Eagle

I did the one thing this morning that, for a long time, have wished to have a female companion to assist me with.  I guess, I could have a male companion help out, but I'd feel very uncomfortable about asking a dude to come help me out in the bathroom.  Standing shirtless in front of the mirror, doing the deed is uncomfortable enough, but to do it with another fella present would be crazy awkward.  The task that I speak of is, of course, shaving my head.  Get your damned minds out of the gutter, folks.

For a couple of years now, I've opted to shave my head instead of growing my hair out.  Previous to joining Saskatoon  Transit, I'd had longer hair.  My sister, a hairdresser, couldn't always fit me in for an appointment.  Working limited hours and constantly taxiing her two boys around the city and a portion of the province (these days), she never had the time and not one for bringing her work home with her, plus I'd never dream of asking for such an arduous favour.  So I'd let my hair grow out.  For awhile it was quite lengthy, too.  In the beginning it'd hang in my eyes and would be especially bothersome on a windy day until finally I stopped attempting to keep it from blowing across my face and eyes.  Working outside, though, caused my hair to bleach from the constant exposure to the sun, until finally it began to look like I was balding, even though (at the time) I was not.  I'd always had thin strands of hair, but I was never losing much of it.

Everything changed when I got hired onto Transit.  When I had my identification picture taken for my pass card, the way the camera flash reflected off my head, was truly devastating.  That evening, I did manage to get in to see my sister for an emergency hair appointment at which time, despite her reluctance to grant my wishes, she did shave my head completely bald.  After that, I'd purchased a mid-to-high range cordless clippers and the adventure began.

In the beginning, I attempted to shave every couple of days, but strips would be missed and I'd look like a bargain basement Mick Foley (as Mankind).  One time, another driver, who also worked as a part-time hairdresser, took pity on me and cut down some of the offending strays.  After that, I decided that I'd allow my hair to grow about a quarter to half an inch before taking it all off, right down to the skin.  I don't Bic my head, as my cranium doesn't appear to be very round.  Standing back, it looks like a human skull, but when I run my fingers over my scalp or run the clippers through my hair, I'm constant finding valleys and divots, thus making some areas more difficult to cut.  Hence the need for a spot checker.  Maybe even someone who'd be competent enough to touch up the troubled areas.  Then again, if I'm shaving my whole head anyway, there's a grey area where skill doesn't even come into play.  The fact that I do it myself, is proof and a half that no skill is required.

I remember the first time I'd shaved my head.  It was...  Oh shit, more than twenty years ago. 🤯  God damn I'm getting old. 

The first time I'd shaved my head, it was done by a friend and, ironically, it was done by a dude, my friend Joel.

Another friend had been diagnosed with cancer.  He was about to embark on the chemotherapy aspect of his treatment and was facing the inevitable hair loss.  Myself and a group of his friends, all agreed to shave our heads in support.  It was a procedure that none of us had, up to that point, so the initial victims, er I mean, participants suffered through some seemingly barbaric treatment.  I can't recall who went first, thankfully it was not me, but they came out of that bathroom which trickling streams of drying blood.  It was not a pretty sight.   After all, as memory serves, I don't believe we had any clippers.   Just a pair of scissors, normally used for cutting paper and fabric, not human hair, and a pack of Bic disposable razors.  It was amateur hour at it's finest.

The next fella came out a little less scathed, followed by a third friend, who decided to have some fun in the process, opting first to cut a horse shoe out of his head.  You know, hair on the sides and back, but the top was shaved bald.  It was quite a spectacle to see and he resembled a high school principal.  He did a couple different style that resulted in all of us laughing like idiots.  It was a good night, overall.

As for my experience, it was great.  By the time it was my turn to go under the knife, so to speak, and we'd all got our process down to a sweet science and I came out of the bathroom looking like a million dollars.  I'd always had concerns as my neck is wider than my head, so I always believed that I would look like a thumb with a goatee, but it wasn't so.  My neck is wider, but it didn't (& I don't) look as bad as I thought it would.

