"Dans ma peau" ("In My Skin") is a French film from the mind of Marina de Van, who wrote, directed and starred in this horrific tale of self-annihilation. Before I go any further let me state this clearly: PLEASE DO NOT WATCH THIS FILM. I cannot in good conscience advise any friend/foe/stranger who stumbles across this blog to see this. I watched it several days ago & quite frankly have been trying to forget it ever since. I watched it at home on an average size TV, I don't believe I would have made it through watching it in a cinema.
De Van is the French 21st-century cinema Sylvia Plath, and even goes so far as to name her protagonist "Esther" (If you haven't read "The Bell Jar," Please do) a 20something who goes to a house party with a friend/co-worker where she wanders off into the woods & cuts her leg quite severely on a piece of scrap metal. She doesn't notice it until much later, after she gets back to the party & even then she goes out for coffee afterwards before seeking medical attention. The doctor (played by de Van's brother, Adrien) is shocked that she didn't notice it--as are her bourgeois, older boyfriend Vincent (Laurent Lucas) and the aforementioned Sandrine (Léa Drucker). Esther is fascinated by the cut and one day at her market research job she has a report to revise on a strict deadline and a terrible case of writer's block. What does our heroine do? Surely not pop a Vyvance & power through. Instead, she heads for the building's boiler room where she takes something sharp out of a tool box & proceeds to cut up on her stitches. Somehow she manages to not bleed to death & the next time we see her, she is at her desk, typing a lot faster than I am now. She later goes to Sandrine at her desk (who is busy & bitchy--how French!) and asks her to go out for a coffee. When Sandrine rejects her offer & says she's busy Esher tells her about her self-mutliation in a puzzled yet elated tone. By the time Sandrine has caught on to how serious it is, Esther clearly feels rejected and rescinds the coffee invite & heads back to her desk.
As the film progresses we watch as Esther becomes increasingly disconnected from her body, turning it into an erotic object which she is compelled to cut. The film is shot mostly in a very naturalistic style, but there is one scene so starkly surrealistic as to be Cronenburg-esque. She is being groomed for a big position (in favor of Sandrine) and attends a business dinner with her boss and some clients. As they exchange comments on various European capitals where they have lived, Miss Crazy decides to gulp down several glasses of wine and proceeds to perceive her forearm as a disconnected prosthetic that she can't control. So she screws it back in & under the table, stabs this thing. Yes, at dinner. With people sitting around, not even noticing what she is up to. She is quite pointedly rude to them, only giving simple, brief answers to questions and when the dinner is over Susy Slicer is off to a hotel where we are treated to her continued mutilation as an erotic act. There is a shot where she is laying back, holding her leg over her face, cutting into it & letting the blood just flow all over her face that positively made me nauseous.
Afterwards, she stages a car accident and Vincent, somehow allows himself to hope in vain that she isn't lying about the whole thing.
By the end of the film, she is on her way to work, but instead goes to another hotel room, with a Polaroid camera and a knife & we just know what is coming next. Interestingly, the camera angles change to show us just how disconnected she is--we are seeing things from her POV but through a split-screen that would have done Brian de Palma proud--as she cuts & photographs herself. Around this point, the DVD I had stopped working & I have never been so relieved in my whole life!! I tried to watch it on my computer, but Praise Be, I will never have to see the end! Of course I know by the end this ho dies--there is no room for any hope here. I was pleased that the commentary was also subtitled & my French is strong enough not to need them for the dialogue, so I was able to read what the director said without having to watch this nightmare twice.
Reading over this, I am struck again by the parallels with Plath. "Lady Lazarus" springs to mind:
"The peanut-crunching crowd/Shoves in to see/Them unwrap me hand and foot--The big strip tease." Although I can't imagine anyone wanting any popcorn while watching this horror show, I think you get my drift here.
Just in case you missed what I was saying earlier, PLEASE DO NOT WATCH THIS. This is far worse than Human Centipede. This woman is scarier than Freddy, Jason, or anyone else & has given me nightmares you would not believe. I am only hoping that now that I have written about this, I will not have this awful thing on my mind any longer. I truly hope no one else has to go through this ordeal.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
No Fats, No Fems??? Bitch, Please!
So I understand I am not the first heavyset sissy to complain about the so-called "Adonis Factor." For the 2 straight ppl who will read this blog & not be familiar with this term, in gay personals (whether print or online) you will often see ads that contain the phrase "No fats, No fems" or something equivalent. Usually these profiles read something along the lines of "VGL athletic, masc seeking same" with varying degrees of fervency about the respect for the masculine paradigm. "No Nellies" "Don't be a fag" "your a man--act like it."
Faggots like this kill me. (& PS Yes I get to use this word. When you have had to clean this word in white spraypaint off your mailbox & the blacktop street in front of your house, so can you) Are we all so far into this case of institutionalized Stockholm Syndrome that we fetishize our oppressor & utterly reject ANY behavior that deviates from the ironclad rules of masculinity? Is it masochism on the part of the bottoms & revenge on the part of the tops?
Needless to say, these are not the guys I hook up with. I might be able to pull off some butch fraud via chat but honestly if one of these dudes came over here the jig would be up b4 I said a word. After all , when you reach the top of my steps the 1st thing you see is a picture of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman. And as you look around there is a window dedicated to WW in my kitchen as well as several altars to Hello Kitty, not to mention the set of Smiley Face knicknacks on my computer desk in front of my bed. So the kitsch factor alone of my house would completely give away the game so to speak.
But let's get down to brass tacks: It really doesn't take all that much work to pass for straight: most of the time it just means you have to speak as if you had a lobotomy in words of 2 or less syllables. "Sup bro?" "aight man," sometimes while wearing a baseball cap at a jaunty angle. I often feel like sending these faggots a message like: "I don't know if you know this, but no matter how thug/butch/masc you may think you are, there is nothing butch about suckin dick, Stupid. If it wasn't for visible sissies & drag/trans ppl opening the door for ALL OF US, this website would be ILLEGAL." But then again, I'm on these cruisy websites too. I guess you have to expect & accept a certain amount of this sort of shallowness in the online gay community--which is really the only facet of the gay community I see lately. Well, that & the Logo Channel.
It's strange, when I was 18 or so & just coming out, I think the only thing I really knew about myself was that I was gay--mainly because it seemed like no one in school ever let me forget it--so I completely threw myself into the shark pit that is the so-called gay community (read: Bar Scene) here in NOLA. I was out at the corner of Bourbon & St Ann practically every night of the week for YEARS. & when I wasn't out there, I was planning my next trip. I found it wasn't what I expected: no gay fairy godmothers, no one special guy who caught my eye & won my heart, really just a lot of other kids and a few older people (AIDS killed so much of the generation before me, all of the people who could have--should have been our role models were taken away from us) and all of us were on something or things. From booze to cocaine to X to LSD to Special K to the pharm cabinet & any & every combination thereof. All of us looking for something & usually afraid to say what it really was, so we'd substitute "I wanna bump" for "I want someone who will love & respect me & empower me to live my own truth."
But I stayed there. I found that the "no fats, no fems" rule doesn't apply if you stay out late enough or get high enough. I won't say I didn't have fun (I certainly had more sorts of fun than the law allows) or make a few good friends along the way. But for a long time now, gay bars and debauched excess don't have the appeal they used to. So I guess I'll stick to the cruisy websites & the dwindling hope that one day the body fascists will understand that we are all more than just labels. Not just masc or fem or top or bottom or dom or sub or whatever. As long as we adhere to this artificial standard of what makes a man a man we are all dimished.
