of his hygienic, medicinal, positional needs as his total-body paralysis worsened. It was truly fulfilling and difficult and very much a blessing. I've been told I have a "Servants Heart." At first my ego was apaulled  (heh!) but my soul seemed to rejoice in the label. With fragile humility, I accepted and internalized it. Right now, however, this "servant" needs to serve himself. (I'm kinda broken. Happy, but broken. Which I guess is the root of the problem right there.) Hmm, perhaps the most proficient manner in which to turn things around would be through helping others.

I suspect you will be happy to hear, that this blog will not to be a bunch of inane, personal ramblings every time I publish. (Only most of the time.) In fact, I hope to bring all you good people some useful, interesting and exciting information about this great city of Orlando. It’s spectacular, utterly unique (ever expanding) environs and its, resultantly, equally unique communities. (I have no idea what these are going to be but you will freakin’ LOVE it!) And yes, I really do believe it’s a great city! It’s just in need of an emotional makeover which should develop naturally after only a few decades of city-wide psychotherapy. (B.t.w. to all you bad Orlandians… feel free to contact me for some top-shelf, one on one con-sul-tay-shun! Aww shoot! Well, that’s still 6 of 10… but dagnabbit, I sincerely doubt we’ll be graded on a curve.)

Right now, (Ooh you lucky peepo!) As I have deigned forgive you for popping in on me in the midst of composing… I will go ahead and present the special treat I had planned for y’all!

It’s (pretentiously speaking) “art;” (certainly not high-art) so don’t go getting’ all uptight about it n’ shit.
Ladies and gentleman… without further ado, I present:

Of Thee I Sing

As a quantum age (of dissolution) dawns,
‘Pon a land of kings and rooks and pawns.
We’re lined up on this checkered board,
Arms tied back, blindfolds ignored.
Control the center! A battle rages!
My successes provides your semi-livable wages!
Pride: Grace earned channeling micro-creation.
Community: shares ownership, values, tears, jubilation.
Hubris: "Don't be evil!" as motto for your (evil?) company.
Shame: is hoarding and hiding, so come sing with me!

Like Plant I’ll wail of ladies fair!
Ensilkened calves, pendulous hair.
Lacquered nails, dripping lips,
Pleated cloths hem one hand (width) beneath hips.
Your visage a commodity I shall gladly enmesh,
In quivering, seeping, exultations of flesh.
Beauty: brutally trodden, rough-ridden for sport --
Dignity: casualty to indiscretions of the casual sort.
Lust: a weapon, an indomitable force,
Perversion: to give in without “love” as the source.

I’ll croon like Bing about things we don’t need,
Of debt-laden economies, propped-up by greed.
Insatiable consumption, ubiquitously bidden,
By powers-that-be, in virgin climes hidden.
Outsourced assemblages of technology,
Revolution diverted with 4K-3D!
Price: lower than what your neighbor would pay.
Supply: cancer spewing kaiju come thunderin’ your way.
Cost: a self-obsessed nation, detached from what matters.
Demand: high ‘nuff we shrug-off bright Foxconn splatters.

Lay down a beat n’ I’ll kick-it fo’ shizzle!
Rap on politics gone awry n’ causing dreams to fizzle.
A once proud n’ virile democracy,
Neutered, a flaccid plutocracy.
Legislator/power-brokers; fat-stacks for each shill.
Dog, ain’t no ghetto more gangsta than Capitol Hill.
Altruism: twisted illusion; mystic, self abnegation.
Service: precludes virtue in this objectivist nation. 
Partisanship: one side won’t listen, one won’t shut-up.
Corruption: endemic, fo’ Snoopzilla a pup.

As did chanteuse Piaf, I’ll play the raconteur;
Emote of greedy oligarchs, their world of haute couture.
The F.T.C. will set things straight… my dimpled derriere!
Zombie-nation as abattoir, Grand Guignol of laissez-faire.
Creditor-enslavers; raison d’être: simply, to own us.
Matching annual salaries with each outré quarterly bonus.
Trust: long ago eroded, their chateaus made of sand,
Duty:  rendezvous up-top, sell us their empty hand.
Deceit: de rigueur, truth the faux-pas.
Theft: as you jockey for overtime, I jet to ze spa.

