Proclivity

Many o' thing will pop into my head throughout the common workday.  In order to keep myself alert, I often will sing quietly to myself, or as in the case this morning, hum a (somewhat) familiar ditty.  This morning it was something from The Doors, although I'm not familiar with what it was exactly, nor do I know for certain that it was a song actually performed by The Doors.  I'm not a fan, nor have I ever been a fan of, Jim Morrison.  I don't know why, but I suspect it has something to do with Oliver Stone's biopic, The Doors (1991).

This practice has been a common habit, or proclivity, for quite a long while.  Almost since my first day on the job more than a year and a half ago.  I've often joked that the radio in my forklift is broken and there's only one song that repeats in the disk drive.  My forklift doesn't have a radio, nor do most of the rubes I work with, have the mental fortitude to comprehend even the most basic of humour.  Sometimes I feel so alone at work.

In addition to humming and hawing over a wide menagerie of musical entities in my wheelhouse, my mind also has a tendency to question that which I see around me.  Like for instance, despite the temperature maintaining itself at a painful subzero level for most of the day, why the f*ck was it snowing from about three o'clock on?  The environmental weather is all topsy-turvy today.  Completely illogical.  Another avenue that my mind ventured down today, actually involved the word proclivity.  Although, I will admit, at the time I wasn't a hundred percent certain on exactly what the definition of the word was, but imagine my delight when discovering that it's meaning actually corresponds nicely with this subject matter.  However, here is where my mental skew takes it's ugly turn, as it often does when I'm concerned.  On the other hand..., what the hell?  The English language, for all it's luster and beauty, can be a little intimidating and f*cked up, too, for all intense purposes.

Proclivity [proh-kliv-i-tee] /prōˈklivətē, prə-/. The word is defined as, by www.Dictionary.reference.com as: a natural or habitual inclination and/or tendency; a propensity or predisposition: as a  proclivity to meticulousnes...  In my mind, this inventive word which originated in Latin, actually takes a much more bastardized and sordid meaning, while in my fleeting care.  To me, Proclivity sounds like a communicable disease.  (Example #1) :  "I hooked up with that attractive Asian chick Saturday night, but now, it seems, she's given me a scorching case of Proclivity!!"  Luckily, Proclivity is treatable.

During the final moments of my workday, these absurd thoughts gave me cause to chuckle and smile quietly to myself.  Discovering more creative avenues, I continued on with the harmless charade, knowing full well that I'd be adding this subject to my plethora of previous blog ideas and subject matters.  

In further testing my own creativity, I came up with a second scenario which tests the strength and multiple use of this interesting word.  (Example #2) : "I hooked up with that attractive Asian chick on Saturday night, but I seem to have contracted some sort of a scorching rash!  Luckily, the doctor says I only need a few shots of Proclivity for a speedy recovery."  I wish I could buy stock in the company that produces Proclivity!  

Out With A Bang, In With An OUCH!!

The beginning of 2013 had me fighting a bad case of pneumonia, followed by a few months of worry and concern, with return visits for X rays and CT Scans, following the progress of, what was described to me as a "black mass" on my lung.  That turned out to not be as serious as was initially believed. (Phew!)  Then the last half of December, I found myself sick, again, which I eventually found myself battling an excruciating bout of pneumonia, once again.  That fight took up most (if not all) of my two week shutdown break from work.  Yay!  At least the weather was shitty and cold, so I never had much need (or desire) to leave the comforts of my house.

January 2nd, 2014, was my first day back to work.  While I didn't feel a 100%, I did feel (or so I thought) well enough to return to work.  I knew that there'd be at least a couple of people still gone with extended vacations, but we were down four in actuality.  I managed to muscle through my Thursday, but with a badgering cough that was fueling an exasperating headache.  With every frenzied cough attack, the world would fade through my eyes and the painful pounding would commence.  Thankfully, it being the first day back, my job wasn't too strenuous and was easily manageable, despite the discomfort.