Fetishizing so-called "real men" (who, by definition want women & not men) is based on the misogynistic idea that whatever is male is good & whatever is female is bad. It is a symptom of an ingrained self-hatred. When we find a "real man" who will deign to have some sexual contact with us, it generally ends one of 2 ways: 1. After a while he gets tired of it & goes back to his girlfriend/wife or 2 we sabotage it in some way because we find ourselves disgusted by him on some level for not being "manly" enough. Sometimes there is option 3--where we become the revolving door out of the closet & then Mr. Straight Man starts sucking every dick in the Zip Code, but there you have it. The story always ends up the same, with you sittin up late in front of your computer, drinkin Bluberi Stoli & cranberry, feeling sorry for yourself & blogging....
Faggots like this kill me. (& PS Yes I get to use this word. When you have had to clean this word in white spraypaint off your mailbox & the blacktop street in front of your house, so can you) Are we all so far into this case of institutionalized Stockholm Syndrome that we fetishize our oppressor & utterly reject ANY behavior that deviates from the ironclad rules of masculinity? Is it masochism on the part of the bottoms & revenge on the part of the tops?
Needless to say, these are not the guys I hook up with. I might be able to pull off some butch fraud via chat but honestly if one of these dudes came over here the jig would be up b4 I said a word. After all , when you reach the top of my steps the 1st thing you see is a picture of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman. And as you look around there is a window dedicated to WW in my kitchen as well as several altars to Hello Kitty, not to mention the set of Smiley Face knicknacks on my computer desk in front of my bed. So the kitsch factor alone of my house would completely give away the game so to speak.
But let's get down to brass tacks: It really doesn't take all that much work to pass for straight: most of the time it just means you have to speak as if you had a lobotomy in words of 2 or less syllables. "Sup bro?" "aight man," sometimes while wearing a baseball cap at a jaunty angle. I often feel like sending these faggots a message like: "I don't know if you know this, but no matter how thug/butch/masc you may think you are, there is nothing butch about suckin dick, Stupid. If it wasn't for visible sissies & drag/trans ppl opening the door for ALL OF US, this website would be ILLEGAL." But then again, I'm on these cruisy websites too. I guess you have to expect & accept a certain amount of this sort of shallowness in the online gay community--which is really the only facet of the gay community I see lately. Well, that & the Logo Channel.
It's strange, when I was 18 or so & just coming out, I think the only thing I really knew about myself was that I was gay--mainly because it seemed like no one in school ever let me forget it--so I completely threw myself into the shark pit that is the so-called gay community (read: Bar Scene) here in NOLA. I was out at the corner of Bourbon & St Ann practically every night of the week for YEARS. & when I wasn't out there, I was planning my next trip. I found it wasn't what I expected: no gay fairy godmothers, no one special guy who caught my eye & won my heart, really just a lot of other kids and a few older people (AIDS killed so much of the generation before me, all of the people who could have--should have been our role models were taken away from us) and all of us were on something or things. From booze to cocaine to X to LSD to Special K to the pharm cabinet & any & every combination thereof. All of us looking for something & usually afraid to say what it really was, so we'd substitute "I wanna bump" for "I want someone who will love & respect me & empower me to live my own truth."
But I stayed there. I found that the "no fats, no fems" rule doesn't apply if you stay out late enough or get high enough. I won't say I didn't have fun (I certainly had more sorts of fun than the law allows) or make a few good friends along the way. But for a long time now, gay bars and debauched excess don't have the appeal they used to. So I guess I'll stick to the cruisy websites & the dwindling hope that one day the body fascists will understand that we are all more than just labels. Not just masc or fem or top or bottom or dom or sub or whatever. As long as we adhere to this artificial standard of what makes a man a man we are all dimished.
Fetishizing so-called "real men" (who, by definition want women & not men) is based on the misogynistic idea that whatever is male is good & whatever is female is bad. It is a symptom of an ingrained self-hatred. When we find a "real man" who will deign to have some sexual contact with us, it generally ends one of 2 ways: 1. After a while he gets tired of it & goes back to his girlfriend/wife or 2 we sabotage it in some way because we find ourselves disgusted by him on some level for not being "manly" enough. Sometimes there is option 3--where we become the revolving door out of the closet & then Mr. Straight Man starts sucking every dick in the Zip Code, but there you have it. The story always ends up the same, with you sittin up late in front of your computer, drinkin Bluberi Stoli & cranberry, feeling sorry for yourself & blogging....
Friday, March 18, 2011
Introducing: The Jesus Junkies.
I guess you could call this pt 1 of "Crazy Hoes I Used To Know"
As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I met Danny & Mikey, the original Jesus Junkies, way back around December 1996, when they rode with me on the first of a series of legendary Mexican twirls (all of which ended w no one makin money because of our mutual addictions, but that's another set of tragic stories). They were from similar middle-class white backgrounds, although Danny was from South Louisiana & Mikey was from Pennsylvania someplace. Danny was the "pretty" one: naturally tan skin & deep brown eyes with sort of chestnut hair in a wedge cut, straight white teeth & a set of dimples to die for. Mikey was skinny with dark brown hair & sort of close set eyes with a fairer complexion, as well as a rather, shall we say, unfortunate nose (he later got this fixed). Mikey was definitely the sassy one, while Danny tended to be sweet & cute most of the time. My friend Matty later identified this paradigm in gay couples (whether lovers or not) as "The Bitch & The Bait."
At any rate, one night after we got back from Mexico, Mikey asked me for a ride to a hotel. He told me he'd met this guy named Ron at a bar who had some X pills he wanted Mikey to try out. Mikey told me he wanted me to come in with him just in case this guy turned out to be crazy. Well the guy did turn out to be crazy, but little did I know the depth of the madness until later. So we get up into Ron's hotel room & try out these tabs. We stayed up in the room, with Ron making like an Amway style drug dealing recruitment speech directed towards Mikey. The pills made us feel good & definitely got us both on board with him. As we got to know Ron, we found out that he was originally from a very religious background. I noticed he had a tendancy to sort of preach about people he formed opinions about. Before long, Danny & Mikey were living with Ron in a big house Uptown some place as the money started rolling in. I remember visiting them at that house a few times & Ron & the boys liked to take psychoactive drugs like Special K, LSD & X & read the Bible. I couldn't see the sense in all of this. I enjoyed all the drug bit but I really didn't think it was time for a prayer meeting. My reluctance to take part in this sacrilege led Ron to decide that I was possessed by demons. On more than one occasion he and/or the boys tried to get all serious with me & give me some sort of "exorcism." According to them on one of these occasions (I think we were in the House of Luv, actually) my eyes turned red & a light bulb exploded. Let me stress to you that such a thing never actually happened. What actually did happen was one night I was out upstairs at the Bourbon Pub, dancing on one of the boxes waving around this riding crop we'd bought in Mexico. I'm sure we were all on a bunch of drugs, & I'm not exactly sure what Danny & Mikey saw but they were staring at me as I was dancing & then they dragged me out on to the balcony & tried to tell me that I was directing the crowd's energy in a malicious way with the riding crop & I had to give it to them at once. I said, you gals are insane & tried to get up off the bench where we were sitting to go back inside but no. They had been standing in front of me & each one of them grabbed an arm & a leg of mine & pinned me down to this bench, saying things like "Come out of Him. I cast you out in the name of Jesus." Please understand this is like Saturday Night on Bourbon Street at Prime Time. There are like at least 20-30 ppl around us on this balcony, not to mention security guards & the whole time I remember thinking "This cannot possibly be happening. If all these people were really seeing this some1 would surely intercede."
Evidently Not.