I'd love to have a female companion for a number of reasons.  It'd be nice to come home once in awhile and talk to someone who responds with actual words and not murmurs and meows, but I wouldn't trade that fuzzy faced boy, Monkey, for anything or anyone.

Now I sit here, all my hair removed except for a velvety layer, tapping away at my keyboard.  Procrastinating about having to leave the house.  Venturing out into the cooler temperatures.  Maybe I should have waited until this afternoon to have shaved my head, but then I wouldn't have been inspired enough to come share this experience with all of you.  Have a nice day, everybody! 🙂

Be Calm. It Was Just a False Alarm

I'm not going to lie to you, but it's been kind of a tense few weeks for yours truly.  About three weeks ago, in preparation for a visit to my diabetic counselor, I was sent for blood work, to monitor various levels of my blood in my daily battle with Type II Diabetes.  Within a couple of hours, I received an urgent phone call from my doctor, in reference to the test results.  Normally, I don't concern myself too much with such trivialities, but when a physician, especially one as busy as mine, takes time out of her busy day to place a personal phone call, one has no choice but to sit up and take notice.  She informed me that my platelet count was abnormally low and that I should return for another blood test the following week.

In the olden days, before the internet, news such as this would cause the mind to race in a thousand directions, imagination taking over and running thousands more scenarios.  These days, with the advent of the worldwide web, a diagnosis is available at one's finger tips and I wasted no time typing "low platelets" into Google and was not very encouraged by the results.  Web MD listed a few culprits, including Leukemia and Colon Cancer, but I wasn't experiencing any of those symptoms, so I quickly discarded them.  However, I was intrigued by the list symptoms for Prostate Cancer. I'd been experiencing some oddities in the weeks prior and Googled those symptoms which brought up Prostate Cancer as a possible cause.  Now seeing the ugly name rear it's head, once more, I became a little more concerned.

By and by, I never let it get me down, believing "It is what it is".  In years past, I've always believed that if I ever faced off with cancer, that I could and would beat it, so these past few weeks were definitely a test of that belief.

The following week came and I returned to the clinic for a follow-up blood test, only this time, I never received a follow-up phone call from my doctor.  A week came and went, followed by a second and still no telephone call from my doctor.  "No news is good news." they always say, and so I continued on, like there was nothing to worry about.

I saw my doctor, today, for my usual monthly visit and we touched base on the "low platelet" issue.  She chalked it up to a mistake made by the lab, as it's not normal for one's platelet count to fluctuate such a drastic amount within a few days of testing.  We each breathed a sigh of relief, mine much heavier than hers, I'm sure.

I've had a lot of close calls, in recent years, close calls and near misses that I've had to face on my own.  I know I have a small circle of friends that, if I needed to, I could lean on someone's shoulder.  However, I'm not the sort to trouble others with my bullshit.  When I broke my back a couple of years ago, that was a tough ordeal to get through on my own.  I'm not going to lie, but I managed to get through it.  When I had pneumonia, before that and X-rays discovered what was described (to me) as a "black mass" on my lung, I'll admit that was a heavy burden to shoulder, too.  All-in-all, recent years have really been taking their toll on me, emotionally, but god damn it, I'm grappling each one, wrestling it to the ground and rising above it all.  I'm like the Batman, only without the cool threads or the kick ass car.  I'm an excellent survivor.

The King of Wishful Thinking

It is amazingly stupid, what passes for viable news, sometimes.  Two big stories emblazoned on the media right now, is the Lance Armstrong "juicing" confession that he made to Oprah Winfrey, in her desperate attempt for ratings on her dying O Network.  The other is Notre Dame football star, Manti Te'o allegedly being the victim of an elaborate hoax, in which he carried on a lengthy romantic relationship with a woman who not only died, but apparently never existed to begin with.