The fight never ceased after the final bell rang and it was home time.  I came home to a snowy driveway, packed with hardened snow that I foolishly took a stab at clearing.  The hard packed snow had accumulated a few days prior, so much so that it blocked my front door, which caused the bottom of the door to bend and tear away, upon my exit on Tuesday.  (Great!  More expense out of pocket.)  The temperature had warmed up significantly, but not enough to avoid heavy breathing.  With my asthma, I find that the cooler temperatures really have an adverse effect on me.  Especially since the discovery of the "black mass" on my lung.  Earlier in the season, with the dropping Mercury, I found my breathing to be difficult and laboured, at best.  This is something that the specialist relayed to me as the norm for the remainder of my days.  (I really gotta win that lottery, so I can retire to Texas or Arizona.  Or maybe New Zealand.  That place looks like it could be kinda cool..., except for all the god damned Orcs.)

Thursday night and Friday morning was disturbing.  It seemed for every thirty minute to hour patch of sleep, I'd be woken up abruptly with a coughing frenzy.  Even in the darkness of my bedroom, with my head pounding hard, my surroundings seemed to fade from my view.  Reluctantly, I contacted my employer in the morning, notifying that I regretfully would not be coming into work.  I hate leaving them in a lurch like that, despite my boss thinking that I do.  I went back to sleep for (thankfully) a very restful hour, before I got up and drove myself to the hospital.  This is something that I really should have addressed over my break, but I had my pal's van while he and his family were on vacay in Florida and I didn't want them to come home to needing to be taxied to my house to pick up their van.  However, I do think that if I'd had addressed my illness in a more timely fashion, my current predicament could've been avoided, possibly.

I was hooked up to a nebulizer, where medication was administered into my lungs.  "Breath deeply." I was instructed by the wee little blonde nurse.  On completion of that, I was ushered to the X ray department to get an X ray done, then ushered back after that.

The beginning of 2013, I fought a terrific case of pneumonia.  The end of 2013 had me fighting the worst bout of pneumonia (or any sickness I've ever experienced, including Swine Flu in 2009), and now, I'm barely ankle deep into 2014, and I'm forced to fight a f*cking lung infection??

I don't subscribe to any sort of religion and you'll never see me crouching at my bedside with hands clenched, praying for this or that, but in case I'm terribly mistaken, if there is a God, he'd better bless me with a substantial lottery win pretty f*ckin' soon.  I've paid more than my fair share of dues in this shitty life of mine.  I deserve a god damned break.  This inability to breath, bullshit, is just that.  Bullshit!!

Are You Kidding Me? There Can Only Be One.

In doing some light reading, I've come to learn that before Christianity swept over the land, however many ions ago that was, one of the dominant religions was known as Ásatrú.  Asatru (Icelandic, "Æsir faith") has been highlighted, as of late, in the Marvel Comic theatrical releases of the superhero THOR.  Although the religion itself, whose actual founding date seems to pre-date any known calendar, was all but obliterated from the annuls of time, has been steadily been revived (and returning to popularity) since the 1970s.

Ásatrú is an Old Norse word consisting of Ása, referring to the Norse gods, and trú, which loosely translates to "troth" or "faith". Thus, Ásatrú means "religion of the Æsir."  Synonymously, terms for Asatru include Germanic Neopaganism, Germanic Heathenism, Odinism, or Heathenry.  The original, ancient form of Norse religion is usually referred to as Germanic paganism, or Norse mythology.

Those who choose to follow this religion, do so by following the teachings of (1) Odin (Germanic Woden), who is the god of magic, poetry, riches and the dead; ruler of Valhalla (Wednesday is a derivative of his name, although I wonder how he'd feel knowing that this is also known as Hump Day?);  (2) Thor, who is the sky god who wields a big hammer, able to control the weather, and enforces the law and the community (Thursday is derived from his name, and rightfully so.  If the movies are any indication, he kicks ass, just as Thursday, my wrestling day [TNA Impact - SpikeTV]).  There's also (3) Freyr, who is the fertility god, also represented with a phallic statue and seen as the founder of the Swedish royal dynasty.  (Yeah, I kinda doubt it too...); and (4) Freyja (sister to Freyr and also Odin's hot wife), fertility goddess of love and beauty and sister to Freyr, known by many names (including Frigg) and patron of families, her name is a derivative of Friday)... (TGIF).