I remember these deranged hookers pulling & tugging at me & berating me & somehow I managed to stand up & not let them throw me off the balcony. I don't really remember how this particular night ended (they really didn't seem to ever end, they blur together so quickly) but I know that we had a series of encounters after this, both business & personal. It all came to a head one day when I told Ron to take his bunk pills & phony religion out of my house or I was gonna call a cop & he pounced on me & the boys held me down while he punched me a few times. They all took off right afterwards & I filed a complaint with the police. They didn't know about all of that when they called me up the next day, all apologetic & wanting to give me some free drugs to make up for how mean they were. I told them to come over & called 911 when I saw their car pull up. I let them in but kept my distance with a pair of scissors hidden up my jacket sleeve until the cops got there & I had them all arrested for assault. They told the cops that the tabs in their pockets were ginseng pills & the cops just dropped them in the grass next to my place & put them in the patrol car. I never went to court over it, so I suppose the charges got dropped.
I remember picking up all those pills & having to go to the Zoolu rave that year, feeling like a battered housewife, wearing my big sunglasses to cover up the black eyes w the busted blood vessels in my eye. I'm pretty sure I made big money at that party, but Who Can Say? Eventually they all got out of jail and before long the 3 of them had a falling out and Ron tried to recruit me. I was all in & then dodged paying him. I think it is only in New Orleans you can get away with some of this stuff. I'm pretty sure in NYC or something you would get shot over this. I guess I counted on him believing in "Thou Shalt Not Kill" or something.
Anyway, Ron eventually left town to go back to Lake Charles or something & the Jesus Junkies remained. They eventually found another pastor, Dick Crayford, but that's another story for another time....
As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I met Danny & Mikey, the original Jesus Junkies, way back around December 1996, when they rode with me on the first of a series of legendary Mexican twirls (all of which ended w no one makin money because of our mutual addictions, but that's another set of tragic stories). They were from similar middle-class white backgrounds, although Danny was from South Louisiana & Mikey was from Pennsylvania someplace. Danny was the "pretty" one: naturally tan skin & deep brown eyes with sort of chestnut hair in a wedge cut, straight white teeth & a set of dimples to die for. Mikey was skinny with dark brown hair & sort of close set eyes with a fairer complexion, as well as a rather, shall we say, unfortunate nose (he later got this fixed). Mikey was definitely the sassy one, while Danny tended to be sweet & cute most of the time. My friend Matty later identified this paradigm in gay couples (whether lovers or not) as "The Bitch & The Bait."
At any rate, one night after we got back from Mexico, Mikey asked me for a ride to a hotel. He told me he'd met this guy named Ron at a bar who had some X pills he wanted Mikey to try out. Mikey told me he wanted me to come in with him just in case this guy turned out to be crazy. Well the guy did turn out to be crazy, but little did I know the depth of the madness until later. So we get up into Ron's hotel room & try out these tabs. We stayed up in the room, with Ron making like an Amway style drug dealing recruitment speech directed towards Mikey. The pills made us feel good & definitely got us both on board with him. As we got to know Ron, we found out that he was originally from a very religious background. I noticed he had a tendancy to sort of preach about people he formed opinions about. Before long, Danny & Mikey were living with Ron in a big house Uptown some place as the money started rolling in. I remember visiting them at that house a few times & Ron & the boys liked to take psychoactive drugs like Special K, LSD & X & read the Bible. I couldn't see the sense in all of this. I enjoyed all the drug bit but I really didn't think it was time for a prayer meeting. My reluctance to take part in this sacrilege led Ron to decide that I was possessed by demons. On more than one occasion he and/or the boys tried to get all serious with me & give me some sort of "exorcism." According to them on one of these occasions (I think we were in the House of Luv, actually) my eyes turned red & a light bulb exploded. Let me stress to you that such a thing never actually happened. What actually did happen was one night I was out upstairs at the Bourbon Pub, dancing on one of the boxes waving around this riding crop we'd bought in Mexico. I'm sure we were all on a bunch of drugs, & I'm not exactly sure what Danny & Mikey saw but they were staring at me as I was dancing & then they dragged me out on to the balcony & tried to tell me that I was directing the crowd's energy in a malicious way with the riding crop & I had to give it to them at once. I said, you gals are insane & tried to get up off the bench where we were sitting to go back inside but no. They had been standing in front of me & each one of them grabbed an arm & a leg of mine & pinned me down to this bench, saying things like "Come out of Him. I cast you out in the name of Jesus." Please understand this is like Saturday Night on Bourbon Street at Prime Time. There are like at least 20-30 ppl around us on this balcony, not to mention security guards & the whole time I remember thinking "This cannot possibly be happening. If all these people were really seeing this some1 would surely intercede."
Evidently Not.
I remember these deranged hookers pulling & tugging at me & berating me & somehow I managed to stand up & not let them throw me off the balcony. I don't really remember how this particular night ended (they really didn't seem to ever end, they blur together so quickly) but I know that we had a series of encounters after this, both business & personal. It all came to a head one day when I told Ron to take his bunk pills & phony religion out of my house or I was gonna call a cop & he pounced on me & the boys held me down while he punched me a few times. They all took off right afterwards & I filed a complaint with the police. They didn't know about all of that when they called me up the next day, all apologetic & wanting to give me some free drugs to make up for how mean they were. I told them to come over & called 911 when I saw their car pull up. I let them in but kept my distance with a pair of scissors hidden up my jacket sleeve until the cops got there & I had them all arrested for assault. They told the cops that the tabs in their pockets were ginseng pills & the cops just dropped them in the grass next to my place & put them in the patrol car. I never went to court over it, so I suppose the charges got dropped.
I remember picking up all those pills & having to go to the Zoolu rave that year, feeling like a battered housewife, wearing my big sunglasses to cover up the black eyes w the busted blood vessels in my eye. I'm pretty sure I made big money at that party, but Who Can Say? Eventually they all got out of jail and before long the 3 of them had a falling out and Ron tried to recruit me. I was all in & then dodged paying him. I think it is only in New Orleans you can get away with some of this stuff. I'm pretty sure in NYC or something you would get shot over this. I guess I counted on him believing in "Thou Shalt Not Kill" or something.
Anyway, Ron eventually left town to go back to Lake Charles or something & the Jesus Junkies remained. They eventually found another pastor, Dick Crayford, but that's another story for another time....
Thursday, March 17, 2011
I really couldn't make this up....
Here is another in the continuing saga of improbable emails I receive from students:
Hey Prof. Ray!
Hey Prof. Ray!
I totally understand your policy when it comes to guessing on quizzes, I can't blame you for not feeling one is worthy of your time to write out the correct answers if one did not attempt to even bother learning the material... but,... i had missed that class when we were reviewing the correct answers for the quiz. I had called a couple of other students but they are unable to give them to me. However, I was just wondering if i could be an acceptation for this one time.
I just need the correct answers for section 3 of the last quiz (the ones on nationalities) AND I PROMISE TO DO AWESOME ON THE TEST!
-hit me back :P
An acceptation? Really? I don't even know what this means. Oh well, at least she didn't ask what notecards are.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
More Incredible Emails...
Here is what I sent my students:
Attached you will find the Review for our mid-term, which will be held this Friday. As much as I really don't think I should have to do this, I will offer 5 bonus points to those of you who turn in your notecards to me right before the test. That way I can verify you have not just handed me blanks or some cards for another class while you take the exam. I will hand them back to you when you turn in your exam.
Here is what I got back:
Attached you will find the Review for our mid-term, which will be held this Friday. As much as I really don't think I should have to do this, I will offer 5 bonus points to those of you who turn in your notecards to me right before the test. That way I can verify you have not just handed me blanks or some cards for another class while you take the exam. I will hand them back to you when you turn in your exam.
Here is what I got back:
Hello
Do we have to turn in blank notecard with our name or what?
This student did not even sign the email, It's not that I have omitted it.
Then I got this:
What are notecards ? What do I write in these notecards?
Thank you.
???????????????? I seriously do not even know how to answer these.
Thank God For Geese!!!