Of all our ills and evils, particularly abhorred:
Corporate malfeasance, as brought to you by: “The Chairman of the Board. “
Exxon: 8.8 billion profit; (second quarter, twenty-fourteen).
Mothertripping,, copsqu wking, meely-mouthed,, archoles
[Line redacted Sinatra, himself, would designate obscene.]
Lobbyists finagle new regs as defense teams neuter old;
Profits trumping prophets, the golden rule is rule of gold.
Honesty: tracheotomized rasp with which morality's imbued.   
Integrity: owning every weakness knowing you'll be sued.               
Corruption; fabricated realities we willfully ignore.
Greed:  weaseling, wheedling -- another day at the store.

The vibrations of cosmos, a music of spheres;

These klaxons which deafen, echo these fears:

That we've only a brief time to gather and rut,

And know in our hearts that we shan't make the cut.

So let’s whore ourselves out n' pray we don’t linger --

Play with our toys, enjoy a good singer!

God: straddles the battlefield, unable decide --

Mercy! The late, great Roy Orbison cried.

Satan: a boogeyman scaring the kid. 

Condemnation: just step back -- look what we did.

Our father's God to, Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!
From, "America" ("My Country, ‘Tis Of Thee")
                      by Samuel Francis Smith

Paul 2014

Time to Catch Y'all Up -- My Dog is NO LONGER DYING!!!

         So -- It's been a while since I filled you in on what was going on. (Not that there's any "you" to read this!)
         When I returned home from a Christmas visit to Navarre (and Gulf Breeze)  The main purpose for the trip being as a "goodbye tour" for little Willow.  The secondary reason  -- get a hug. I had been nearly 9 mos. without any physical human contact and it's hard to put into words how spiritually and mentally oppressive that can become -- but I'll give it a try... at some future time.
         Well to make a long story not quite as long -- upon returning home, and seeing that Willow was looking better -- not great by a long shot but better; more energetic more spirited during lizard hunting forays  -- I decided to get an ultrasound done to see how bad the presumed (and circumstantially diagnosed) chest tumor actually was.  Guess what they found...
         Yup,  NOTHING! No chest tumor. She still had/has a  ridiculously enlarged heart -- but, has no signs of cancer anywhere in her body. WTF?! I can't begin to express how much, grief and anxiety that erroneous diagnosis has caused;  along with the Dr.'s brilliant little caveat about putting her down immediately. But a new vet, another heart pill and modified diet later -- she's the best she's been in years! According to the new vet she could live "for years."  I am not as optimistic. She still has her colloidal enterotoxicosis (a chronic bowel condition, manageable with meds) and if she's not outside hunting lizards she appears 3/4 dead but at no point do I believe the quality of life scales have remained tipped to the negative for a duration that would qualify for implementing an end life scenario. So bad-ass me -- got my dog back. Well, a reprieve anyway.   The little sucker can eat! In fact she eats well, sleeps well, shits well (65% of the time) and still adores  her daddy who, treasures every moment with her. (I'm not really sure why though --  a loneliness/loyalty issue, I guess.)    
         In other news you are reading the words of the new world record holder for fastest HypeOrlando (a blogging community) member to get his ass banned from the site. Yup. 3 days! Some silly rule about not insulting other bloggers -- even if only "glancing jibes." No warnings either.
         But since I had written some interesting stuff in the three days I was with them, which,I think, deserve to be posted -- here I am! Back to my abbandoned blog.  I still have a lot more to discuss with you. I'm not doing any better than where we last left off (other than the dog thing.) In fact, I  think I've slipped deeper into my malaise.
         We'll get to that.

Anyway Enjoy! Next up my first nearly real poem in 15 years! (Frustratingly, it doesn't even rank by standards set by actual literary types.)