So what is my point to all this?  I don't know.  I kind of found it fascinating.  Fascinating in the sense that although it'd replaced by bible-thumping Christianity freaks in the first have of the millennia (1st Century AD, the 4th Century AD & the 7th Century AD), that the religion been steadily making a comeback.  Ásatrú, the modern attempt to revive the old Norse faith, was founded by the Icelandic farmer Sveinbjörn Beinteinsson (1924–1993). Beinteinsson was a sheep farmer and a priest in the religion, who published a book of rímur (Icelandic rhymed epic poetry) in 1945. In 1972 he petitioned the Icelandic government to recognize the "Icelandic fellowship of Æsir faith" as a recognized religious body and it was done so in 1973.   Denmark and Norway have since followed.

There are other deities related to the faith, of course.  There's Njord, who is the father of Freyr and Freyja,  who is the god of ships, seas and lakes; Tyr (Germanic Tiu), also a derivative of Tuesday, (or as I like to call it, Cheap Night at the Movies) - god of battle, sacrifice and justice;  Ullr, the god of death, winter, and hunting.  (It's also nice to have a name to attach to the blame for all this shitty-ass cold weather we've been experiencing...); and last, but not least, Loki, who is referred to as "the trickster", but as the movie has shown us, he's also the guy with the really bad taste in head wear.  (Hee hee hee, the best part of that Avengers movie..: "Hulk Smash Loki", hilarious!  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2fVdNBGTTo).

So is this a viable religion?  To me, it seems to mirror that of the Gods of the Greek Mythology.  One God to overlook one or two things, be it the sea and lakes, or fertility among mankind, or a God for poetry and magic.  Whatever.  If Christianity has taught me anything, it's that they're lazy as f*ck, conjoining everything into one lump sum, and having one God oversee it all.  Ya wonder why your prayers go unanswered?  Because your God doesn't know how to delegate.  He's got too much shit on his plate already, therefore your desire for a new bike or for your sports team to win,  just isn't a priority.  And why are you bothering him with a request for a new bike, ya dumb shit?  As for sports teams, everyone knows that God is a Saskatchewan Roughrider (CFL).  

Is it silly to follow Odin, Thor and alike?  Sure it is!  But no more silly than following Christianity.  I know it's likely that I may catch a little fall out for making that comment, but do I really give two shits about what people who pray to an invisible man who lives in the clouds, think?  I mean, a Virgin Birth?  If anyone tried to pass that shit off, nowadays, they'd be committed to the first available rubber room, complete with a canvass jacket that ties up in the back.

However, given how the ladies all swoon and croon over that bloke, Chris Hemsworth, I think the argument for praising the Norse Gods, really is gaining popularity.  I don't see, myself.  If anyone should be crooned and swooned upon, it should be Kat Dennings.  Now there is a true Goddess.  Meeyow.

First Amendment Infringement

There's a saying: You can't teach an old dog new tricks.  So how does society expect an old dog from the backwoods of Louisiana to change his perspective of the world, especially one who relies so heavily on the teachings of the Bible?

Recently, the Duck Commander family patriarch, Phil Robertson, was quoted as stating some "off-colour" remarks involving gays and blacks, which has raised such a media hell storm, that the Arts & Entertainment channel (A&E) which broadcasts the Robertson's 'reality' show, Duck Dynasty, to act against Phil Robertson and suspend him from future episodes for an undisclosed period of time.  This is hogwash, in my opinion.