OK I promise this is my last re-post. This was right at the beginning of my medical trauma: The Dreaded Mangina. Originally posted on March 29, 2006....
Around Sunday, March 5th I started experiencing flu-like symptoms, marked by an especially high fever. I made it to school the next day to take a test, & went home still sweating. Sometime Monday night I started to notice a hard, painful lump on my backside. I went to school a bit early the next day to work on some homework, but found it was profoundly difficult to sit properly. I went to my 1st class, turned in my homework, explained my situation to my prof, & went home, still feeling feverish. Tuesday night, I felt as if my fever broke, but the mass in my ass was only getting bigger & more painful. I got dropped off at the ER the next day. It took the triage nurse approximately 10 mins to admit me, once she had a look at my vital signs (temp-104.3, BP 170/120, pulse 155) & the now much larger, red, painful mass in my right cheek.
I've had a pilonidal cyst for about 10 years now, & evidently the infection was tunnelling into my ass like crazy, leading to a staph infection. The doctors were very concerned & admitted me to a room upstairs almost at once. They operated on me the next night, slicing into my cheek & putting in a drain to try to get rid of the infection, but I guess that wasn't enough, bc Saturday they operated again, this time slicing a bit longer & deeper. My vital signs normalized & I was released on Tuesday.
However, they couldn't sew me back up without risking an ancillary infection so they gave me instructions to keep gauze packed in the wound until it heals, changing it twice a day. I can't do this on my own, so I've had to move back to Hahnville, & will be staying out here with my grandma for at least another 6-8 weeks. It doesn't hurt like it used to, but it's still not comfortable to sit down without my donut cushion.
The best part about being sick like this is that my baby sis, Diana, came from Virginia for a surprise visit, which did a lot to lift my flagging spirits.
The worst part about being sick like this is having to have this 18 cm long by 6cm deep by 6cm across wound packed with gauze & wearing Depends undergarments to keep it all in place. Well, that & having my grandmother pack the gauze into my butt cheek at least 3 times a day.
Oh, the Glamour!
This is current me again. I really do thank God every day for Geese. I have no idea what would have happened to me if she hadn't been there. It really doesn't bear thinking about.
Around Sunday, March 5th I started experiencing flu-like symptoms, marked by an especially high fever. I made it to school the next day to take a test, & went home still sweating. Sometime Monday night I started to notice a hard, painful lump on my backside. I went to school a bit early the next day to work on some homework, but found it was profoundly difficult to sit properly. I went to my 1st class, turned in my homework, explained my situation to my prof, & went home, still feeling feverish. Tuesday night, I felt as if my fever broke, but the mass in my ass was only getting bigger & more painful. I got dropped off at the ER the next day. It took the triage nurse approximately 10 mins to admit me, once she had a look at my vital signs (temp-104.3, BP 170/120, pulse 155) & the now much larger, red, painful mass in my right cheek.
I've had a pilonidal cyst for about 10 years now, & evidently the infection was tunnelling into my ass like crazy, leading to a staph infection. The doctors were very concerned & admitted me to a room upstairs almost at once. They operated on me the next night, slicing into my cheek & putting in a drain to try to get rid of the infection, but I guess that wasn't enough, bc Saturday they operated again, this time slicing a bit longer & deeper. My vital signs normalized & I was released on Tuesday.
However, they couldn't sew me back up without risking an ancillary infection so they gave me instructions to keep gauze packed in the wound until it heals, changing it twice a day. I can't do this on my own, so I've had to move back to Hahnville, & will be staying out here with my grandma for at least another 6-8 weeks. It doesn't hurt like it used to, but it's still not comfortable to sit down without my donut cushion.
The best part about being sick like this is that my baby sis, Diana, came from Virginia for a surprise visit, which did a lot to lift my flagging spirits.
The worst part about being sick like this is having to have this 18 cm long by 6cm deep by 6cm across wound packed with gauze & wearing Depends undergarments to keep it all in place. Well, that & having my grandmother pack the gauze into my butt cheek at least 3 times a day.
Oh, the Glamour!
This is current me again. I really do thank God every day for Geese. I have no idea what would have happened to me if she hadn't been there. It really doesn't bear thinking about.
Best of..part 2
I forgot how good it really felt to lose this job. Originally posted on March 18, 2007. & still just as funny:
Well as those of you that I see regularly know, I've been having some issues lately @ M----- B---- AKA Mozambique. My drunk manageress, Potato Face, (who routinely comes in to work an hour to 2 1/2 hours late & drunk for Sunday Brunch) has been saying really tacky unprofessional things about me behind my back to my friend & co-worker, Steven. Well yesterday he & I were working a double shift that lasted WAY longer than it should have. The in time for the evening shift is 4:30 & it was 4:15 when he & I got off & we told her we'd be back @ 5:00 if possible while we went to get some lunch. Well we went to Superior Grill & it was packed (PS the St Patty's day parade was passing like a block away) & by the time our food came we had to box it str8 up & head back to Mozabique. She had 3 other servers show up @ 4:30 & yet when Steven & I arrrived @ 10 after five she was so mad at us that she was shaking & she yelled at us that we could not both be so late in front of the rest of the staff, who had apparently only folded napkins while we were gone as none of the tables on the patio were re-set. I had to hustle to re-set the 8 tables outside & then she sent one of the other servers home bc this other server had a St Patrick's Day party to go to. Well guess what?? we got hit like a ton of bricks & had one of the most stressful nights EVER. Steven told me that way early in the 2nd shift after I walked out of the kitchen Potato Face told him & the remaining server, "Any day now, I'm gonna fire him." Well he told me this after the shift was over or else I'd have walked out on the spot. Well today I was working another double and naturally Madame La Pomme De Terre came in 5 mins b4 we opened and had the bold-faced nerve to wreck poor Steven bc we were out of lemons telling him that he shoulda called her (like her triflin ass was gonna answer her phone) and it was a VERY busy brunch. She scarcely talked to me (except to yell at me for seating a 2-top @ a four person table....PS This 2-top comes in every Sunday specifically to see me & naturally they are gonna get the best table I can offer them) & I got a late 5 top that ran up a $400 bill & tipped $100 bc of my gracious service. However they didn't leave till 4:45. Steven's bf came to pick him up & he asked if it was OK if we came back @ 6. She said, "Sam still has a table he can't leave & you 2 both can't come back that late." So I told Steven to go ahead & I'd just go to WOW & get a drink & a bite to eat. As I was walking to WOW, Steven called me up & let me know that after all the stress this ho has been putting him thru (I'm leaving out alot of Steven's story bc it's his story to tell)his nose started bleeding the second he walked out of the door. I got over to WOW had a drink, & ordered some chips & salsa. My friend Julie happened to pull up right at that moment & so she sat down & had a cocktail with me & then Steven was driving past & came to join too. Next thing you know it was 5:45 & so he & I walked over to Mozambique & the instant I walked in, Miss Ugly says "Sam, you can go home!" So I'm like, "OK grrl where's my cash from this morning?" & I headed to the back to grab my jacket & sunglasses. She kept on doing what she was doing & when I went back to the front of the restaurant to punch out I said, "do you have something u wanna tell me?" & she handed me my cash & was like "well I told u to be back here @ 5:30 & it's quarter of 6" Well at this point Steven interjected & said "Look how upset u made me, you have wrecked me this whole shift, & it's not gonna happen any more" & pulled out a bloody napkin he'd used to staunch his nosebleed. Alla sudden she flipped the script & apologized to him like crazy but he said, "If Sam goes, I'm outta here too, Peace." As he & I were walking out I had to let her have it one good time. So in front of the whole kitchen (& this poor new grrl) I turned around & said, "Look I know who you are, I know how you operate. You love to talk shit behind every1's back & then play all nice in their face. It's completely unprofessional, to say nothing of unacceptable. Well I've heard alot of shit you've said about me & up to this point I've sucked it up like a soldier & done my best with it bc this is alot of money for me to walk away from, but I don't know who you think you are telling Steven & another server that any day now you're gonna fire me." She tried to soft-pedal it & say that I'd just been upset about something & stormed off & she just said it in a joking way & Steven (who at this point was almost out the door) said, "It's still unprofessional." & I finished off with, "I'm not putting up with this bullshit out of you---bye"
Well not even 4 minutes later the nightmare had called the owner of the restaurant (Cristiano) who proceeded to call Steven & beg him to go back to work. Steven told Cris that he'd be back if he could manage it. After he hung up the phone, Steven looked at me & said, "grrl if he isn't callin u within the next 5 minutes I'm not going back." Guess what? Cris never called me so that's it & that's all for our careers @ Mozambique.
