Rockless, Max, Fred & the Crusades

This photo of Ma and Pa and ole big eared Chipmunk Teeth reminds me of a quote... “Never trust a man that wears a bow tie. A cravat slopes down gently, pointing at and accentuating the genitals. Why would you trust anyone whose tie points out to opposite directions, accentuating his ears?”…from the 2000 movie State and Main

Stoooone Freeeeeeeee

(as free as the graaaaasss grooows, as free as the wind blows, stone free to follow my heart)

The double blast lithotripsy with cherries on top did the job. I have been declared stone free! Now how do I stay that way? The doctor said that 7^th Day Adventists never have kidney stones. Holistic, veggie diet or favoritism from above?

Hmmmm, I wonder how many conversions they land from Kidney Stoners?

A nutritionist told me that beer is a good kidney stone cleanser. So that’s my problem. Not enough beer. Man, I like the way that nutritionist thinks.

Max Von Maxx

(murderer, murder victim or just another nutbag?)

In July, I was in a murder mystery. I played Max Von Maxx, the delusional, dedicated manservant of the delusional, doddering Joan Crawfish, played by Elisabeth.

There were 2 murders that night and the Byrdstown TN crowd of a little over 100 guests had to use their powers of deduction to determine the identity of the murderer from a zany cast of characters. Among them, Steve McQueen’s “son” and his redneck mama, a Kojak impersonator, Shirley Temple, a Sarah Palin lookalike, a seedy theatrical agent, a goofy opera singer, an amazon model afraid of her own height and of course, Max and Joan.

Crawfish and Max Von Maxx were based on a Carol Burnett and Harvey Korman spoof of a movie called Sunset Boulevard. Copy and paste this link and it will take you to Carol and Harvey and Tim Conway too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLO4z5m89TE

Apparently we are reprising the performance on Sept 17 in one of the local pubs.

Aaaaaaaand this photo guy has no photos… too busy acting. I’ll try to remember next time around.

The Fred Sanford Shuffle

(what happens when your knees are shot to hell)

I know I shouldn’t but I cannot help myself. I’ve been humming the Sanford & Son theme song when Elisabeth walks by these days. Good thing she appreciates a clever tease. You see, thanks to genetics and 23 years of standing on her feet teaching school, her knees have given out. She cannot sleep because of the chronic pain and has had to miss a lot of school lately. She is feeling miserable. On Sept 6, she goes in for laparoscopic surgery on her right knee. The other one has to wait six months because of the insurance restrictions around here.

So send light and well wishes and, knowing Elisabeth, maybe a joke or two. I know she will appreciate it.

The Crusades Revisited (because it worked out so well the first time)

While you can’t see me in this photo, I am among the peaceful protesters. Here’s what we were protesting.

Ever hear of Geert Wilders? He came to Toronto, London and Ottawa in May at the invitation of the Canadian International Free Press Society so the Canadians in the crowd probably have heard of him.

Geert is a high profile, right-wing Dutch politician and Chairman for the Party for Freedom in the Netherlands. Among other things, the Party of Freedom believes in ethnic registration, in closing Islamic schools and not allowing immigration from non-Western countries.

For a while, the incendiary Wilders was banned from the U.K. because of his hate mongering against Islam and blatant stand against multiculturalism. Sadly, this intolerant spiller of half-truths found a receptive audience in the right-wing Tennessee Freedom Coalition.

At the Cornerstone Church in Nashville on May 12, he talked about Islam being a dangerous ideology rather than a religion and warned the Christians of Tennessee that Islam was at their gate and to not allow them to gain a foothold here.

He urged parents to tell their children that our Western Culture is superior to the Islamic culture and that we must defend our identity, fight for it or lose it. He called mosques hate palaces and urged that we forbid their construction and close down all Islamic schools. And he encouraged anti-sharia law (which the Tennessee legislators are currently considering anyhow).