First of all, just about ANY comment, when taken out of context, can appear (on the surface) to be belligerent against a whole slough of people of differing faiths and lifestyles.  I recall a comment that former Minnesota Governor, Jesse Ventura made a decade or so ago, in Playboy Magazine, where he was quoted saying that "people who need religion as a crutch".  In passing, this might be offensive to the entire Christian sect, but if you take the entire comment into consideration, it wasn't offensive at all, which referred to religion as: "a crutch for weak-minded people who need strength".  In it's entirety, the former Governor was referring to those in a moment of weakness, use religion as an instrument to gain strength.

The questionable comments made by Mr. Robertson in the January 2014 issue of GQ magazine, have been taken out of context, for the most part.  In his comments [Phil] never targeted homosexuals directly, but lumped all kinds of sin (as determined by the Bible) will not inherit the Kingdom of God. Included in the comment were the sins of adultery, drunkards, the greedy and idolaters, just to name a few, but isn't it convenient that these facts have been omitted from the controversy?

It's a common misconception that gays and lesbians are too overly sensitive, a trait that they often denied, yet anytime a public figure makes an off-handed remark, HOLY SH!T, the claws come out and there's a rainstorm of tears.  It's not often that I would agree with Sarah Palin on anything (if ever), but I DO agree that Phil Robertson's Freedom of Speech is being infringed upon.

Adopted on December 15, 1791, the First Amendment in the Bill of Rights in the American Constitution clearly states the Freedom of Religion as well as the Freedom of Speech.  These days, 222 years later, you're allowed to practice Freedom of Speech, voicing your opinions, just as long as your opinions conform to those of the masses.  It may be because I am Canadian, but this just doesn't sound right to me.

Admittedly, I am not a religious person.  I don't believe in God, Jesus, Heaven or Hell, but if they do exist, I'm fairly certain I'm destined for someplace hot.  That being said, I don't condemn Robertson for his beliefs.  Whatever it takes to be a better person, then I'm all for it.  And while I may not fully support all of the comments made in this questionable GQ article, I DO support Phil Robertson's right to say it.

In the end, I doubt the author of the article, Drew Magary, referred to all of his notes from the interview accurately.  Thus, creating a more controversial article, selling more magazines and promoting himself into the limelight.

I work with a nice woman who happens to be a lesbian.  There are a few bible thumping people who work along side of us who strongly disapprove of her lifestyle "choice" and have voiced their opinions quite loudly.  This doesn't bother her though.  She knows the truth and is happy being who she is.

It's not right for A&E to boot Phil Robertson off the network.  For the most part, the show promotes a good, clean and healthy (despite the ratty beards) way of living.  They have wholesome values which is prominently conveyed to their viewers each week.  Although, Phil dislikes the amount of religion that fails to make it to the air, I'm happy that I don't have to listen to the jargon.  If anything, A&E should learn from CBS's Big Brother debacle this past summer, and simply post a warning at the start of every episode absconding themselves of any shared beliefs and/or opinions stated during the program (or the members thereafter).

The rest of the Robertson family are proudly standing by the family head and have clearly stated that they'll walk away from the smash A&E hit if Phil isn't allowed to be a part of the program.  I love this show and will miss seeing it every week, but I respect their decision to quit and support it whole-heartedly.

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks...  I honestly believe that this old dog [Phil] doesn't need to be taught any lessons.  I DO believe that America simply needs to relax and not be so damned sensitive.  Quit being so.... uh... never mind.

Number Two Ain't No Shit

F*CK!  I love that word.  I use that word frequently, though when written [typed], I do choose to censor it by substituting the U with an asterisk (*).  However, saying the F-word, "F*CK", seems gratifying.  Not only that, but I love the versatility of the word "f*ck".  It can be a noun, verb, adjective, or my personal favourite, almost every word in a sentence: "F*ck the f*cking f*ckers!"  It's many uses is covered in an online parody found on YouTube, it's origins are unknown, but who really gives a f*ck? It's f*ckin' funny as all hell. [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSEXgQ58AoM]

In all it's genius, the word "f*ck" tends to offend many people, especially the plethora of bible-thumping folks that I work with.  I don't know why, I'm almost pretty sure the word pre-dates Christ, himself.  As if he never screamed out "F*ck!" when they were hammering spikes through his hands at his crucifixion.  I know if it were me, I would've had a few choice words to share, but I digress.  It is only for these few people (at work) that I make the sacrifice and avoid the excessive usage of the F-word.  More for the avoidance of judgemental looks and alike.  Unfortunately, in the avoidance of uttering this word, I find I'm unable to truly be myself, and THAT kinda f*ckin' sucks.