I still can't believe this stupid cow would think for a MICROSECOND that Steven was gonna stick around after she treated me that way. How ignorant can one bitch be? Oh I forgot--this is the bitch who got a law degree from Tulane & couldn't hack it as a lawyer so she's stuck managing a restaurant for the rest of her life to pay back her student loans. How tacky.
Well at least I have another job to fall back on & it's not like restaurant jobs are hard to find when you're as good as I am.
I feel really good about this. I feel like something better is right around the corner. Gosh I haven't felt this hopeful in ages.
This is the current me again. I was right to be hopeful. There were so many wonderful adventures ahead of me. & there still are....
Well as those of you that I see regularly know, I've been having some issues lately @ M----- B---- AKA Mozambique. My drunk manageress, Potato Face, (who routinely comes in to work an hour to 2 1/2 hours late & drunk for Sunday Brunch) has been saying really tacky unprofessional things about me behind my back to my friend & co-worker, Steven. Well yesterday he & I were working a double shift that lasted WAY longer than it should have. The in time for the evening shift is 4:30 & it was 4:15 when he & I got off & we told her we'd be back @ 5:00 if possible while we went to get some lunch. Well we went to Superior Grill & it was packed (PS the St Patty's day parade was passing like a block away) & by the time our food came we had to box it str8 up & head back to Mozabique. She had 3 other servers show up @ 4:30 & yet when Steven & I arrrived @ 10 after five she was so mad at us that she was shaking & she yelled at us that we could not both be so late in front of the rest of the staff, who had apparently only folded napkins while we were gone as none of the tables on the patio were re-set. I had to hustle to re-set the 8 tables outside & then she sent one of the other servers home bc this other server had a St Patrick's Day party to go to. Well guess what?? we got hit like a ton of bricks & had one of the most stressful nights EVER. Steven told me that way early in the 2nd shift after I walked out of the kitchen Potato Face told him & the remaining server, "Any day now, I'm gonna fire him." Well he told me this after the shift was over or else I'd have walked out on the spot. Well today I was working another double and naturally Madame La Pomme De Terre came in 5 mins b4 we opened and had the bold-faced nerve to wreck poor Steven bc we were out of lemons telling him that he shoulda called her (like her triflin ass was gonna answer her phone) and it was a VERY busy brunch. She scarcely talked to me (except to yell at me for seating a 2-top @ a four person table....PS This 2-top comes in every Sunday specifically to see me & naturally they are gonna get the best table I can offer them) & I got a late 5 top that ran up a $400 bill & tipped $100 bc of my gracious service. However they didn't leave till 4:45. Steven's bf came to pick him up & he asked if it was OK if we came back @ 6. She said, "Sam still has a table he can't leave & you 2 both can't come back that late." So I told Steven to go ahead & I'd just go to WOW & get a drink & a bite to eat. As I was walking to WOW, Steven called me up & let me know that after all the stress this ho has been putting him thru (I'm leaving out alot of Steven's story bc it's his story to tell)his nose started bleeding the second he walked out of the door. I got over to WOW had a drink, & ordered some chips & salsa. My friend Julie happened to pull up right at that moment & so she sat down & had a cocktail with me & then Steven was driving past & came to join too. Next thing you know it was 5:45 & so he & I walked over to Mozambique & the instant I walked in, Miss Ugly says "Sam, you can go home!" So I'm like, "OK grrl where's my cash from this morning?" & I headed to the back to grab my jacket & sunglasses. She kept on doing what she was doing & when I went back to the front of the restaurant to punch out I said, "do you have something u wanna tell me?" & she handed me my cash & was like "well I told u to be back here @ 5:30 & it's quarter of 6" Well at this point Steven interjected & said "Look how upset u made me, you have wrecked me this whole shift, & it's not gonna happen any more" & pulled out a bloody napkin he'd used to staunch his nosebleed. Alla sudden she flipped the script & apologized to him like crazy but he said, "If Sam goes, I'm outta here too, Peace." As he & I were walking out I had to let her have it one good time. So in front of the whole kitchen (& this poor new grrl) I turned around & said, "Look I know who you are, I know how you operate. You love to talk shit behind every1's back & then play all nice in their face. It's completely unprofessional, to say nothing of unacceptable. Well I've heard alot of shit you've said about me & up to this point I've sucked it up like a soldier & done my best with it bc this is alot of money for me to walk away from, but I don't know who you think you are telling Steven & another server that any day now you're gonna fire me." She tried to soft-pedal it & say that I'd just been upset about something & stormed off & she just said it in a joking way & Steven (who at this point was almost out the door) said, "It's still unprofessional." & I finished off with, "I'm not putting up with this bullshit out of you---bye"
Well not even 4 minutes later the nightmare had called the owner of the restaurant (Cristiano) who proceeded to call Steven & beg him to go back to work. Steven told Cris that he'd be back if he could manage it. After he hung up the phone, Steven looked at me & said, "grrl if he isn't callin u within the next 5 minutes I'm not going back." Guess what? Cris never called me so that's it & that's all for our careers @ Mozambique.
I still can't believe this stupid cow would think for a MICROSECOND that Steven was gonna stick around after she treated me that way. How ignorant can one bitch be? Oh I forgot--this is the bitch who got a law degree from Tulane & couldn't hack it as a lawyer so she's stuck managing a restaurant for the rest of her life to pay back her student loans. How tacky.
Well at least I have another job to fall back on & it's not like restaurant jobs are hard to find when you're as good as I am.
I feel really good about this. I feel like something better is right around the corner. Gosh I haven't felt this hopeful in ages.
This is the current me again. I was right to be hopeful. There were so many wonderful adventures ahead of me. & there still are....
Best of Blog...
Well, actually this is a repost from MySpace. What inspired me to re-post this is that a friend posted a pic of me all slung up in the hospital, doped up to the gills, with my arm in this weird bondage sock. I had almost forgotten this even happened to me, until I started looking around for the pic on FB & realized it must have been on Myspace. So here goes...(originally posted May 6, 2007)
So Tuesday I'd been having some probs with a painful red spot near where I'd skinned my elbow fighting with that fat bitch during French Quarter Fest a few weeks back, so I went 2 Student Health & they told me it was prolly some kind of staph infection & gave me some oral antibiotix & a cream to put on it. Well Guess What? The next day (May 2, 1 month b4 my next bday) my whole left 4arm was all swole up. I went to University Hospital & watched it get bigger & bigger as I went from one waiting rm to the next. Did I mention the hospital is still under construction & the workman had to come drill something into the door of one of these waiting rooms? Horrendous. I got dropped off around 8:30 am & didn't see an MD until about 12:30pm. The doc told me they'd have to admit me & give me IV antibiotix. I ended up spending 2 scary nites in there with these really mean nurses. They put my arm in this funny looking bondage sock to help the swelling go down, check out my comments to see how funny it looks. It worked tho. The swelling is almost all gone now but it's still draining (kinda ick but not too gross). I spent the weekend @ the Coyote Clinic in Hahnville, tryin to recuperate a lil b4 coming back to face Life in the Big City.