As for Lance Armstrong, I really don't see the big deal if he used steroids or not.  Cycling really isn't a sport, per se, so where's the harm?  Athletes and athletic companies continually test to find more aerodynamic and lightweight materials to give themselves a competitive edge, why is a chemical substitution frowned upon?  On drag strips all across this continent, you have people racing their cars with blowers, turbochargers, and Nitrous Oxide Systems (NOS) to give a winning edge, so injecting a substance into one's body should be an acceptable option, too. Besides that, the guy lost one of his testicles to cancer, for f*ck sake.

That might be something to debate in the media and the judicial system, but as for the latter, Manti Te'o having a fake girlfriend who died.  I don't understand why that is considered ground breaking news.  For the last couple of days, on CNN's sister station, Headline News (HLN), the story has been running nonstop.  My opinion is of the position, WHO CARES?  I don't even understand it all.  He (Te'o) apparently met this girl online and carried on a relationship which eventually turned into a boyfriend/girlfriend type relationship in early 2012.  This part is understandable, to a degree.  I think it's a helluva lot easier to fall for someone through text than it is in person.  That wouldn't work for yours truly, as I'm much more of an asshole in print than I am in person.

Manti's "girlfriend", Lennay Kekua, apparently had a bad car accident last summer, but survived.  Then she experienced further bad luck, by being diagnosed with Leukemia which hospitalized her and she eventually succumbed to the brutal disease.  (It sounds like this "chick" has shittier luck than me...)  Manti Te'o had grown so in love with Lennay, that her passing was quite overwhelming.  After that, I don't know what prompted the media to investigate deeper into the existence of Lennay Kekua, but it was quickly discovered that the girl that Manti Te'o was so madly in love with, never actually existed, and therefore the shit storm ensues.

Now it's speculated that Manti, himself, perpetrated the entire ordeal.  Humiliated, he denies all allegations.  But who really gives a f*ck whether he did or not?  Where's the harm in whether he imagined a relationship or not?  If in the process, he inspired some of his fans to donate money towards the research to cure cancer, where's the f*cking harm?  Whether the girlfriend in question, exists or not, cancer is still a motherf*cker of a disease.  I say lie to everyone 'til you're blue in the face, if it means bringing an end to this plague.

Scads of males everyday, go online, find "questionable" (and tasteless) pornographic videos, and for an average of 20 minutes, according to a recent study, pretend to be in a tawdry affair with a skeezy skank.  It happens.  Internet access makes it easy.  No one's proud of it, but it exists.  More so in Washington D.C., according to the research, but it does occur everywhere...

With much more important issues in the world.  Continuous poverty and unemployment; war in the middle east; whether or not North Korea is aiming any nuclear weapons towards North America; or most importantly right now, gun issues, like why is it so easy for the mentally unstable to acquire weapons, or why it's necessary and important for people to possess not one or two guns, but a complete f*cking arsenal of weapons, all because the constitution declares it.  (Talk about "artistic license".)

Even in the time that it's taken for me to tap out these few words, I've overheard some stupid stories covered on the television that I've left on in the other room.  I suppose when you run a 24-hour news channel, you need to air a lot of fluff to fill those empty spaces.

The comment I read in researching this story that I found the most absurd was "Even though Kekua never existed, Te'o's grandmother Annette Santiago did pass away on September 11, 2012."  As if someone would be cagey enough to fake the death of a family member.

Grave Injustice

Several years ago, I found myself in a doctor's office, the specialist behind their desk explaining to me, in great detail, the results of several tests that had been performed on me.  I had apparently been born with a "syndrome", of which will prevent me from ever fathering a child.  I can be a dad, per se, but only if I adopt.  Not by having a child the "fun" way.

I share this with you all, because I find it appalling that I am faced with a situation where I know I could be a good father to a child, then you get all these other butt-reaming assholes, who have one, two, or more kids, and don't appreciate the incredible gift they have before them.

I see it in the news all too often.  Kids being harmed in all sorts of ways.  I find it painfully difficult to listen to, and even more difficult to accept.  In 2011, it was the case of Zahra Baker, the little girl who had survived a horrendous bout with bone cancer, which resulted in the loss of part of her lower left leg and her hearing.  The one thing she never lost, was her beautiful smile, but a selfish stepmother killed the little girl, the details of which are far too horrific to repeat, stole this little girl's life.  Such a waste of life, sickens me.