I touched on the speech highlights, but for the whole thing, go to…

http://www.americanthinker.com/blog/2011/05/a_warning_to_america_geert_wil.html

On August 18, Geert Wilder’s film, “A Warning to America,” played at the Putnam County Courthouse. There was an objection to that film playing at the venerable old building. It lent it a validity that it does not deserve. Almost like intolerance is sanctioned by the powers that be.

Then there is nature of the film. I’m all for freedom of speech - the first U.S. amendment is mentioned with envy by Wilders in his Nashville speech. Of course, there is another part of that amendment addressing the free exercise of religion, which he conveniently ignores.

Unless you buy his premise that Islam is an ideology disguised as a religion.

I’m pretty easygoing but there’s stuff that riles me.

I’m impatient with just plain dumbass stupid, I’m impatient with impatience and I’m intolerant of intolerance.

For the story of the protest, go to…

http://www.herald-citizen.com/view/full_story/15152014/article-Courthouse-site-of-protest-over-Islamic-film?instance=homethirdleft

As a footnote, I just found out that the minister who organized the protest, one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet, was threatened. Just dumbass stupid.

The Sands of Iwo Harder

Let’s just forget the last couple of weeks and move on, shall we?

I’m a stoic kind of guy. I have a high pain threshold. Don’t like to be fussed over. Don’t like to draw attention. Refuse to be cowed. Would rather just grit my teeth and deal with the pain.

On Tuesday, July 5^th around noon, I turned into a big, whimpering, shouting-in-pain baby. Cursing. Yelling. Begging for help.

This was 2 hours after a stent had been removed as a result of my kidney stone blasting on June 30^th. The stent was put in because my congenitally narrow ureter would not let the blasted stones pass. I had a bad reaction to the stent removal (which, by the way, was removed with one smooth yank as if the doctor was starting a boat motor).

Those shards were a vengeful lot.

Percocet would not touch the pain. There was nausea. I was overwhelmed by the sheer agony.

Elisabeth rushed me over to see my urologist who sent me over to the hospital. Admittance seemed to take forever. I screamed and cursed in the hall. Elisabeth, in her desperation, to somehow help me, told me to be a cowboy. We had been watching old “Gunsmoke” episodes and she was referring to the tough old cowboys who could take a gunshot, wince a little and keep on riding.

If only it were just a gunshot.

There was paperwork. Then I had to wait while they cleaned a room. Finally finally finally they wheeled me up to room 531. Then there were the vital signs to take. Finally they gave me shot of dilaudid and poked me with a needle 6 times before finding a spot where an I.V. could take hold.

The average nurse could not do it. They had to call in their top sticker.

Then they handed me a pain pump.

It took some time for the pain to subside to manageable levels but about a half hour later, when a nurse asked, for the umnpteenth time, if I was diabetic, I said in a commanding voice, “No! Bring me some candy!”

I spent a foggy night and 2 hazy days in the hospital.

On the 14^th, they went in again and blasted the shards into sand. I understand they left no stone unturned.

These days, I am drinking liters of water and hoping to pee sand. Please send passing thoughts.

What’s up with you?

I found this online. Obviously they put a lot of thought into this swell t-shirt.

Baker's Dozen

Yesterday I had my stones blasted.

Thirteen of them.

Today it only hurts when I laugh.

Or stand.

Or sit.

Or lay down.

Or walk.

Other than that, it is all fun fun fun!

Fireworks are for sissies - macho men celebrate Canada Day with a parade of kidney stones while spittin' toe-backie juice and rasslin' grizzly bars. Now if I can only make myself chaw on a plug and find me a bar, I'll be all set.

I use visualization to minimize pain, immersing myself in a few of the memorable places I have visited. And so...

3:30 am. Lake Ponderay, Sandpoint Idaho. Light jacket cool. No breeze. Mountain air so fresh, you can taste it. Morning birdsong. Water gently lapping.

Uh oh. Lapping water.

Lesson - never visualize lapping water when trying to take a break from peeing stones.

Happy Canada Day!

Ouch.

Gotta go!