I'm not really lookin 4ward to going back to work 2morrow. These antibiotix I'm taking make me feel kinda icky & I really don't feel like slinging pizzas, but being that the electricity was recently disconnected I guess it's best that I make some $ (the lights are back on now but I still gots lotsa other unpaid bills)
Pray for me.
This is the current me talking now. It's like I read this & I feel like I remember these things happening to someone else. Like I was watching a TV show about some broke New Orleans Queen's latest bout of MRSA & hateful hospital staff.
So Tuesday I'd been having some probs with a painful red spot near where I'd skinned my elbow fighting with that fat bitch during French Quarter Fest a few weeks back, so I went 2 Student Health & they told me it was prolly some kind of staph infection & gave me some oral antibiotix & a cream to put on it. Well Guess What? The next day (May 2, 1 month b4 my next bday) my whole left 4arm was all swole up. I went to University Hospital & watched it get bigger & bigger as I went from one waiting rm to the next. Did I mention the hospital is still under construction & the workman had to come drill something into the door of one of these waiting rooms? Horrendous. I got dropped off around 8:30 am & didn't see an MD until about 12:30pm. The doc told me they'd have to admit me & give me IV antibiotix. I ended up spending 2 scary nites in there with these really mean nurses. They put my arm in this funny looking bondage sock to help the swelling go down, check out my comments to see how funny it looks. It worked tho. The swelling is almost all gone now but it's still draining (kinda ick but not too gross). I spent the weekend @ the Coyote Clinic in Hahnville, tryin to recuperate a lil b4 coming back to face Life in the Big City.
I'm not really lookin 4ward to going back to work 2morrow. These antibiotix I'm taking make me feel kinda icky & I really don't feel like slinging pizzas, but being that the electricity was recently disconnected I guess it's best that I make some $ (the lights are back on now but I still gots lotsa other unpaid bills)
Pray for me.
This is the current me talking now. It's like I read this & I feel like I remember these things happening to someone else. Like I was watching a TV show about some broke New Orleans Queen's latest bout of MRSA & hateful hospital staff.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Seriously?
I got this ridiculous email today:
I am contacting you because some one who used to live in New orleans gave me your information. I would have loved to call you on 504943XXXX which I have as your phone number but everything is a mess down here and the phone lines are not working. It is with a heavy heart that I’m writing you from a hospital here in Japan.
I am Edna Stecker, wife of Dr. Gordon Stecker, an American doctor and businessman who deals on oil products. We have been living in Japan for 20 years with our only daughter.
I am not happy to tell you that my family was heavily affected by the Tsunami which rocked our Japan recently. Too many lives and properties were washed away and my family lost everything. Up until now, I still cannot find my only daughter who was washed away by a very huge and scary mass of water. My husband is currently on admission in a hospital due to injuries sustained from the debris that crumbled upon us. He is currently in a coma and I was lucky to have escaped with no major injuries. I hope he survives. Please pray for us.
Before the disaster, my husband shipped a consignment to the United States via a courier company. My husband was supposed to travel to New York so as to retrieve the consignment from the delivery man from the courier company but because of our present condition, nothing could be done. According to the courier company, the delivery man will get to JFK Airport any moment from now.
My purpose of contacting you is to assist us in retrieving this consignment from the delivery man as soon as he gets the JFK Airport in New York. My husband has already settled the delivery charges for shipping the consignment to New York. The diplomatic courier will charge you a little fee for delivering the consignment from New York to your house in New orleans and you will be responsible for these charges.
The contents of the consignment are $18 million USD (in $100.00 USD bills), tax clearance documents, anti-drug certificate, my husband’s statement of account, company memorandum, and other necessary clearance documents which certifies the fund as legal. If you can retrieve the consignment and keep it safe for my husband until we can make it to the USA, we are willing to offer you $3 million USD out of the money in the consignment as compensation for your assistance.
Due to the nature of this delivery, we registered the contents of the consignment as medical books and journals and not cash. You are not to let anyone know the real contents of the consignment as it is being delivered by diplomatic means.
You are to reply this email if you accept this offer so that I will send you the contact phone number of the delivery man in USA so that you can call him and make arrangements for retrieving the box. I will also send you all other details which you need to claim the consignment on my husband’s behalf.
I await your urgent reply.
Thank you and God bless.
Do people really fall for this? This just seems so patently absurd that I can't imagine getting suckered in. I have even gotten phone calls with this sort of thing, like I have won a lottery I didn't buy a ticket for but I have to pay some percentage of it up front via Western Union to get it. This is just so absurd. If you have $18 million dollars or whatever, you can withhold the percentage, I said to one of these mouth breathers. He got all in a huff & told me no, I had to pay it. Bitch, Please.
So if you get this kinda email/call/etc just ignore & delete as spam or whatever. I am particularly galled by this one bc it tries to profiteer off this outrageous disaster. Sick.
I am contacting you because some one who used to live in New orleans gave me your information. I would have loved to call you on 504943XXXX which I have as your phone number but everything is a mess down here and the phone lines are not working. It is with a heavy heart that I’m writing you from a hospital here in Japan.
I am Edna Stecker, wife of Dr. Gordon Stecker, an American doctor and businessman who deals on oil products. We have been living in Japan for 20 years with our only daughter.
I am not happy to tell you that my family was heavily affected by the Tsunami which rocked our Japan recently. Too many lives and properties were washed away and my family lost everything. Up until now, I still cannot find my only daughter who was washed away by a very huge and scary mass of water. My husband is currently on admission in a hospital due to injuries sustained from the debris that crumbled upon us. He is currently in a coma and I was lucky to have escaped with no major injuries. I hope he survives. Please pray for us.
Before the disaster, my husband shipped a consignment to the United States via a courier company. My husband was supposed to travel to New York so as to retrieve the consignment from the delivery man from the courier company but because of our present condition, nothing could be done. According to the courier company, the delivery man will get to JFK Airport any moment from now.
My purpose of contacting you is to assist us in retrieving this consignment from the delivery man as soon as he gets the JFK Airport in New York. My husband has already settled the delivery charges for shipping the consignment to New York. The diplomatic courier will charge you a little fee for delivering the consignment from New York to your house in New orleans and you will be responsible for these charges.
The contents of the consignment are $18 million USD (in $100.00 USD bills), tax clearance documents, anti-drug certificate, my husband’s statement of account, company memorandum, and other necessary clearance documents which certifies the fund as legal. If you can retrieve the consignment and keep it safe for my husband until we can make it to the USA, we are willing to offer you $3 million USD out of the money in the consignment as compensation for your assistance.
Due to the nature of this delivery, we registered the contents of the consignment as medical books and journals and not cash. You are not to let anyone know the real contents of the consignment as it is being delivered by diplomatic means.
You are to reply this email if you accept this offer so that I will send you the contact phone number of the delivery man in USA so that you can call him and make arrangements for retrieving the box. I will also send you all other details which you need to claim the consignment on my husband’s behalf.
I await your urgent reply.
Thank you and God bless.
Do people really fall for this? This just seems so patently absurd that I can't imagine getting suckered in. I have even gotten phone calls with this sort of thing, like I have won a lottery I didn't buy a ticket for but I have to pay some percentage of it up front via Western Union to get it. This is just so absurd. If you have $18 million dollars or whatever, you can withhold the percentage, I said to one of these mouth breathers. He got all in a huff & told me no, I had to pay it. Bitch, Please.
So if you get this kinda email/call/etc just ignore & delete as spam or whatever. I am particularly galled by this one bc it tries to profiteer off this outrageous disaster. Sick.