What sparks this disdain in me, once again, is the brutal slaying of a six-month old baby girl by her "father".  After a night of partying with his loser friends, a 19-year old Colorado teen, Dylan Kuhn, repeatedly slammed his crying infant daughter into the mattress, in an effort to silence the baby girl.  When it was discovered that she was no longer breathing, the authorities were called.

The story initially given to police was that a couple days before, the baby had gotten twisted up in some blankets and fell off the couch and striking her head.  However, evidence found during the autopsy of baby Sailor, failed to match up with the claims made by this sorry excuse for a human being.  Finally this piece of shit, admitted to authorities of how his infant daughter had actually died.

The story doesn't end there.  After pleading guilty for his crime, the charge was pleaded down from Murder to Manslaughter, and instead of receiving the mandatory sentence carried with this charge, the judge, the "dis"-honourable Douglas Walker, sentenced the youth to a mere 90 days in jail, and four years probation.  Apparently, Dylan is also required to take some Parenting classes, too f*cking late, if you ask me.  As well, this motherf*cker is required to submit evaluations on mental health and substance abuse.  In addition, he's not allowed to be left alone with any children under the age of 10.

Motherf*ckers like this all over the country and the world.  Having kids and not realizing (and appreciating) how miraculous and precious these little lives really are.  Sadly, this won't be the last case like this that I'll see on the news channels.

It's a rare occasion, if any, that I side with that sociopath Nancy Grace on CNN's HLN, but when I heard her wild exclamations and accusations tonight, in regards to Dylan Kuhn getting a slap on the wrist for murdering his baby girl, I was disgusted and appalled as well.

Only The Good Die Young

At long last, I sat down tonight and viewed the movie "50/50", which stars Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Seth Rogen.  Levitt portrays a cancer patient who learns that he's got a rare form of cancer that has a survival rate of 50%.  The story shows how he deals with his own mortality, but more importantly, how even though he's able to bravely manage his condition, he is oblivious to how those around him are being affected.  The movie is loosely based on a friend of Seth Rogen's, so the subject matter hit pretty close to home for the Canadian actor.

My own father, passed away a little over thirteen years ago, succumbing to his own cancers (yes, cancers plural).  I can't recall which two types of cancer he had.  I believe one was in his esophagus, which is one that he'd battled (unknowingly) for a number of years.  There was another cancer two, which has spread from the first, but I can't recall what it was.  Needless to say, by the time medical help was sought, it was too late and he died a couple of months later.

That is pretty much my only experience with cancer directly.  Indirectly, I had a friend around the same time that was stricken with testicular cancer.  At the time, in a show of solidarity, a few of us friends all shaved our heads, bald, so he would not be the only one to stand out.  I thought it was a nice gesture, and I think he appreciated it.  I remember the night we all did it, the shaving of our heads, that is.  No one really knew what they were doing, but had some fun with it all the same.  I remember my friend, D_____, the fellow with the cancer, went first, opting for a mohawk, before finally taking it all off.  Next was T_____, his "toxic twin" (drinking pal), who instead, shaved the top of his head, leaving the sides and back, resembling himself as an old man, before finally taking off all his hair.  A couple more did it before it was finally my turn.  As I'd stated, no one really knew what they were doing at first, so there were a lot of nicks and cuts on those first few craniums, before everyone honed their craft.  By the time it was my turn, all hair was removed without incident or injury.

Watching the movie, tonight, though, I came to a conclusion.  A sort of theory, if you will.  Despite my outward appearance, I've always remained fairly healthy.  My family seem to all thing that I am destined for an early grave, but they're full of shit and should really worry about their own affairs and leave my shit alone. However, I truly believe that I can't (and likely won't) ever be stricken with anything major like cancer, and this is the reason why:  I don't have anyone to share it with.