As much as I love to voice the F-word, loudly and proudly, believe it or not, it is not my most favourite word in the English language.  My favourite, may come as a shock to some.  My most favourite word to use is: EXTRAVAGANZA!!!  It's just fun to say, especially when really emphasized, ex-TRAVA-GAN-za.  My daily life doesn't require it's use very often, which may be why I enjoy the word so much.  It's not common and it's definitely not run-of-the-mill.  If I choose to say the word, it's for something truly special, and I don't have many of those days either.

So that was my number one word, and f*ck was my number two.  That is.., until recently.  A few short days ago, I came to realize that there was a new number two.  F*ck had been pushed back to third place.  A bronze f*cking medal.  The new silver recipient was tremendous.

Actually, that IS the word, number two on my list: TREMENDOUS.  I've used it for years, often describing a mishap involving myself.  Like an injury I sustained a couple years ago, from a fall which had me land with a 'tremendous thud', all the way to the present when I last had a migraine forcing me to miss work; "I woke up this morning with a tremendous headache which requires heavy medication..."

On the way home from work, I tried to round out my top five favourite words, but I found myself unable to do so.  I love the word FREE, but I can't decide if it's the word itself that I'm enamoured with or the concept, because I really do love free shit!  I also like the word 'motherf*cker', but can't decide if that should be included with 'f*ck', as it IS a variation of the word 'f*ck'...  I wish there were some kind of verbal guru I could enlist to help guide me in shaping my Top 5 words.

Even now...  I sit back, hands clasped behind my head, looking up into the corner of the room, I can't think of any other words.  Maybe I only have a top three.  Bah.  F*ck it!  Who really gives a shit?!?

Obsolescence

I learned a new word today at work.  A variation of the word obsolete.  I never thought that work, of all places, is where I would learn something like this, but alas.  I've been schooled.

A line of machinery had been discontinued and as such the parts for that implement are no longer of any value, except (likely) what can be collected via scrap.  A HUGE waste of money, overall, if you ask me.  I mean, why produce an excess of the parts needed for the production of the original line?  Needless to say, there be a f*ck load of shit that needs to be scrapped over the coming weeks.

However, I digress.  Complaining about the stupidity of the higher ups is not my intent for this little blog, today.  To report on the idiocy of the bureaucrats at work would be about as informative as announcing: Water is wet!  No kidding?  Thank you Capt. Obvious!

Obsolescence be thy word.  All day long, I saw it posted on a couple of crates, collected to begin heaping hoards of obsolete parts into for recycling and otherwise.  The word seems so simple, yet complex at the same time.  The more that I repeated the word over in my head, the more the word made me smile and chuckle to myself.  For the word, in and of itself, does not sound like what it actually means.   

The word obsolescence, to me, sounds instead like a virus.  A disease you'd get as a result of eating too much red meat.  I thought tomato-based products at first, as this always makes me race for the bathroom, but red meat can be all the more destructive, if allowed.

"Oh boy!  I shouldn't have gone to Rodney's barbecue and ate all the rare beef.  Now I have a scorching case of Obsolescence.  I can't stray more than a few feet from the toilet before racing back to evacuate my bowels."

Yes.  That's right!  To me, obsolescence sounds like a viral infection that causes you to shit streams of gooey ungodliness.  The kind of unruly turmoil that results in using over half of a roll of ultra-soft toilet paper in hopes of soothing a burning aching backside.  Definitely a double-flusher.

Obsolescence...

