One List to Bind Them…or “Three Cheers for Infections!”

Monday, October 30, 2006

A long time ago, I was inspired to make a list of things I wanted both to do and/or experience before I was to die…assuming that I would live long enough. I can't remember what inspired this endeavor, nor do I think that it's important to the meat of this blog, so I won't even try to recall. But the fact is that over the years this list has grown and shrunk in increments as I've both added to it and crossed off accomplishments. Somewhere along the way, a second list was formed…this being populated by things I wished never to do and/or experience along the road of life.

I would like to recount some examples from both lists, but the truth is that I can't, not without doubt. The problem is I believe that on my list of things I wanted to do at one point was "To Merge Both Lists Together and Live in a State of Fear and Doubt Forever"...or maybe that was on the other list, which would definitely make more sense but I can no longer be sure, seeing as they are now as one as chocolate and Peanut Butter in the world of a Reese's Cup (that's a terrible analogy, I am aware, but "To make a Weak Comparison to a Reese's Cup While Writing" was on one of the lists as well…and I'm on a roll).

So having explained all of that, I'm either happy to report or sad to announce the crossing off of "To Contract Gangrene from a Wound or Frostbite" from the One List. Apparently it is NOT wise to dress one's wound with uncooked chicken when one runs out of sterile bandages....Looking back on it, I really should have known better. But what's done is done, and at least it'll lead to crossing off more from the list, like, "To Smell Like Bad Cheese without Even Trying" and "To Represent all the Colors in the Spectrum under the Skin of My Arm".

I will keep you posted.

What Kind of Thing Wants You to Eat It?!

Thursday, October 26, 2006

The Most Comfortable Bed in the World
-or-
The Truth About Light Fixtures

I like to pee while in the shower…it makes me feel as if I'm beating the system….the plumbing system, with all of it's rules and regulations.

Now that we've finally got that out of the way, let's move on.

It's a widely known little known fact (or an "WKLKF", which incidentally is often mistaken for "Why's Kevin Licking Katie's Face?"….to which nobody has the answer) that lighting fixtures throughout the world are all of one mind. It is even more widely less known that lighting fixtures never forget. This leads us to the truth that an attempt was made on my life last night.

A bit of history for you: I am a descendant of the French 'Deleportes' family, also known as "Pricks" to almost everyone else, but we do all right. Of the many things that my blood came with was a hatred for lighting fixtures, for many reasons but the main for me would be that it would be a light source suddenly being turned on that usually keeps me from having sex…..and for that I blame lighting fixtures. (I just realized, after having read what I just wrote, that I sound like a rapist, when really what I was trying to get across was the fact that I'm very ugly…..see? It's funny? The light is turned on and she's all like, "Ooo, you're ugly." And I'm like, "Well, at least I'm not a rapist. Because rapists are bad?" and then she's like, "Yes, I agree that it is good you are no rapist. Please turn off the light, you disgust me." See? Humor? Sigh….)

During my adolescence this hatred for lighting fixtures was translated into vandalism with late night destruction of yard lights and street lights usually to be followed by chases, violence and sometimes arrests. These events, as well as the countless years my ancestors spent hating and hurting light fixtures throughout history, is what I believe led to last night's hit on me. You see, like I said before, light fixtures are all of one mind…much like the Borg from Star Trek, or like Christians…and I believe that it's just been biding it's time until it had the chance to kill me, which I gave it last night.

The ceiling fixture in my new apartment's bedroom had (past tense) a glass shield also known as a bug collector. Now, the ceilings in my new place are slightly lower than most living quarters, low enough that I have no problem reaching straight up and touching the ceiling, maybe even tickling it if it were ever feeling sad, which ceiling scientist everywhere agree, never happens, which is why I don't waste my time tickling my ceiling or baking small cakes for the chairs that I own (which is a different story entirely). Opposite that ceiling in my bedroom is the bedroom floor, which is where I keep my bed. Now, last night I was in the process of making my bed with freshly cleaned sheets and comforter and what nots (let me explain the what nots: I have the most comfortable bed in the world…a bed straight out of a Dr. Suess drawing. It consists of a platform bed frame with beachwood slats, a pillowtop mattress, a down filled mattress in a flannel mattress cover, a mattress pad, two comforter, flannel sheet set and lastly a down comforter in a flannel cover. Needless to say, putting my bed all together is an event in and of itself) when the fixture attacked. What had happened was that as I was fanning a comforter out over the bed, that process where you lift one side of a tangled fabric over your head a then quickly downward hoping that air will get trapped underneath and in the process of escaping get entangled with the corners of the cloth and inadvertently pull and straighten said cloth out…when what really happens is anyone who enters the room while you're attempting this will be forced into calling the police to report you for beating your mattress with a fabric club…which is why are legal system sees so many of these cases yearly. So again, I was attempting to kill my mattress with a fabric club, and while doing so I caught the glass shield of the light fixture and broke it from it's bolted harness. Before I even knew what had just happened, a large piece of that glass shield had already cleanly passed through my arm, which only a fraction of a second before is where my head was taking up space, until I heard the crack of glass and flinched to one side.