Sink Or Swim Part II - My Dog Is Still Dying

Sink Or Swim -- Part II

Dec.11th

           Ahh --let me paint the scene. I am sitting here in "Woojie-world." A garden area alongside the Win-gate clubhouse which is is almost directly across the street from my house. It is teeming with lizards. (Until we arrive, at which point they scatter and hide.) Willow is moving from tree to tree hoping to get lucky (Won't happen. I shall, however, assist her momentarily by banging a sturdy palm-piece against the trees.)  I am typing on my ASUS transformer connected to the internet through some mystery Netgear router, fortuitously unsecured. I have music (sounding real good) from my Creative, X-Fi, FLAC player paired to a Cy-fi (no relation) bluetooth speaker which is shaped like a large teardrop and fits perfectly in my t-shirt pocket. It's 74 and sunny. (On Dec. 14th!) At this moment "Edward Sharpe" (Alexander Ebert) is whining that he has to leave L.A..  Pachelbel's "Canon in D" played prior. (From an album entitled: Pachelbel's Greatest Hit" which contains various interpretations of the "Canon in D" -- Willow is calling -- let me get my stick --brb.
       Whoa! We saw (and briefly pursued) a gecko. Only the third I've seen in the eight months I've been in exile here.) They are a highly preferable lizard species to hunt as they are approx. half as fast and are bright green ta boot. Not that either attribute (detraments for the gecko) helped us to make today its' gruesome last.
        Lizard hunting is an art. These creatures are cunning and impossibly quick. At times faster than the human eye can track. (These human eyes anyway.) They have dexterous hands with creepy human jointed fingers with which, after astounding leaps they may use to instantly change directions by grabbing an edge and swinging underneath with proto-simian precision. They are scary smart. They seem to know the perfect angles needed to to elude me. I swear they have vanished right in front of me. They adapt quickly. New evasion strategies are quickly adopted by all. As if they somehow broadcast the most effective maneuvers. My suspicions of their communicative propensities was corroborated after I accidentally exposed a partially burned section of leaf that was wedged in the hollow junction formed by the"shaggy-palm's" lattice-work trunk.

Shaggy Palm

       Special thanks are due to the photomicrography and herpelingusitics departments at UCF. The former who enlarged and /reimaged the document so that the latter could translate it. Upon enlargement appearing to be a hodgepodge of squiggles and dots. Nonsense to me --  easily decipherable by the herpelinguists. What was to me an astounding object proved nothing of the sort to these experts who have amassed drawers and drawers of similarly scrawled upon leaf fragments. (Huh, turns out lizards are quite prolific scribes; who'da guessed.) They had long been aware of the lizard society's monarchical governmental structure. "Every backyard a kingdom." They claim. Anyway, it certainly explains how such varied survival tactics are so quickly and efficiently propagated.
       Here it is in its' entirety:

                                       From the Royal (Shaggy) Palm of Lizard-King Jim
                                                          Here-ye loyal subjects!
             Following is an official decree from the most revered and extolled Lizard King Phil.