A Brilliant Disguise

"We've found something on your scan.  It's an anomaly, of sorts." the doctor told me in a soothing tone.  "We're not certain what it is, exactly."

I was taken aback by the news. 

I'd been under the weather for sometime.  Stricken with pneumonia, to a degree that I'd not felt in a very long time.  So much that it actually hurt to breathe, not to mention the sharp pains, like shards of glass cutting into my chest whenever I'd hack and cough.  These pains are what had me concerned.  The "anomalies" discover in my CT Scan, were the likely cause of this discomfort.

"It might just be a result of your pneumonia.  We'll wait a couple weeks and do another test."  

A couple weeks later, I found myself back in the doctor's office, discussing the results of a second CT Scan.  "The black masses are still there.  They may be in relation to your pneumonia, but it might be beneficial to do a biopsy."

I opted, instead, to wait.  A biopsy would take me out of work for six to eight weeks, as there'd be a chance of infection during the recuperative stage.  This was a break that I would be unable to afford financially.  The doctor reassured me that we could wait eight weeks for another CT Scan, as it would be unlikely that the masses found in my chest scans would grow much further than what they were, which was described to me as roughly the size of a 25 cent piece.  She [my doctor] acted as if this wasn't very big, but holding a quarter up to my chest, this seems like a gargantuan size of anything foreign in one's lung.  Call me f*cking crazy. 

Eight weeks passed by in a flash, but the whole time I had this terrible weight on my mind, haunting my every thought.  I never bothered to share my news with anyone, except my employers, believing that if there was a chance that I'd suddenly be rushed into surgery of some sort, I didn't want it to come as a surprise to them.  I may have mentioned in passing to my mother, too, but without going into any depth or detail.  My family is the sort that would turn on me and give me that whole "I Told You So" speech.  I can hear my sister spouting off her motherly advice of "If you didn't drink so much pop, you wouldn't be in this situation."  As if drinking an extra bottle of diet soda is going to affect my breathing.

Of course, bearing such silence does weigh heavy on a person.  I envy anyone who has a partner or a friend that they can lean on for emotional support.  At the same time, I hate being a burden on people.  I did break down and tell one other friend, if my memory is correct.  He did express concern for my well being, which was nice, but I never shared the bitter details of what was racing through my mind.

I truly believe that possessing a positive outlook and good attitude can thwart any illness 90 percent of the time (or higher).  This is what I did.  On the outside, I continued to be as bright-eyed and smiley-faced as I could, despite the tirade that brewing inside my head.  I knew that I didn't have cancer, and believed as much then as I do now, that if I DID have cancer, that I'd beat it.  No sweat.  Hands down.  I'd look Death straight in the face, wag my finger at him and tell him to "F*ck off!!"   Just like a clown, though, what you see on the outside, doesn't always reflect what's on the inside.

It's been a few weeks since that CT Scan, at which time, I was scheduled for another CT this week.  I contacted the doctor early, about two weeks ago.  I was suffering tremendous pain when I breathed, let alone if I coughed.  My concerns grew ten fold.  My concerns were met in turn with the doctor who upped my appointment.  I went in for another scan and the next day I found myself in her office.

The anomalies or masses or whatever the hell is on my lung, is still there, to a degree, but have shrunk some.  They're suspected to be just scar tissue now, which lends to why I'm experiencing discomfort when I breathe.  Unfortunately, I think this is going to be an ongoing attribute for the remainder of my life.  Just like my knees hurting and the increase of migraines when it gets to cooler temperatures, so will my breathing begin to hurt.  As much as I rock, sometimes it sucks to be me.

So why do I choose to write this entry today?  It's something my sister told me on the weekend.  She told me: Some people have it rough, you should just be happy you have it so good.  I just shook my head.  Knowing what I know, she doesn't have a f*cking clue, what my life is like.

I remember watching some MTV show a few years back, where they'd showcase a celebrity.  The tagline to the show was "You think you know, but you have no idea."  So the next time you share a laugh with someone, take a moment to wonder.  Are they happy?  Or is that just a brilliant disguise.