The Invasion of the Red-Eyed Freaks

The South has been invaded once again. Unlike the War of Northern Aggression, there are no muskets pointed nor saber rattling nor cannons ablaze, no flags waving nor sides to choose. This invasion comes with waves of sound from the trees, like billions of insane children with hand clickers, a curiosity in the distance but up close, a riotous cacophony that is as relentless, maddening and inescapable as fate.

Every 13 years, cicadas, or as I’ve heard them referred to in these parts, red eyed freaks, rise from their underground burrows, swarm their way into the trees, molt, sing their fingernails-on-a-chalkboard songs, find mates, do the deed, lay their eggs and perish. Other than their continual, communal, other-worldly mating calls and the occasional collision with your face, they are relatively harmless.

You don’t have to be outside, you can hear them from bedroom to bathroom. There is no hiding from the red eyed freaks. Oh well, time will prevail as it always does. By July, they will be dead and I will dance on their freaky, little graves. Until their children return from exile in another 13 years.

Memorial Day here, the American version of our Remembrance Day and who turned on the heat? After a tumultuous spring, temperatures have reached the 90s F (30s C). So hot even the squirrels are passing out. It will probably remain that way through August. God bless AC. Goodbye to you, outside world. I will enjoy you again in the Fall.

More stone shattering is in my near future - June 30. I managed to produce 9 brand new kidney stones in the 2 years since my last lithotripsy. The dubious honor of setting a record was achieved by a Canadian - Don Winfield from Ontario, who passed 6,504 stones by the age of 60, ranging in size from a grain of sand to a dried pea. Pictured is that heavily medicated Don with his stone collection. Peeing into a net to catch those stones must provide no end of entertainment. Hey baby, want to come back to my pad and see my stone collection? Can someone say aiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!?

So the other day I was laying on a steel bed staring at the hospital ceiling while they injected dye and took pictures of the kidney family Stones, chuckling to myself. I remember laying in a hospital bed in my late 20s after having my right kidney’s ureter replaced with a piece of plastic tubing, thinking, “OK, when I get out of here, I’m going to try try try to not see a doctor unless it is absolutely necessary for the next 20 years. If I die, fine, at least I won’t have to endure these indignities”

Well, those 20 years have come and gone and I kept my word to myself. I was purely lucky. But there comes a time when you have to surrender yourself to it all. So, as I lay there with the mighty 55 looming on my horizon, I laughed, winced a just little, and surrendered.

There are conditions to my surrender. I plan to minimize this nonsense.

Through the bugs and heat and tornados and stones, I’m still smiling like a big ole fool. I hope this spring finds you smiling too.

Peace, love, and light.

Oh Swell, a Zombie Pandemic

So far so good for the Spring of 2011. The tornados have missed us. Lots of rain. Plenty big green around here. Turtles in the pond. Frogs a’croakin. Canadian goslings running around with their goofy dinosaur gait. Allergies making the inside of my head itch. How do you scratch that anyhow?

There are creative projects galore these days. Here are a couple of examples...

The 93-year-old lady holding the dolls below is Polly Page, the Dollmaker. She has been carving dolls for 70-80 years, has taught the likes of Jane Fonda (according to Polly, Jane didn’t learn a darn thing) and Dolly Parton. She is well known for carving Aunt Jenny and Uncle Pink, based on real pioneers that settled in this area and started a community called Brownstown. You see, Pink's last name was Brown. Judging by his moniker, his parents were laugh riots.

I took her picture for a book project and for the local university archives.

The DVD jacket is for a local documentary about John’s Place, a little dive that has played a significant role in integration for this area.

Elisabeth has been digging into her heritage through Ancestry.com. Amazingly, she has traced her ancestors back to the 1200s. It made me curious and I tried to trace my Dad’s side of the family. So far, I can only get to 1898 and Plum Creek Manitoba where my grandfather was born. My Dad doesn’t know anything about his grandparents other than they were Mennonites.

A few years ago, my cousin Kendall sent me old photos from my mother’s side of the family. This wonderful shot shows my grandmother Elsie sitting on her mother’s knee in the early 1900s.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate my roots more. Or maybe it is just living down here. I love the stuff my Dad tells me about when he was growing up. We have wonderful phone conversations these days.