Fascinated & Amazed & Unafraid
Crazy Things I Have Done. Pt. 1ish
So when I was about 22 and a half, my Dad bought me a car. It was a mid-90s gray Nissan Sentra. The next day, my transgendered friend Alexxus Luv asked if I would drive her from New Orleans to Nuevo Laredo, Mexico to buy $1000 worth of liquid Ketamine (AKA Special K). We were working for a mystery man known only as Swervella. Also along for the ride were the Jesus Junkies, Danny and Mikey, a cute gay teen couple, and some straight guy named Robby. Did I mention the Sentra was a two-door car? The 10 hour drive out there was no problem for me. We’d been furnished with enough disposable cash to do a substantial amount of shopping so we would just blend in with the other tourists buying souvenirs. What I don’t think occurred to any of us is that 3 gay guys, a drag queen and a skinny sexually ambiguous looking guy all looked like what we were—kids out looking for trouble. We parked my car on the US side of the border in a mall parking lot & walked across the bridge. This was all long before 9/11. You just walked right across, no one checked your ID, you didn’t have to change your money over, nothing. Immediately when we crossed I noticed a lot of young kids running around trying to sell chiclets and other little candies (Mexican Now-and-Laters, from the looks of things) and several men of varying ages coming towards us asking if we need to see a doctor, they all knew one that could take care of us. We walked a few blocks and the one the stuck with us the longest got our fare & his fix. I think he was called Pedro. I knew enough Spanish to ask about a veterinario for some ketamina as well as the pill smorgasbord that the Jesus Junkies and their straight friend were looking for. Turns out Pedro drove a cab and he took us to this woman’s office. She had a football style hairdo that she had tried to bleach but only ended up with that weird coppery shade of red that Mexican girls get when they don’t use any toner on their bleach work. I wasn’t really involved in any of the purchasing, she knew enough English to let the boys know that Valiums were like $30 for 90, etc etc but the whole time I she really didn’t take her eyes off the TV screen that was playing some intense telenovela. I remember going to the restroom for a pee & noticing an industrial size pump bottle of KY Jelly. I was glad I wasn’t the one trying to cross all those pills. I think this woman wrote prescriptions so we wouldn’t get in trouble and then someone showed up with all these bottles of pills. The boys emptied all the pills into a few sandwich baggies and then headed into Miss Bleach Head’s bathroom. After we got done with her, we got into Pedro’s cab to head for the vet’s oficina. Just as he started driving, he had Alexxus hold the steering wheel for a second while he injected morphine into his arm at like 35 mph down streets with more potholes than the worst post-Katrina street in all of New Orleans. Somehow we made it to the vet’s place and his English was not as strong as Miss Bleach Head’s so I had to make him understand that we were trying to get 40 vials for $25 each. He kept trying to make us pay 30 per vial but we held fast. We told him $1000 for 40 vials or nothing. Please understand that each vial would yield 5 bags of pure K that retailed for $30 each. Once the vet came up with the vials of K, we had to open all the vials and pour the contents into an empty bottle of water we had purchased when we’d first arrived. The bottles were sealed with little metal circles around the top of them and the vet furnished us with X-acto knives to pry them off with. This led to a certain amount of finger cuts and absorption of K through those membranes as the 5 of us transferred the liquid of our salvation/damnation from a bunch of small glass bottles into one liter sized water bottle that we all knew better than to drink out of. Especially after we walked out of the vet’s office & went shopping in the many flea markets to be had in Nuevo Laredo. We shopped like crazy people in those markets. We bought clear quartz pyramids, Aztec calendars, carved weed pipes of varied shapes and sizes, a riding crop, a whip, oh I don’t know what all. I was feeling wondrous and disconnected from the Special K I’d absorbed through my fingertips when all 5 of us noticed that the loudspeaker for the radio that had been playing mariachi sounding stuff til then was playing “What’s Going On” by 4 Non-Blondes. Then the singing began and it was in Spanish. We were like, “Wow” in the way the only K-heads can be. Fascinated and amazed and unafraid. If I had to pick 3 words to characterize this time in my life, those would be the ones. Before long we realized it was about to get dark and since we didn’t have a room in Laredo, we crossed the border with a minimum of fuss. I suppose we had to show our ID cards but I think that was it. They may have looked at our shopping bags but all our drugs were either up those guys’ buts or in one of the many water bottles we were carrying (we each had one) and we just played it as cool as we could. We got into the car and about 20 miles from the border it began to rain like crazy. Little did I realize this torrential rainstorm was our salvation. As we approached the checkpoint at the 50-mile from the border mark, the guards or cops or whoever mans those things just waved us on through because of how heavy the rain was. Pretty soon after this point everyone started clucking for drugs. We hadn’t done any drugs since we’d smoked our last joint when we’d gotten on the road around midnight the previous night. We stopped in some town and Alexxus went to a pharmacy and even though she couldn’t get the pharmacist to sell her a 10-pack of needles, she at least got one fresh needle, some bleach, and a gallon of distilled water. As I drove, she administered the shots in a very specific order: Bleach once, spray out, fill & spray out with water, fill with K then inject intramuscularly. Everyone got their fix but I was just buzzing out on these IF-Anorex diet pills Daniel had scored for me for the drive back. I let everyone enjoy their moment but eventually I was like, OK hoes, someone else has to drive. There was a water bottle cap full of liquid K on my console when we pulled into this gas station parking lot where I opened the car door and proceeded to fall out of the car into s very Ab-Fab style pose. I pulled myself back together and Michael got behind the wheel while I got into the passenger seat. My boom-box was on the floorboards and while Robert got my shot together I put in Keoki’s Disco Death Race 2000 CD. I watched him prepare it in the correct order, then I unbuttoned my pants so I could give myself the shot in the ass I was craving. Just as I pressed the plunger down and pulled the needle out and the first wave of lovely K-ness washed over me, I hear this dude say “Did I just give him a shot of bleach?” but as I was trying to tell him “No” everything just seemed to fall away and I found myself again in Nuevo Laredo, with Cuatro Non Rubias singing again. These were the moments I loved. Just letting go of it all. The pain, the memories, the guilt. I could feel those things loosen their grip on me and I became something malleable, something that didn’t hurt all the time or have to remember every time someone spit in my face and called me a fag or a queer or a smartass or punched or kicked or berated me under their breath mostly just because they knew they could.
If this were a movie or some cautionary tale about the dangers of drugs, the needle would have been full of bleach. Or the car would have been crashed while I was in that K-hole. But no. The needle was only full of what I was looking for and Michael somehow got us back to the House of Luv on Annunciation St (just a block from the St. Thomas Project). The sun was coming up. This was the first road trip I took to Mexico for Special K, but not the last. Like I said, in a movie, we’d have died or killed someone else or something suitably grim but not this time. We all lived through this one, and many more besides.
God looks after Fools and Little Children, I suppose, could be the moral if you insist on having one.
Why I love this poem:
The Key to Everything
by May Swenson
Is there anything I can do
or has everything been done
or do
you prefer somebody else to do
it or don't
you trust me to do
it right or is it hopeless and no one can do
a thing or do
you suppose I don't
really want to do
it and am just saying that or don't
you hear me at all or what?
You're
waiting for
the right person the doctor or
the nurse the father or
the mother or
the person with the name you keep
mumbling in your sleep
that no one ever heard of there's no one
named that really
except yourself maybe
If I knew what your
name was I'd
prove it's your
name spelled backwards or
twisted in some way the one you
keep mumbling but you
won't tell me your
name or
don't you know it
yourself that's it
of course you've
forgotten or
never quite knew it or
weren't willing to believe it
Then there is something I
can do I
can find your name for you
that's the key to everything once you'd
repeat it clearly you'd
come awake you'd
get up and walk knowing where you're
going where you
came from
And you'd
love me
after that or would you
hate me?
no once you'd
get there you'd
remember and love me
of course I'd
be gone by then I'd
be far away.
