Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Explosive Radiating Growth!

The 6000th Visitor to my site was from Derby in the U.K.

Monday, January 28, 2008

The 6000


In a couple of days I will celebrate my 6000th hit on the epistle since January of 2007.

At this rate, I will have reached all 300,000,000 Americans in 111 YEARS! Just an eye-blink in the Information Multiverse!

What shall I do to celebrate this milestone? A Sweepstakes? A quiz? Maybe a "scavenger hunt" of topics from the past year of the epistle?

Don't just lurk there - tell me what to do! Please respond with your idea(s) in the next 48 hours or I'll be planning visit number 7000 before you know it! COMMENT below or just REPLY to my irritating group email!

Wednesday, January 23, 2008


MILK - The Judy's

If you're not listening to the music I selected, I suggest you turn it on now... I'm waiting...

Usually Fat-Daddy's music collection bores the litter-clumps out of me but this cut by The Judy's is an exception. Apparently they recorded it in a past century called "The 80's." I wasn't alive way back then but it must have been a magical time from the way Fat-Daddy's eyes well up with tears whenever he talks about them - or when he smells fried-food or catches his reflection in the mirror, for that matter. Maybe they were a time of sad introspection or reckless indulgence, whatever. They're over! Time's a wasting! First decade of the new century is nearly over! Wakey wakey! Eggs and bakey! Ooops! Sorry, Fat-Daddy! Egg-whites and turkey-bakey, err, bacon.

But where was I? Music! Like I said, Fat-Daddy's iTunes are like a time machine with the controls set on "personal nostalgia." Not that Skinny-Daddy's any better. In his room it's like being trapped in a Gay bar that never closes or breaks for the Drag Show! Thumpa thumpa thumpa! My whiskers - anyone ever heard of "age-appropriate?" Gay-Disco and T-shirts from the Junior's department? The things I endure!

I must apologize for taking so long to post again. Since Fat-Daddy got back from his 2 week holiday where they fed him in bed, responded to his every call, pumped him full of hot and cold running narcotics, wiped his ass and well, yes, cracked him opened like a lobster tail - it's meow, meow "my chest hurts" meow "I can't lift that" meow, meow "I can't feed the cat" meow "you'll have to change her litter" meow "I nearly died" meow, meow "I'm crying because I'm depressed" meow, meow, meow! Talk to the paw! Fat-Daddy! You've got to wake up and smell the catnip! The sun is shining, come on PET STINKY!

But enough about him, what have I been up to? I know you're dying to ask. Early this morning I had fun with a little ball-of-yarn I call "misdirection." After I finished my 5 am pre-breakfast snack, I noticed that one of my food dishes was nearly empty and that my water dish was ROOM TEMPERATURE! Heart attack, schmart-attack. Get out of bed, Fat-Daddy and make things right! Not that he's the easiest thing to awaken anymore. First I climbed atop his heaving belly - I wasn't sure if I should wake him or get someone to keep him wet while I called Sea-World - I chose the former. I went to work "kneading" his gut with my nails while howling at the top of my lungs. As soon as his eyes fluttered, I turned so that his first sight upon waking was of my pretty little kitty-pucker. You might as well look! I spend so much time cleaning it.

Like a "woolly mammoth the morning-after" he made his way to the kitchen and dutifully filled my food dish and freshened my water while I continued to coach him with my vocalizations. The instant my newly filled water dish touched the floor, I abruptly stopped howling, turned tail and returned to the bedroom where Skinny-Daddy was apparently trying to summon the Sun by single-handedly snoring it from the other side of the Earth. Some nights he's so loud, I'd smother him with a pillow if I thought I could pin it on the Fat One and keep the apartment.

Same WAKE-UP! routine, only twice as loud to get this one up. If you think getting Shamu to roll off her blow-hole and feed me is a trick, you ought to try getting the Un-Dead to bat an eyelash. My extra-crazy yowling even brought Fat-Daddy into Skinny-Daddy's bedroom to check on us. But - you guessed it! - the moment they were both in the same room at 5:15 and wide awake for absolutely no reason I casually made my nest in Skinny-Daddy's bed, turned and laid down to sleep. For a moment they blinked and discussed why I might have wanted them BOTH awake at this hour? Fat-Daddy even sniffed the air for smoke - like I'm meowin' Lassie saving hapless Timmy from being burned in his sleep (like he wasn't always too busy falling down a well or abandoned mine-shaft!) I dozed off as Fat-Daddy made his way back to the kitchen to make coffee.