            A (quasi) danger has befallen our realm in the form of a loud, hairy and obnoxiously persistent grey monstrosity and its awkward bipedal (and balding) companion that carries a large, golden, banging-stick. Please assemble your neighbors, read, commit to memory and immediately destroy this notice. (As we can not leave these leaves around as evidence of our advanced cognitive abilities.)
            Should you  indeed suffer the misfortune of being approached by these creatures you are strongly advised to shelter in place. Do not let your curiosity get the better of you. Keep your heads (and tails) about you by keeping them down. Be assured, that aside from their ludicrously unwieldy size they are in all respects unremarkable and not worth further investigations. The tooled bipedal companion, however, does seem to possess a rudimentary intelligence. Do not be lulled by it's vacant glare. The inclination to not consider these buffoonish beings a "clear and present" threat, though understandable, may prove an egregious error.
            The good news: evasion is not only achievable but, pretty much, guaranteed. To assist in achieving the most beneficial outcome, I have assembled and convened the "Grey-Monstrosity Royal Evasion Task-Force" the findings of which are presented herein and designate several proven and approved strategies which you will do well to follow; minimizing the already negligible chances of meeting an inauspicious and violent end. (Note: These evasion tactics shall be appended as new (or refined) strategies are developed, tested and approved.)
            1) "Frick the Stick!" If the biped's stupid stick is not in imminent danger of wounding you -- don't move. Do not be panicked by the incessant banging. It is utilized to promulgate fear and cause you to abandon your shelter and flee. If  you are visible, you are vulnerable! Remember, shelter in place.
            2)When Hope You Lack, Feign Attack! For whatever reason, the biped will not hit us directly with the stick -- he uses it merely  to corral and shepherd us towards the grey-monstrosity.  Utilize this weakness against them by counter intuitively, leaping at, or upon, the biped. (No, seriously!) This will, most likely, cause it to drop the stick and flail wildly as you drop to the ground and hightail it beneath the nearest plant. During the final phase of this maneuver be cautious of the biped's stomping feet.
            3) Utilize the "270 Up" -- Your tree is your friend. Neither the bulbous biped nor the grey monstrosity can circumnavigate at the speed all but the most elderly of our kind is capable of. If you have been exposed and the stick is near you, continue laterally (at 2/3 speed) while maintaining an approximately 30 degree incline around your tree. When at the 270 degree mark (or  3/4 of the way from the point at which you start;  make a full speed vertical dash (90 degree) toward your tree top. Your position upon shooting vertical will usually, (but not always,) coincide with a point almost directly above the grey-monstrosities head) Do not slow, do not look back.
            4) "Panic, No! Instead, Go Low!" In the unlikely event the biped has succeeded in driving you within striking distance of the Grey-monstrosity.  Don't panic, go low. Believe it or not,  the best place to escape the beast is to place your self directly beneath it. Scary, yes; but an effective escape strategy.  The beast is easily confused. It pounces and almost always overshoots, permitting us to exit from beneath it's foul, mid-section-bulge while it is busily snorting through the empty dirt beneath it's front limbs. Note: occasionally it does not overshoot. Last week we sadly lost a royal subject from Duke Eli's palm; his torso violently twisted at an impossible angle to his lower extremities, and  to whose family I extend my deepest royal condolences and the King's blessings.
            5)  Lizards Don't Cry! If you have made the fatal error of fleeing to an open area and you are cornered, exposed and exhausted -- don't cry. We are lizards. Lizard's don't cry. (The fact that we don't have tear-ducts is beside the point!) Please show some restraint and do not throw your tails! Nothing says impotent ruler more than subjects running around with little stumps where their lovely tails should be. Not to mention the steep physical toll incurred by regeneration. Instead, go limp. The Grey monstrosity will take you in it's mouth and may indeed puncture your body. The smell and heat are as excruciating as is the possible pain. However, many of my subjects have survived this encounter. Here's how:  it will most likely carry you over to the grass. The beast will at this point put you down in the grass with the intent of reliving it's initial strike and thrill of capture. (Beast!)  At the moment of release you must remain perfectly still -- but only for a moment. When you feel the heat of it's fetid breath diminish, immediately burrow yourself down into the roots of the grass with arrow like focus, form and precision. Do not use your limbs but keep these pressed firmly against your sides as they may snag against a root and prevent your deepest penetration. Utilize a side to side writhing form like our cousins the legless serpents. Continue moving at the deepest possible level. Then, move laterally towards cover in brief  two to four inch bursts between twenty second periods of complete immobility.
            It is the opinion of your King and his Royal council  that these assaults can not continue indefinitely and we may some day, perhaps soon, be free of these unprovoked assaults; able to once again resume our peaceful existence. However, in the meantime, know that  your Sire and Lord and has been regularly meeting with his most wise and trusted advisers and consults with the goal of devising some effective countermeasures for use against these foul creatures.          
            My blessings and prayers I now extend upon all my subjects in these trying times!
       
            Your Kind and Caring King -- Phil

A Grain Of Rice

Lest you disbelieve a document of such length could be inscribed upon a small section of  (partially burned) leaf -- I direct your attention to the following: http://listverse.com/2010/02/06/top-10-unbelievable-miniatures/

Sink Or Swim; Part I: My Dog Is Dying.

