of course you’re right, I won’t argue with you but I do have a flaw, and I think it’s a deep-seated fear of success. It’s the only logical explanation for why I have repeatedly refused the invitation to New York to pick up my Pulitzer, the first year I was elated, then, after having some time to reflect I sent a Native woman in my place to refuse my award, in a nod to Marlon Brando’s refusal of the best actor award at the 72′ Oscars.

Admittedly, it could have happened to anyone, the pattern only became apparent to me after I also turned down the Stockholm invite to receive my Nobel. This time, I sent a 63 pound slab of ham, in a nod to late actor Dom Deluise, with my refusal scrawled in pate across the well-marbled meat.

Where does the fear of success come into it? Well let’s take a look at this post for example – right before christmas, when the posts were still a little spotty in their frequency I was averaging just over 2000 people a day. As I mentioned many times before I started out with friends and family about 35 people or so… I had no idea where the others came from, but I built it, and they came… damn if Kevin Costner wasn’t right…

About 15,000 a week, what started out as a little mouth piece to keep friends and family in the loop, turned into one of the most influential social commentary vehicles mankind had ever know, and it threw me. This little stupid thing started generating its own little pressure pulses. Was my column funny enough, did it have a point, would the readers find it entertaining… I felt some pressure to continue being, in some cases, the only reason people got out of bed in the morning, to nourish their consciousness at the fount of my radiance, being the chlorophyll to their boston fern, the nails to their hardwood floors…

Sure it’s stupid, who cares what I wrote, it was just a place to vent and empty some of the cobwebs from my head, but then……  then the letters started coming, the ones telling me how after reading my column their cancer had gone into spontaneous remission, the letters about how they were going from village to village in africa, reading my letters and virtually overnight, hunger disappeared. My words were all they needed to fill their bellies, fill them full of hope and whimsy and ultimately, life.

Letters from Asia about how farmers were reading my posts to their flocks and bird flu would simply vanish…. I tell you, it’s a huge responsibility and it began to weigh on me. Hang on while I change this water into grape juice…. relax, I didn’t say wine, I said grape juice – I’m still a ways away from that…

Here’s my point, I’m very much like John Coffee from the Green Mile, (if you’ve forgotten, I recommend a re-watch of the film before proceeding with the remainder of this post) too many people feeding off my teat of knowledge and humour – weaken me, they drain my mirthful exuberance and the ability to heal with my words, the transcendental way in which I arrange those 26 letters of our alphabet into healing poetry.

So the posts took longer and longer to write, I started agonizing over topics and writing, then re-writing and it just started not being fun anymore. So, as per usual, when I need to think and clear my head I went to my quiet place and wrote down on scraps of paper all my self doubts, all the negativity and tied them to carrier pigeons, then I lit those pigeons on fire and set them free.

Man, those pigeons sure started out strong, really giving it their all, but my god, they weren’t really making very much headway and on top of that, the whole area reeked of overdone squab and burnt feathers. Even though the little fellas didn’t get far, they were still far enough away from me to have carried my troubles away on wings of smoke and flame…

So here we are, I feel better, I’ve eaten well and I’m not making any promises but I’ll post as much as I am inclined. The daily numbers have dropped considerable but there are still about 400 of you checking in every day… you are my faithful, when I finally get my cult started you will all be placed in positions of privilege. Far subordinate to me, but privileged in relation to the other poor morons we get to sign up.

Have a Great Day

Along with practical advice (“keep [your children] away from new people”), it tried to reassure: “Remember — at least half of polio patients get well without any crippling.” As both tonsillectomies and polio increased, a horrifying correlation emerged: Children who’d had a tonsillectomy were more likely to get a certain type of polio (infection of the bulbar region of the brain stem) than children who had not had a tonsillectomy.

This became common knowledge. Polio Pointers said “don’t have mouth or throat operations during a polio outbreak.” In 1954, the American Journal of Public Health ran an editorial summarizing the link between tonsillectomy and polio.

The main evidence was that within a group of children with polio, the ones with bulbar polio were about three times more likely to have had their tonsils removed than the ones with spinal polio (infection of the spinal cord).

Folks, I couldn’t have said it any better myself.

And that’s why to this day, the highway speed limit is 55.

Those of you who have already had their tonsils out, guess what, most likely you also have Polio, now stop being mobile and get yourself into the wheelchair you belong in and get used to everyone calling you FDR. Which actually is a compliment because he is considered one of the greatest presidents ever, so, congratulations on that.

Have a Great Day

You know, the time you spend reading these posts….. you’ll never get that time back… it’s gone. People with Polio can’t afford to waste time…. for example, reading that little bit of nonsense above, you could have written a symphony or at least a brief concerto… but you didn’t. You’re wasting your polio riddled existence on bubble gum and fast cars.

It can get pretty weird up in here when I turn off my internal writing critic and remove some of the filters….

Having failed so well, and so early means that things can only go up from here… How’s that for a glass is half full self-delusion…

Have a Great Day. There… that’s a post… see I’m back on track.