If I didn't mention it in the previous blog, let me just take this moment to explain how cool of a landlord George is: Not only was he right there after I called him on his cell phone for some help with the first aid and helped me dress the wound, but he then proceeded to clean up the broken glass, mopped up the blood in the kitchen/bathroom/living room, retrieve his vacuum cleaner and sweep up the bedroom carpet of remaining glass bits. Keep in mind, this took place around midnight and George, a 70 year old ex cop arrived downstairs expecting to find his tenant with a small cut just in need of a band aid, and instead was witness to a broken light fixture in one room, blood EVERYWHERE, and a tenant sitting on the kitchen floor, covered with his own blood holding his arm for dear life saying, "I'm really really sorry." Over and over again.

I do have to say that I was slightly disappointed when he mopped up for me, as nice as it was, because I had wanted to photograph the scene for this blog, but didn't really want to go through the process of explaining that to George. There really is no way of conveying just how much blood I lost without photographic proof. But I did learn that blood is a very difficult substance to clean up, seeing as after several washings (even with Bleach involved) my kitchen floor is still somewhat stained pink….so much so that we may have to replace the linoleum.

It is also a "Why's Kevin Licking Katie's Face?" that lighting fixtures always attack in series of threes, meaning I have anywhere from none to several attacks to look forward to….because lighting fixtures also can not count, which is why they have such shitty jobs and are looked down on so by us Deleportes.

In case this is my last entry, let me take this time to say that you are all just ok. If I'm still around for Xmas, then I want a pony.

Working Within a Toast Allowance...

Sunday, October 22, 2006

I have to say, That I am just shaking with anticipation for the Gridiron Gang to finally hit video stores. Not only for the obvious reasons that it was a well written children's book and that I have absolutely no intention of seeing it in theaters (or at all, for that matter), but it's also been a long time since I have had the chance to watch two full hours of inspirational catch-phrases about over-coming adversities....at least since the remake of the Omen with Mia Farrow's heartfelt speeches to Damian about character and hating the Asians.

That's really all I have on that subject. Actually, I really didn't have any plans for this blog post (nor do I ever really) other than to acknowledge the fact that it's been forever it seems since I've posted anything. I could give you a list of reasons ranging from lack of internet access to being in a coma, but I won't.....even though I kinda gave you two right there, even though they were for example only....stop judging me.

Also, it's finally official, that I live in Brooklyn that is. After a long drawn out process, I am finally here and just as unemployed as I was in Louisville, but I'm ok with that. The area that I've moved to is beautiful. Technically, I am on the border it seems of the Sheepshead Bay and Brighton Beach neighborhoods, which means nothing unless the fragile truce breaks and I'm forced to choose sides....in which case I'll just sell both sides arms until they discover that I'm working both sides or the Police catch up with me for actually selling human arms because I didn't pay much attention in school during career day when the Arms Dealer was speaking.



Above is a photo of the Bay and of the walk I take every day practically, in all it's panoramic glory.

The apartment that I now reside in has come along way, especially since the day that Clint and I first walked in and saw it where Clint was forced to bite down on the emergency Bleach packets hidden in his molars. Actually, my new landlord, a retired Coney Island cop named George, and myself have finally finished with the repairing, painting, carpeting and whatnot bringing my abode out of "den of Son of Sam" and into "the Hatch" (Lost fans should get that). About the only thing still needed would be an internet connection, seeing as I am writing this at the Starbucks again, where Web access is costing me $6 an hour, which is annoying.

And for that reason, I am going to cut this off here.
More updates when I have Web access from my new home.
 

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