Dec. 2nd

       Well...  I'm back... eight months later. Really?  Eight months?  Almost to the day. April 1st - Dec. 2nd. Longer since I completed "Marriage Autopsy" (I just reread it. Though an emotionally contrived bit of caustic-matter-splattered, pulp -- I find it quite humorous and brutally honest. With some interesting technical acrobatics and erudite word choices. (As usual.) Considering the quite dire emotional circumstances they were composed under, I am, mostly, pleased.)
       Eight months -- huh.  Tempus fugit n' shit.
       In my casually lateral traversal through daily routine, I confront no challenge more existentially confounding  than my inability to grasp the passage of time. Hours are to me undifferentiated from decades; minutes from months, seconds from centuries. It's as if all time will be/is/was -- one. I don't know if this is a form of brain damage or higher awareness (I suspect the former.) Life is zipping by all around me and I have yet to attempt plant my feet within it's fecund promise. Surely, if I jump at this point... tumbling wildly I'd be violently sent.  A violent and shocking condition perhaps preferable to my current roadside state of fetid decay. Eschewing participation to instead impotently masquerade as a "conscientious-objector." In reality (it's subjective!)  a psychologically and emotionally mangled victim of my own, insecurities, fear and cynicism. What could be worse than to be forever/momentarily left wondering what I am capable/incapable of accomplishing. Developing neither the courage nor will to act; instead, spitefully railing against injustices (real or perceived) that permeate every facet of our technology-mainlining society that puts profits before people and monetizes our every itch.
      How convenient are these paralyzing inadequacies/grievances, simultaneously affirming and diminishing strapped  together by an encircling of vitriol and resentment; affixed upon which and scrawled in a childlike hand, a label: "DEPRESSION"
     "Of course you're depressed. If I were you, I'd be depressed too." A somberly pronounced professional diagnosis from several years past.
      Well fuck her.
      Here I am on the cusp of 50 -- alone, broke, jobless, scared, sick -- with a dying dog... but I'll be damned if I'm just  going to throw in the towel and succumb to my own morose stupidity. (Like I have a choice.)  No, I do --  damn it! I choose to live. I choose to make this world a better place. I choose to reach out and hopefully...a hand will be there to grasp upon and pull me out of this soul-sucking mire in which I am sinking. If not --  perhaps in kicking wildly (while unavoidably speeding my decent) I will find a foothold, a soul-purchase -- by the fortuitous presence of which, I'll be able to climb out of my own accord.
          Shit -- somethings gotta change... and quickly. I'm sinking fast.

Dec. 4th --

Willow late Nov. 

The x-rays showed something quite irregular with the imaged size of her her heart. The theory is that a tumor is either attached to the heart itself or on the lungs pressing the heart upward (outward) causing it to assume an awkward, angled positioned and appearing ginormous (non clinical terminology) within the chest cavity. Blood tests show only minor irregularities with liver function. Her (nearly) life-long heart-murmur has risen from a "1" to a "5" (a "6" being the highest)
I would like to believe the stubborn beast just moved a little as the image was taken.  I mean she would rather break a leg (or bite off my hand) then allow me to cut her nails so I can't imagine they were able to keep her still enough for an x-ray. That's Willow --  indomitable. Without my presence and a leash she would be run down every time she crossed the street. She refuses to acknowledge cars as anything more than abrupt air oscillations with no more capacity to damage than the wind. She wants to go "over there," she goes ... end of story.
     Quite a simple creature she.  Eats, drinks water,  (resultantly poops and pees) sleeps (more and more), hunts lizards with admirable dedication and determination bordering on obsession. (Even my dog has an occupation!) She chases squirrels, and loves her daddy. Simple. I'm pretty sure she "knows" she is quite adored. (Actually, I sometimes believe she takes my doting affections for granted; like the air she breathes or the ice cubes in her water bowl. Though to be fair she does occasionally attack me with spontaneous and profoundly heart-felt kisses. I raised her to be self-willed. To know that her wishes and desires are important and always carry weight. (With me anyway.) When we are out on walks she picks our routes, often surprising me. (They're her walks after-all -- why shouldn't she decide where they lead.)  One of my favorite exhibited character traits is her stubbornness. I see a dog approaching or sprinklers on up-ahead and try to get her to cross the street -- she sets herself and will not budge! I plead and she looks me dead in the eye (or sometimes completely ignores me) just set in her previously chosen direction. Awesome. (I mentally register "parental success" in these instances - however frustrating they may simultaneously be.) She'll register her error as she hears the forceful patter of the water against the concrete. She'll look over to me like "do something about this!" At which point I usually pick her up and carry her safely around it. If it's the lady with the two pit-bulls coming towards us -- she's overruled (and scooped-up) straight-away.