You should be female, look ridiculously good in a schoolgirl, nurse, stewardess or stern librarian outfit. You should also be resistant to carpel tunnel syndrome because my god will you be writing bon mots like there is no tomorrow.

Everyone knows ‘Bon Mot’ is a Viking saying, dating back to the mid 1980′s which means, literally – “under or within the comfort of shoulder pads” in casual conversation, and Viking sub-culture – it’s come to be used for any instance of clothing being adorned with foam or padding. It originated on the well-known Viking program ‘Miami Vice’.

Wait, bon mot doesn’t mean what I thought it meant. At all. Ok you won’t be jotting down my bon mots, but ummm, well…. let’s see — Oh I know, quips… plenty of quips, jargon, there will be occasional jargon.

Undoubtedly, there will be repartee, we may get into retorts and riposte. So you’d best be ready for anything.

Send me you best photo and then once I’ve seen those I’ll look at your resumes. Thanks everyone and good luck.

Have a Great Day

Ladies and Gentleman, let’s have a big hand for Mr Johnny Cash… singing, Don’t take your Guns to Town…

A young cowboy named Billy Joe grew restless on the farm
A boy filled with wonderlust who really meant no harm
He changed his clothes and shined his boots
And combed his dark hair down
And his mother cried as he walked out

[Chorus]
Don’t take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don’t take your guns to town

He laughed and kissed his mom
And said your Billy Joe’s a man
I can shoot as quick and straight as anybody can
But I wouldn’t shoot without a cause
I’d gun nobody down
But she cried again as he rode away

[Chorus]
Don’t take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don’t take your guns to town

He sang a song as on he rode
His guns hung at his hips
He rode into a cattle town
A smile upon his lips
He stopped and walked into a bar
And laid his money down
But his mother’s words echoed again

[Chorus]
Don’t take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don’t take your guns to town

He drank his first strong liquor then to calm his shaking hand
And tried to tell himself he had become a man
A dusty cowpoke at his side began to laugh him down
And he heard again his mothers words

[Chorus]
Don’t take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don’t take your guns to town

Filled with rage then
Billy Joe reached for his gun to draw
But the stranger drew his gun and fired
Before he even saw
As Billy Joe fell to the floor
The crowd all gathered ’round
And wondered at his final words

[Chorus]
Don’t take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don’t take your guns to town…

Folks, that’s real good advice right there, don’t take your guns to town… Good night folks and have a great day.

I’m going to try and post something every single day this year, even if it’s only a few words. I’m feeling all aglow, in the post new years optimism. I’m gonna be all I can be, the few the proud, ain’t no mountain high enough, the stars have aligned, besides there are no Kardashian weddings in the near future – all signs point to this being the best year in a long time.

As always, I begin the year with a human sacrifice, an offer to my druid overlords. This year it was Consuela, a Filipino nanny I had secreted into the country through my human trafficking network.

Man, did she put up a fight. But nothing worthwhile ever comes easy….

I’m also declaring this year, 2012, the official year of the Amish Fist-fight, I will try and engage as many Amish people as possible in fist-fights – I’ll make no distinction, young, old, men, women, children – they’re all fair game… never let it be said I was one to discriminate… so it’s tally-ho…

These are but a few of my resolutions, a smattering – Oh yeah, at some point during the year I may also finally take the initiative and head over to North Korea to clear all that nonsense up once and for all, we’ll see how busy I get, I would hate for it to interfere with my Macrame art installation, the one where I plan on creating tea cozies for all the mailboxes in the city – saving the world isn’t always beneficial, or tolerant of  one’s hobbies.

So in closing, hobbies, nannies, mailboxes and North Korean Macrame.

May the Druids bless you in 2012.

Have a Great Day.

PS – Just Kidding, my Uterus is fine….

2010 was bad, 2011 was worse – let’s hope 2012 bucks the trend. I feel pretty good so maybe, we’ve finally got this thing licked. Of course the pessimist in me says I will finally get back to 100% health and be the very picture of a fit, vibrant & healthy adult, just as the Mayan prediction comes true and the world ends…

But that’s only the pessimist in me – the optimist in me says, he says…. HE SAYS……
Jesus, where the hell is the optimist in me? Oh right, Christmas Holidays….

Ok so look, you are all marvelous and a fella couldn’t ask for a bunch of better looking, intelligent readers, so I’d like to Thank You for reading and wish you and everyone around you a very Merry Christmas, except those couple of people you hate, (we’ve all got them) I hope they get Cancer. But other than that, Happy Holidays all around.

Have a Great Day.

Finally, the dust settles, the battlefield stands still in the pre-dawn light, the only thing moving is a fetid smell that haunts these fields, clinging to it like a fat kid with a Snickers bar. It’s a smell you can’t quite place, sort of a cross between week old mutton and Orson Wells laundry. Even that doesn’t do it justice.

All you need to know is that this, is a dark foreboding place, where an ill wind blows and pedophiles come to rot.  There can be no good here, there has never been good here and more than being expected it is simply understood – there will never be any good here in this place.