My god! I kill me! Anyhoo, I must go now. I was up for four hours yesterday and I really must catch-up on some pretty sleep!

Monday, January 21, 2008

... And We're All Gonna Die!


I watch way too much TV news. I'll admit it. My name is Timothy and I'm a Breaking News addict. Oh, it may make me indispensable at boring dinner parties because I can add color to any lagging conversation (that I'm not already monopolizing) but lately I've been playing a game in my head (don't tell my Doctors) that makes all news coverage more fun even for the casual Local News watcher.

Have you ever added the phrase "in bed" after you read a Fortune Cookie fortune? Hilarious! (or was it the Mai-Tais?) This is just like that except that you follow each news headline with "and we're all gonna die." Here are a few examples:




MIDDLE EAST PEACE NEGOTIATIONS BREAK DOWN and we're all gonna die! -hmm could be...

HILLARY CLINTON WAY AHEAD IN NATIONAL POLLS and we're all gonna die! -I put it under the FOX NEWS logo on purpose

AMERICANS DISPLAY RECORD VOTER APATHY and we're all gonna die! -some truth to that one

MONKEY POX, SARS, BIRD FLEW AND AIDS COMBINE AS NEW SUPER-VIRUS and we're all gonna die! -well, maybe

TMZ.COM VIDEOTAPES BRITNEY SPEARS GIVING BIRTH TO THE ANTI-CHRIST and we're all gonna die! -if anyone pays attention, yawn!


My point (Oooh! I actually have one today) is that all news items today seem to be delivered as if "and we're all gonna die" is implied. Like silent "E" only filled with death, destruction and disaster (the three "Ds" of broadcasting.) So the next time you find yourself in front of the tube with the news on, say it loud to Katie, Brian, Anderson or whatever butt-monkey they have on at FOX News.


Sunday, January 20, 2008

Separated At Birth

ALARMA - 666

Evan or Edwards? I get confused. I'm certain that homosexuals do their hair.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

On Dying In My Sleep Part 1


Darkness grabbed at the hem of his cloak, drawing it close to his lean frame. The cold wind wicked away his dwindling heat. Heat left from the great explosion from which all This was spawned.

Darkness grinned long and toothy, his tongue flicked across the smooth line of his teeth stopping when it snagged on his sharpened canines. Taste of iron, fleeting. The tiny stream of Life closed upon itself.

Darkness felt the aching echo of Pleasure in his thighs. Had he held them tensed all this Time? Since he joined with the Light and all This was made? Now he relaxed, the Pleasure seemed to bounce lightly before it faded away.

Darkness touched me at the halfway of my Forever. Stopped my Heart and Breathing as I slept. Dreamless, my Death dangled above me. Thoughtless, I lay as active as the Table beneath me. Voiceless, I could have passed without a Sound.

Darkness giggled as he loosed his grip from my Heart - my deepest Insides. Catching my own Breath, I shuddered as he laughed.

Darkness' Eyes met mine - Forever now Half-Over - flashed a Smile all Teeth and Open Mouth. "Double Dare Ya!" Darkness rasped as his Laughter broke to Coughing, Laughed 'til Snorting, Slapped his Thighs and Spat - now finished.

Darkness left a Shadow on me - blackened Stain of Smoke and Ash. Scar that Split me, slowly Healing - hurts to Laugh now, aches to Breathe.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Post-Punk, Pop Band Blondie Raps in 1980, YO!

RAPTURE by Blondie

Toe to toe
Dancing very close
Barely breathing
Almost comatose
Wall to wall
People hypnotised
And they're stepping lightly
Hang each night in Rapture

Back to back
Spineless movement
And a wild attack

Face to face
Sadly solitude
And it's finger popping
Twenty-four hour shopping in Rapture