Dec. 5th - 6th

    From my Dec., 2nd blog (that's still this one, only higher-up the page -- duh)  you may have (justifiably) received the impression that I am unhappy. "Paralyzing, inadequacies/grievances." "state of fetid decay" "psychologically and emotionally mangled victim of my own insecurities, fear  and cynicism." "soul-sucking mire in which I am sinking." Hyperbole aside, all true! But unhappy? Quite the contrary! (Perhaps this is a big part of "the problem.") If I were fully sane I believe I would most certainly be miserable. Thank God, I'm far from it. (And far from miserable.) Alright, maybe a little  miserable (Is that even possible? Can you be a "little-bit" gay or a "little-bit" of a genius or for that matter, partially sane? (I strongly urge you, dear reader, not to draw any inferences from what are merely (poor?) examples.) "Miserable" may, in itself, be more exaggeration. Deep frustration and sadness caused by emotional, psychological, physical stress and disappointment in myself. Vague, but a tad more accurate.(Yes, I collect all the stresses. Strangely, they seem to be a byproduct of a "stress-free" existence.) I shall address these stresses at a future date. Surely, a good deal of this stridently decried soul-malaise is due to the imminent departure of my sole companion and terrestrial responsibility  It is hard to face such profound loss without some resentment and anger. I truly love the "stubborn monkey." (I often expressed to Crystal that it wasn't possible for Willow to be "spoiled" because that would imply she expects more than she gives and to the contrary, she has always given fully and unconditionally of her Willowness. She is quite a loving and spiritually generous creature and I will miss her profoundly. To the point of not knowing how I will deal with her being "gone." (But it has to be better than dealing with her sick and dying.)
     Perhaps I can go to the pound and find another dog... for a heart and lung transplant! Do dogs have blood types? Can I sew fast enough to keep her from bleeding out? (I'll need clamps and a scalpel.) Could I remove the "donor" organs without damaging them? Can I rent a respirator?  I'll need to remove the bed from the spare bedroom and get a large aluminum (stainless-steel? ooh... expensive) table... How sanitary is "sanitary enough?" I will need more light. Disinfectants (iodine?) and anti rejection medications. Strong pain medication. Anesthesia... This could work! Yeah... maybe -- if I were Tony Stark. (I just had an image of Willow with little crimson booties and a glowing blue circle in her chest rising up three feet of the ground to snatch a stunned lizard in her grinning maw.)