By this I mean, the people that I've experienced cancer and serious shit with, have always had a strong family presence or a loved one like a girlfriend or alike to lean on in times of strife.  I don't have that.  I'm not particularly close (in that way) to my family, nor do I have anyone of significant importance in my life, like a girlfriend or anyone.  No one I would burden with trivial shit like cancer.  I haven't a soul, which I believe will ultimately save my life.  "You can't lose everything, if you don't have anything to lose."  The downside, of course, is the fact that I will probably continue to be lonely and miserable.  So it's not all sunshine and roses.

I do not have cancer, nor do I speculate that I will be stricken with it anytime soon.  I do, however, go into the hospital on June 29th, to be put under anesthesia for some sort of procedure to find out why I continue to choke on food, but I doubt that will be anything too terribly serious, and doubt very much that I would die from such a routine procedure.  I mean, f*ck!  I've had the same routine performed on me a half dozen times, while completely conscious, so the positive is that I'm going to be under some heavy duty narcotics, and drugs are ALWAYS fun.

Rocker Billy Joel has the song "Only The Good Die Young".  There are no worries by this cat, as I'm not as good as people think I am, so I won't be dying anytime soon.  Besides which.., I'm a Juggalo!  And wicked clowns, never NEVER DIE!!!

God Has A Sense Of Humour

On my refrigerator, I have a cartoon that I cut out of the newspaper a few years ago. It's faded and turned yellow, and the corners are beginning to curl up, but I never want to get rid of the cartoon, because as humorous as it is, it also rings an astounding truth. It depicts God on a talk show. He replies to the host's question about his greatest creation. "I think my best creation was the Sense of Humor. The irony, of course, is that the people who claim to believe in me the most, are the ones least likely to have one..."

I learned this morning on CNN, that the idiots at the Westboro Baptist Church, are planning on protesting the funeral of the late-Jackass star, Ryan Dunn. The sickened me, as why can't these f*cking people leave well enough alone?

For those unfamiliar with these rude and obnoxious assh*les, let me refresh your memory. These are the people who protest military funerals, stating that the soldiers "deserved to die", that they died, because "America is soft on gays" and so on, and so on. If you google them, you will see a wide variety of shit that they oppose. They protested John Edwards' late wife who died from breast cancer, they held signs up high that read, "Thank God for Breast Cancer!" Just like they hold up signs praising the 9/11 tragedy, and thank God for war and other stupid shit. Ironic that they protest the funerals of the men and women who are fighting for the very freedom that they are abusing.

Because this conglomeration of idiots and fools, disapproved of the crazy and zany antics and stunts that Ryan Dunn partook in while participating on the Jackass television show and movies, they are claiming that he "deserved to die", and that he's "currently in Hell". I really doubt this is the case.

I'm by no means a religious person, and it's f*ckheads like these folks that make wanting to be a part of any religion a tough call, BUT...! I believe that IF there is a higher power, then that dude has one helluva sense of humour! I look at the Platypus and think, this dude is one hilarious f*cking guy!!! So that being said, I'm sure that God is sitting atop a cloud, somewhere in the heavens, laughing at the guy who stuck a toy car up his ass and went to the doctor for an x-ray!!!

These people..., if you can call them that. The Westboro Baptist Church. They gotta show some f*ckin' respect. They didn't like it a while back when a former military man began stalking them, doing to them, the very shit they've been thrusting onto others. In fact, they had the man arrested and charged. Pretty ballsy, huh?

I can't help but wonder about the consequences of their protest. I've got all of Bam Margera's "Viva La Bam" on DVD. I've seen some of the heinous shit that he's pulled on his friends and family. And he loves them. What do you think Bam Margera, who's a multi-millionaire, might be capable of, in regards to those who would desecrate the memory of one of his best friends...? I think Dunn was more like a family member, than a friend. I think the Westboro clan may be in for some serious shit. To coin the phrase from his show, "Who knows what Bam might do?" "Whatever the f*ck, I want!!"

Look out f*ckers!!!