And now, just for fun...

Did you know that May is Zombie Awareness Month? I kid you not. The Zombie Research Society has made it official. May brings with it “a sense of renewal and hopefulness,” which the society says makes May “the perfect month to emphasize continued vigilance in the face of the coming Zombie Pandemic.”

You too can become a member of the Zombie Research Society.

“As a member, you will be on the cutting edge of knowledge gathering about the undead and the threat they represent to the survival of the human race.”

You know, it might be worth it just for the t-shirt. I wonder if that's a zombie modeling it?

Lassoing Fish

Spring cold. Brains scrambled. Coughing. Sneezing. Will speak in short sentences, eh? Woke up yelling last night. Ghosts were coming up through the floor. Ain't cold meds grand?

As some of you know, I resigned from the TV station and went full time with my own Moose Creek Media. I'm writing, editing, designing, shooting a few photos. My high profile position at the station helped me with exposure so when I broke free, I was lucky - there was not a lot of down time. I also had the help of a friend who is well connected and has been pointing clients in my direction.

I'm still doing much of the marketing for the PBS station, including the magazine (which is due on Monday so there's my weekend), and I have been creating brochures and ads and posters and workshop calendars and logos and what have you for a number of other clients.

Worth Publishers out of New York City hired me as a market development manager for psychology textbooks. It is a long term assignment - I'm hoping 20 years or so - and I start on April 25th for 20 hours/week. I can do most of it remotely (with the occasional trip to NYC), which will allow me to continue to work with my local clients.

This last week I was asked to be the Director of Photography on a short film. The pay sucks but the crew is fun and there should be some laughs so why the heck not?

Elisabeth is well, although she has her own version of this cold too. She changed schools in December and is now working with kids that have behavioral problems. She enjoys it immensely, likes her colleagues and feels she is making a difference in the lives of these kids. I am proud of her.

When I moved to the States, I had to become acquainted with some Tennessee laws. I wouldn't care to be thrown into a Southern jail. Or any jail. So for all you visitors, here is a top 14 list of laws still in the books, delivered David Letterman style.

14) Keep your skunks at home. They may not be carried into the state. Sorry Stan.

13) It is illegal to drive while you are asleep. Man, they really know how to take the fun out of driving!

12) Stealing a horse is punishable by hanging. Just like Alberta.

11) In Memphis, all pie must be eaten on the premises. It is illegal to take an unfinished pie home. They take their pie very seriously.

10) It is illegal to lasso a fish. This was a big disappointment to me. As a westerner, I like to lasso everything.

9) Here is a law for all of you frogs... it is illegal in Memphis for a frog to croak after 11pm. Those frogs in noncompliance will be caught and their legs served with cheese grits.

8) No eating an ice cream cone on the sidewalks of Lexington TN. You also can't carry an ice cream cone in your pocket. Heaven help you if your ice cream cone is on top of a pie in your pocket.

7) No property shall have more than 5 inoperable cars on it at the same time. That means 4 is OK.

6) You cannot shoot any game from a moving car. The exception are whales. Beware Tennessee whales... you HAVE been warned.

5) It is illegal to sell hollow logs (apparently men were having sex with them and ending up with splinters - no, really).

4) It is illegal for more than 8 women to reside in the same house - that constitutes a brothel. Of course it does.

3) It is illegal to gather and consume roadkill. Yeah right, tell that to the chef at the Roadside Possum Grill.

2) In Oneida, TN, an ordinance forbids anyone to sing the song, "It Ain't Gonna Rain No Mo'." I don't think they're crazy about Celine Dion either.

1) In Memphis, women are forbidden from driving unless a man is either running or walking in front of the vehicle waving a red flag to warn approaching motorists and pedestrians. I think I'll leave that one alone.

My Friend DJ

My good friend Dennis died. I met Dennis in 1976 at a shared accommodation house in Silver Springs in Calgary when I was attending the U of C. He and I were like brothers for a lot of years. I could not have picked a better friend. He helped shape much of what I am today.

I was asked to write the announcement for the paper. It follows.