Dec. 10th

     Well, sheet. This is rough. Willow is still having really good days. I can't say the same for the nights. After sundown she is pretty much comatose. She started having some trouble sleeping a few nights ago -- periodically, shifting and her breathing is becoming more labored; Bad sign. I do not want her to suffer. She is still eating, drinking and joyfully chasing lizards. I have been debating on whether or not  the best time to "put her down" (oh Lord!) might be when she is outside chasing lizards, with  belly full, bowels yet empty, and the breeze ruffling her hair. (Schnauzer's don't have fur.) Her (lifelong) glory, her element; happy. Perhaps I could have the vet meet me out there. Would this be an act of compassion or selfishness? I am living in a state of semi-shock caused by the soul shredding sadness of her impending departure. (Couldn't have come at a worse time either, because I do not want to leave her alone (and thereby miserable) and yet, I am in a real financial bind. I was already in a funk -- but this episode has brought it to an entirely new level.) I know, I know it's just a dog. The closeness I feel, mostly, illusory; an affectation brought about by our (decade-plus, long)  proximity and reliance on one another's presence. Her's for companionship (far more successfully than Crystal) and me as slave to her every desire.
        Part of me even wonders if I am depriving her of something important by just suddenly ending it. If those moments of revelation --  that her body is dying -- is an integral part of her journey through this plane of existence.
       This is so difficult. Her "mother" hasn't called once. Oh wait -- she did . About a week ago. To ask about a package that was erroneously shipped to my old address after which she inquired after Willow.  I had called her the day I got the diagnosis -- and told her I would bring Willow back up to Pensacola for "goodbyes" (I think Willow would like that -- but Crystal said she rather I didn't. That she wasn't as good as I am dealing with "death." (Translation: I am her emotional superior. Intellectual too. (Yes,  I know the latter is rather obvious but I felt like proclaiming it!  While I'm at it, I might as well lay claim to emotional superiority. (However developmentally-arrested --  my emotional "purity" sanctions and affirms this claim. This particular triptych may, in fact, entitle me to wear the "spiritual" crown as well.  (Debatable; she is a youth minister after all.)  None of this changes the fact that it's all-the-more difficult going through this alone. Then again, I know, first hand, how difficult this is to deal with and wouldn't wish this emotional trauma on anyone -- even my monstrous minister ex. So, I forgive her. )
       Willow wants to go out -- couldn't possibly refuse.
     

Hooray! I Made It Another Year! Just Great.

 Another freakin’ birthday!

 Just one more wasted year

 One more year of losing,  

 Of giving in to fear.

 Hooray! Today’s my birthday.

 Praise to awesome me!

 Flyest guy beneath this sky…

 From sea to shining sea!

 Really? One more birthday?

 Since last time what’s been learned?

 What it means to feel unwanted  --

 Discarded, soul-stung, spurned.

 Rejoice! Today’s my birthday!

 Raise a glass up to the air –

 Toast my health and my good-fortune,

 He’ll nod approvingly up-there!  

 Know what you can do with this here birthday?

 Hold still -- I bet I can…

 Wait a sec; whoa! Check out those legs!  

“Whachoo lookin’ at old man!?"

 Happy, happy, birthday.

 My joy this world to share.

 Given purpose in His light…

 Perhaps it’s time to care.

  Paul ‘13

That Loving Feeling... Now It's Gone, Gone, Gone!

          I came across this New York Times article on the psychology behind, long-term, emotional commitment.   It's not a "quick read" -- but not much in this blog is!
          It seems that regarding the management of our emotional relationship -- I had it all over Crystal.    Of course, I had already believed this to be the case but seeing my beliefs affirmed by psychologists is cathartic. One of the parts that "jumped-out" at me says that infatuation and passion must give way to: "compassionate love, composed more of deep affection, connection and liking." And this describes very well what I feel for my "ex."  What the article fails to say, (but I assume is implied) is that it takes two "to tango." That both need be willing to work on a relationship. to accept, develop and evolve these new emotional/psychological parameters, and, well, that's where I am at a disadvantage. It makes me so angry and sad!
         The article also said: "a flourishing relationship requires three-times as many positive emotions as negative ones."  But when your partner only sees the negative? Well, then you need to strive for a hundred times the number of positive expressions -- and even then... watch yo ass!  I have already covered all this in Marriage/Autopsy -- I guess Crystal just gave up trying. Very sad. I think that's what hurts the most. At least I endure, secure in the knowledge I never gave-up.  Not emotionally, anyway.
         Dear God, I need a hug! I actually do! That's so weird! I guess I haven't had any human contact in a couple of years. The emotional heft of our marriage's dissolution is necessitating a comforting/affirming embrace. I would even take a "bro" hug at this point! God this truly is sad. The only one I don't want a hug from is Crystal... no, actually, that would be nice too!