Fab Five Freddie told me everybody's high
DJ's spinnin' are savin' my mind
Flash is fast, Flash is cool
Francois sez fas, Flashe' no do
And you don't stop, sure shot
Go out to the parking lot
And you get in your car and you drive real far
And you drive all night and then you see a light
And it comes right down and lands on the ground
And out comes a man from Mars
And you try to run but he's got a gun
And he shoots you dead and he eats your head
And then you're in the man from Mars
You go out at night, eatin' cars
You eat Cadillacs, Lincolns too
Mercuries and Subarus
And you don't stop, you keep on eatin' cars
Then, when there's no more cars
You go out at night and eat up bars where the people meet
Face to face, dance cheek to cheek
One to one, man to man
Dance toe to toe
Don't move too slow, 'cause the man from Mars
Is through with cars, he's eatin' bars
Yeah, wall to wall, door to door, hall to hall
He's gonna eat 'em all
Rapture, be pure
Take a tour, through the sewer
Don't strain your brain, paint a train
You'll be singin' in the rain
I said don't stop, do punk rock

Well now you see what you wanna be
Just have your party on TV
'Cause the man from Mars won't eat up bars when the TV's on
And now he's gone back up to space
Where he won't have a hassle with the human race
And you hip-hop, and you don't stop
Just blast off, sure shot
'Cause the man from Mars stopped eatin' cars and eatin' bars
And now he only eats guitars, get up!

Sunday, January 06, 2008

All Of My Heart

ALL OF MY HEART by ABC for your listening pleasure.

I know, enough about my heart attack and recent surgery already. That point I'll concede. But (here's where I write about it anyway) saying that I almost died isn't hyperbole this time. Although I've explained before that I don't remember anything about the weekend of December 1, my parents have filled in the important details for me. It still sounds like they must be talking about someone else because I can't remember any of it.

As I've posted before, on Saturday, December 1 I went to the ER with chest pain. An EKG and blood tests confirmed that I'd had a heart attack. Hospital staff began therapy with IV blood thinners and I was admitted to the Cardiac Care unit. I called my parents in Texas and let them know what had happened so far. They asked if they should fly to Minnesota for my Monday morning procedure and I told them that I predicted that my angioplasty would be relatively quick and that I would be out of the hospital by Tuesday as had been the case in 2005.

That same Saturday evening, I had a second, massive heart attack and was placed on a ventilator unconscious. My Mother attempted to call me. I did not answer my hospital room phone and she was informed by staff of my second heart attack and that I had been transferred to the ICU in Critical condition, sedated and unable to breathe for myself. She immediately flew to Minnesota. Had I not been in the hospital already this heart attack would almost surely have killed me. I was the first of many people to save my life that weekend by coming to the ER with my first chest pain.

Monday morning, December 3, my scheduled surgery took place. Instead of a simple placement of stents to open partially clogged arteries, my procedure had been upgraded to open "beating heart" surgery for Coronary Artery Bypass Grafts (CABG or "cabbage").

My surgery was estimated at six hours as four grafts were made with veins from my left leg and a mammary artery from my chest. Upon completing the quadruple bypass, the surgical team discovered that my mitral valve was leaking and was far too damaged from the heart attack to repair. A mechanical valve was selected to replace my natural one. The so-called "clicker" valve ticks audibly in my chest. I can always hear it. To me it sounds like I've swallowed a pocket watch. In a quiet environment others can hear it too. I can't wait to ride an elevator full of people. "It's not a bomb - it's me."

My six hour surgery stretched to ten hours and for three more days I was in Critical condition - unconscious and entubated. The surgeon later admitted to my Mother that - had the surgery taken place sixteen to eighteen hours earlier - they may have been able to save my mitral valve. I could have died in my sleep for four days. "Touch and go," someone said. (Someday I'll write about how that paralyzes me with fear.)

Oh, I lived.

I feel a like a bit like a miracle having stared into the face of...well, not so much stared as snored into the face of Death and survived. And of course there is the ticking of my new valve. I guess it should be comforting - assuring me I'm alive and all. But I hear it so clearly, particularly when I lie down to sleep. In my warped brain, all I can think of is Edagr Allen Poe's THE TELL TALE HEART. In this terrifying horror tale, a murderer entombs his victim under the floor-boards of his house and is driven stark, raving mad by the still beating heart of his victim that only he can hear.

I don't really need to be driven crazy - it's close enough to walk.

I owe my life to the Grace that sustains me, the skilled hands of the surgical team, the care of the many people in the Cardiac Care unit at The University of Minnesota Medical Center and the love of my parents and family.

I am trying to move on from the trauma of this event in my life. A "lifetime-to-go" of ticking reminds me of it every time I find myself in silence so it's hard to do right now. I hope you'll continue to indulge me from time to time... tick... tick... tick...