Dennis Nicholson Johnstone died on March 19, 2011 at the age 60. Born in Calgary on August 27, 1950, “DJ” never had the desire to live anywhere else. As a young man, he was crazy about the mountains - the hiking trails gave him new challenges to conquer and the beauty of his surroundings gave him a sense of peace.

When he was a member of the Calgary Ski Club, DJ meticulously planned each hike and camping trip he led. This same attention to detail, a dedicated work ethic, a strong sense of competitiveness and an agile, analytic mind made him one of the top medical students at the University of Calgary and an award-winning pharmaceutical rep.

To DJ, hospitals were places of hope, and for many years, you could see his smiling face as a volunteer in one of the gift shops at the Peter Lougheed Centre.

DJ was a fiercely loyal, honest, compassionate, charming and generous friend. He made an indelible mark on the lives of those who knew him with his sage guidance, his off-the-wall imagination and sense of humour.

An avid movie buff, he frequently escaped to dinner and the movies with his friends. He loved his friends and his “kids.”

Happy trails DJ. We love you too.

Mooooooooose

Here's a little known fact about Canadians, one that I did not know until I moved to the Southern U.S. of A.

Americans' knowledge of Canucks may be a little sparse but they do know one thing. One indisputable, irrefutable, dyed-in-the-fur, big-nosed, antler-ridden fact.

Canadians love moose.

Of course we do. How could we not? We love moose so much, we even named one of our cities after the jaw of a moose.

As a result of this big, hairy fact, there are now moose all over our hoose. Moose coasters in the den, a wooden moose for the mantel, a big headed silly looking moose for kicks, moose Christmas ornaments, a moose candle holder, a moose holding a basket into which I throw change, a glittery elk which my sweet mother-in-law mistook for a moose - I suppose it could be a moose in drag. There is even a sock monkey moose.

One of my colleagues at the TV station has nicknamed me "Moose" (I call him "Possum"). My American friends, bless their hearts, bestow moose upon me like blessings. Heartfelt signs of affection for which I am both grateful and amused. When in doubt about what to get a Canadian, a moose always makes a great gift.

Everywhere I look, there be moose.

So dear friends, whereas I am surrounded by moose, and whereas everywhere I look, there is a moose, you will understand that when it came to naming my new company, I could not help myself.

No News Is Snow News

Tried to catch the news on the boob tube this morning.

Tried, say I.

When it snows in the South, the local TV stations are obsessed. Between obnoxious car and furniture commercials, there are news reporters driving around with their cameras pointed out the windshield excitedly talking about slippery slidey stuff. Other reporters stand for hours on ramps and bridges, freezing off their Southern butts and risking their lives shooting fishtailing, struggling cars. If nothing is happening, which is most of the time, the station shows the same one or two shots over and over again.

The anchor team stares seriously at the camera reciting the names of schools that are closed - all of them in middle Tennessee are closed today so the list takes a while. There are lots of cutaways to the weatherman who shows us a map and points out how much snow has fallen, helpfully suggesting that we should wear mittens instead of gloves to keep our fingers warm (18 degrees F) and to stay at home if we can. There are cutaways to the very pleasant traffic woman who, no matter how grim the traffic report, smiles sweetly at the camera. You get the feeling that she would project the same professional demeanor if her arm were blown off. At least until she passed out. Maybe even after.

At first I watched these extremely attractive news people out of interest and amusement. The Southern reaction to snow and ice made my Canuck soul chuckle. After the amusement faded, I watched out of sheer stubbornness. I wanted to see if anything else was going on in the world worth reporting. Anything at all.

I watched for an hour.

Well folks, I am delighted to report that on the morning of January 21st, 2011, according to Channel 4 out of Nashville, there is nothing to report except a little snow. No shootings, dirty politics, oil spills, wars or evil doings whatsoever. Just snow.

Yay for the cleansing, healing salvation of the feathery white stuff. I hope it snows everyday and forever.

Front yard, 7 AM-ish.

Back yard, 7 AM-ish.

New Year Gaiman 2011