From Another Animal by May Swenson. Published by Scribner. Copyright © 1954 the Literary Estate of May Swenson
I remember reading this when I was in my early 20s or so & just being absolutely taken with it. Even now, a decade & a half later, the sentiment here still resonates with me. This poem pretty much encapsulates the way I operated with my friends for the longest time (and still do to some extent.) The 1st stanza is just really one long sentence, increasingly frantic in tone as it progresses. You can almost hear the poet's voice reaching almost a ranting tone as the series of questions continue. The poet seems to be trying to define her place in the subject's reality based on the subject's apparent needs. As we move into the second stanza (which is lacking punctuation, another sign of the poet's increased frenzy), we see that the poet has identified what the subject is "waiting for," i.e. what the subject needs that the poet is not providing. By the 3rd stanza, the poet admits a lack of knowledge of the subject ("If I knew what your/name was I'd/prove it's your/name spelled backwards...") but affirms her desire to make herself useful, valuable to the subject. In the penultimate stanza, the poet has identified her perception of the subject's need ("that's the key to everything") as well as the results of her help (you'd/ come awake you'd/ get up and walk knowing where you're/ going where you/came from). This implies that at the time the poem is written, the subject doesn't know where he/she is going nor where he/she came from, but that the poet's identification of the subject's true self will will put the subject on the path to greatness. The closing stanza deals with the repurcussions to the poet herself, which are initially in question ("you'd/ love me/ after that or would you/ hate me?") As the poet reassures herself that the results of her help would actually make the subject love her, she also reassures herself that no matter the result, she will be safe ("of course I'd/ be gone by then I'd/ be far away.")--thus protecting herself from being abandoned by abandoning the person she loves. The length of the lines and the tendency to distance the subject pronouns from the verbs ("you'd/ love me/ after that or would you/ hate me?") emphasizes not only the isolation of the poet but the subject from not just each other but from themselves--after all, the poet doesn't know the subject's name, yet she is intimate enough with the subject to know that he/she calls out a name in his/her sleep.
I remember thinking that this poem was the key to everything. That if I could just identify what people need & give it to them, they'd love me, but by the time they realized it, I would be safe & busy with giving someone else what he/she needed. But I never asked the question, but when do I start doing that for myself???
http://library.wustl.edu/units/spec/reading/swenson/swen-bang.html
by May Swenson
Is there anything I can do
or has everything been done
or do
you prefer somebody else to do
it or don't
you trust me to do
it right or is it hopeless and no one can do
a thing or do
you suppose I don't
really want to do
it and am just saying that or don't
you hear me at all or what?
You're
waiting for
the right person the doctor or
the nurse the father or
the mother or
the person with the name you keep
mumbling in your sleep
that no one ever heard of there's no one
named that really
except yourself maybe
If I knew what your
name was I'd
prove it's your
name spelled backwards or
twisted in some way the one you
keep mumbling but you
won't tell me your
name or
don't you know it
yourself that's it
of course you've
forgotten or
never quite knew it or
weren't willing to believe it
Then there is something I
can do I
can find your name for you
that's the key to everything once you'd
repeat it clearly you'd
come awake you'd
get up and walk knowing where you're
going where you
came from
And you'd
love me
after that or would you
hate me?
no once you'd
get there you'd
remember and love me
of course I'd
be gone by then I'd
be far away.
From Another Animal by May Swenson. Published by Scribner. Copyright © 1954 the Literary Estate of May Swenson
I remember reading this when I was in my early 20s or so & just being absolutely taken with it. Even now, a decade & a half later, the sentiment here still resonates with me. This poem pretty much encapsulates the way I operated with my friends for the longest time (and still do to some extent.) The 1st stanza is just really one long sentence, increasingly frantic in tone as it progresses. You can almost hear the poet's voice reaching almost a ranting tone as the series of questions continue. The poet seems to be trying to define her place in the subject's reality based on the subject's apparent needs. As we move into the second stanza (which is lacking punctuation, another sign of the poet's increased frenzy), we see that the poet has identified what the subject is "waiting for," i.e. what the subject needs that the poet is not providing. By the 3rd stanza, the poet admits a lack of knowledge of the subject ("If I knew what your/name was I'd/prove it's your/name spelled backwards...") but affirms her desire to make herself useful, valuable to the subject. In the penultimate stanza, the poet has identified her perception of the subject's need ("that's the key to everything") as well as the results of her help (you'd/ come awake you'd/ get up and walk knowing where you're/ going where you/came from). This implies that at the time the poem is written, the subject doesn't know where he/she is going nor where he/she came from, but that the poet's identification of the subject's true self will will put the subject on the path to greatness. The closing stanza deals with the repurcussions to the poet herself, which are initially in question ("you'd/ love me/ after that or would you/ hate me?") As the poet reassures herself that the results of her help would actually make the subject love her, she also reassures herself that no matter the result, she will be safe ("of course I'd/ be gone by then I'd/ be far away.")--thus protecting herself from being abandoned by abandoning the person she loves. The length of the lines and the tendency to distance the subject pronouns from the verbs ("you'd/ love me/ after that or would you/ hate me?") emphasizes not only the isolation of the poet but the subject from not just each other but from themselves--after all, the poet doesn't know the subject's name, yet she is intimate enough with the subject to know that he/she calls out a name in his/her sleep.
I remember thinking that this poem was the key to everything. That if I could just identify what people need & give it to them, they'd love me, but by the time they realized it, I would be safe & busy with giving someone else what he/she needed. But I never asked the question, but when do I start doing that for myself???
http://library.wustl.edu/units/spec/reading/swenson/swen-bang.html
Friday, March 11, 2011
One of my students seriously sent me this:
Hola Sr. Ray
I missed class yesterday and I was wondering about a make up test I could take. I have no valid excuse other than I had problems with my girlfriend. To be honest the while thing seemed like a guiding light story, if you'd like to hear it I wouldn't mine if it means I get to make up the test I missed. Lol
Is it just my imagination, or is this the most asinine thing you have ever read?
I have not responded yet, although I have composed several scathing emails, which I am pretty sure I deleted instead of sending. That part was not easy. I do try to remember that if an email contains the phrase "You dumb motherhumper" it will only cause me trouble in the future. What seems like devastating wit can quickly become evidence if there are any troubles later on....
I missed class yesterday and I was wondering about a make up test I could take. I have no valid excuse other than I had problems with my girlfriend. To be honest the while thing seemed like a guiding light story, if you'd like to hear it I wouldn't mine if it means I get to make up the test I missed. Lol
Is it just my imagination, or is this the most asinine thing you have ever read?
I have not responded yet, although I have composed several scathing emails, which I am pretty sure I deleted instead of sending. That part was not easy. I do try to remember that if an email contains the phrase "You dumb motherhumper" it will only cause me trouble in the future. What seems like devastating wit can quickly become evidence if there are any troubles later on....
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Now I feel better.
Are YOU Ignorant, Mean-Spirited & Hateful???
Do YOU enjoy lying to clients/students about when they will be able to pay their bills?
HEAD ON DOWN TO THE UNO FINANCIAL AID DEPARTMENT!!! WE HAVE A POSITION FOR YOU AS A COUNSELOR!!!
Revel in the tears of clients/students when you rattle off a completely incomprehensible answer to their questions regarding their loans!!
Laugh Out Loud when you discover that they can’t pay their rent because YOU told them they’d have their money on a certain date!!
Gasp with Delight as you completely contradict any and all previous statements regarding the timeliness of a disbursement!!
AND REMEMBER!!!
No Matter what the problem is, ALWAYS BLAME IT ON THE BURSAR’S OFFICE!!!
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