And yet LO, look yonder at the crest of that hillock – tis a truly astonishing sight, it’s a man, NAY it’s a god amongst men, in robes of silk and spun gold – atop a most magnificent white stallion. How they do thunder across the field, taking great and powerful steps, bounding across the wasteland at a most furious and impossible pace.

See, see here, behind them do flowers and grass sprout anew, in ground too fallow to bear life previously, only by the man-gods mere passing over it does it now prove bountiful and fertile. Just how he likes his women.

The pair are nearly upon me now, and where one was fear, tis now replaced by a warmth and profound calm. I fall to my knees in a display of humblest respect and as the deity lifts his golden suit of armour mask, do I – in wonderment see – he, is me.

So yea, ummm, long story short, I’m feeling better.

I will fill you in on the whole she-bang next post.

Have a Great Day

.

Although very true, at least until you get Type 2 Diabetes and figure out that it isn’t practical to be pounding back a spoonful of sugar every time you are faced with an unpleasant task. SO I’ll grit my teeth, down no sugar and charge head-long into what I can only hope is my last operation, forever and ever. AND…
in that vein;
.

See you in a few days when I am up and around.

Have a Great Day,

This most recent one, sweet jesus on an apple fritter, I’ve been pretty “tender” – I’m trying to use the Doctor’s scale of pain (eg. as he’s sawing off your foot – “you may feel some pressure here”) — “some discomfort” = the equivalent of a locomotive rolling over your spleen, “you might feel a tightness here” = I’ll try to minimize the size of the exit wound the cannonball makes… their terminology is ridiculously skewed.

And Hey, I understand – no one wants to hear, “OK, this is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch” unless your name is Clint or you happen to be The Marlboro Man and you down a shot of whiskey before someone shoves a slab of horse leather in your mouth to bite down on, then you shouldn’t expect to hear anything else before they bury the buck knife in your thigh to dig the slug out…

Well my name isn’t Clint and I don’t smoke, so I suppose on some level I appreciate the bald face lie the doctor tells me. But I want you to understand how this feels, how can I explain this so you get an idea of what it feels like, OK here try this – you’re going to need a compound cross-bow with a laser sight, a tube of crazy glue, 2 laundry pegs, a Ford F-150 with a winch, 30 feet of nylon climbing rope, a tube of Polysporin and nerves of steel.

Now I’m going to remove my shirt and stand with my back to you, you should cut the rope in two equal lengths, load and cock the crossbow, tie one of the ends of the rope to the end of the arrow, tie the other end to the winch on the Ford. Now, turn on the laser sight and fire the arrow exactly 1 inch to the left of my left nipple. Once the rope has gone ripping clean through my body, apply the Polysporin liberally – then I need you to make sure you already attached the end of the rope closest to you, to the winch on the Ford, the other end should be un-tied from the arrow and very firmly tied to one of the laundry pegs.

Are you with me so far? Take your time…

Then once you’ve secured the peg to the rope, you should use a sheep-shank knot, you will need to empty the contents of the crazy glue tube on my left nipple, and the business end of the laundry peg, clamp the peg on my nipple and hold the peg together long enough for the glue to set – now head over to the truck and turn on the winch so the rope begins pulling my nipple backwards through my body, until you can see its angry redness poke through my back. Turn off the winch. Admire your accomplishment. Conclude the procedure by saying “you may feel some discomfort later today or tomorrow”

Viola, you’re a pacemaker surgeon! Congratulations.

Clearly, you can read, I have indeed been feeling some discomfort. The muscle they separated from the chest wall and rib cage to make the “pocket” makes even the slightest movement of either arm very painful. Even reaching with the right arm pulls on the left side to a certain degree.

The doctor comes in before the procedure, AND MARKS YOU… with his initials and a happy face.

That’s the pillow and my head at the top… hahahaha very funny, now put your flask away little man and let’s straighten up and fly right…

The next part, well, I was asleep so… who knows what happened but when I came out I had this… it’s about 3 – 3-5 inches across my upper left chest and you can just make out the outline of his happy face… is this sanitary?

Here you can kind of see the bulge, it’s supposed to go down as the incision heals and the swelling goes down…but I may well have a little bulge (keep your jokes to yourselves) forever. Better than some people, you see pictures where it really sticks out and you can see wires through the skin… no joke…

Lastly, this is an X-Ray showing the location and parts and where they are and where they go etc etc…

So we got home and I’ve been pretty fatigued, the heart is still going bonkers, very short of breath. I haven’t yet had to resort to sleeping in the bed chair — we just fashioned a kind of safety cradle made with pillows to ensure I don’t roll onto my left side. Back and right side only.

I can’t drive for a few weeks because an airbag hit would be profoundly dangerous. The leads of the wires are actually screwed into the walls of the heart, so if the wires get pulled or whatever they could tear open the walls of the heart, so ummmm. yea OK – I won’t be driving for a bit. Can’t lift my left arm above my shoulder, and a bunch of other more boring restrictions too numerous to mention.

So basically that’s it…. Friday of this week, I go in for the AV Node Ablation surgery, we can discuss tomorrow.

Have a Great Day.