I have been taken to task by friends, relatives, and with anyone else I've gotten into discussions. The question surrounds living wills and powers of attorney for health care or various other documents that are called any number of things in other states, the gist of which is "Go ahead. It's okay to pull the plug when I'm brain-dead or some doctor says I'm doomed."
I don't prepare the documents for clients anymore; I refer the clients to a life-long friend to do it. I did that today with a client who needs a liver transplant. Besides that, any time a person goes to the hospital, some social worker -- or worse, the person at the intake desk -- pushes some forms in front of the patient to sign, never explaining the contents except to say that the person is giving permission to the spouse or child to make medical decisions. "That's a good thing ..."
This is not a legal opinion, but I say: Fuck that shit!
My view on the subject is that I'm not dying. I'm still breathing, whether it be on a respirator or because some lower-functioning neurons, which haven't gotten the message, are still running in my brain; so, I'm still alive. And who the fuck is some hypocritical doctor who took the Hippocratic Oath to tell my loved ones that I'm not going to make it?
Here's some proof: Monday morning, at a Wichita Falls hospital, the highway patrol says Zack was pronounced brain dead. Shortly after, a nurse was preparing him for organ donation when the unthinkable [Emphasis added] happened. Oklahoma state trooper Betsy Randolph said, "During this time, while the nurse was prepping his body for organ transplant, he grabbed her arm."
Besides that, who is to say that the day after the plug is pulled on me, a cure won't be found.
And that's why I don't sign that crap.
I found an All-Christmas-Music-All-the-Time channel on the TV today. I put it on, and the left half of the blog over there was so grateful. See, once in a while I could be a good guy -- must be a long, long while because I can't recall the last time I was a good guy.
In any event, she put the TV on a judge show -- don't ask me which one. There are so many, it could be All-Judge-Shows-All-the-Time. Come to think of it, if it wasn't for Dr. Phil, it would be.
In the meantime, I forgot what channel the Christmas music was on.
we are so full of shit. i say "we" cuz we elected him. he who spouts the words "freedom" and "democracy" as if they were sacred to him. we're like idiots distracted by the pretty colors of a waving flag. wait. can't. think. pretty. colors.
we already know what he thinks of freedom. can you see what he -- and we -- have done with our civil liberties. stop. don't think. it hurts too much.
can you see that the promise of fighting for democracy is bullshit when you look at who we're in bed with. cough. do you know who musharraf is? what he is doing? don't worry. you won't remember in the morning. you'll just keep voting for whomever makes you feel good about yourself, while we're putting the entire world giant steps closer to extinction.
It's early Tuesday evening of a weather day that is typical for northeast Ohio. The dogs wanted to go out for a walk at about 5:10; so, we took an hour-long stroll among the fog-enshrouded buildings, people hurrying to their cars and the public transit, enjoying the 60-degree temperature before winter storms descend from up north on Thanksgiving Day, screaming across Lake Erie and dumping massive amounts of snow onto the higher elevations around the city. The Cavaliers play in town tonight; so, there are a lot of suits hanging out in front of a couple of the popular up-scale restaurants, taking their final puffs from cigarettes outlawed in indoor public gathering spots.
Many of those leaving their workplaces behind don't know that two groups of pesky scientists have, according to the Associated Press, "made ordinary human skin cells take on the chameleon-like powers of embryonic stem cells."
Of course, President Bush the Lesser has taken much of the credit, claiming that this particular research was just what he was touting when he vetoed stem cell research bills. With his extensive educational background in the sciences, having watched Sleeper several times, our brainy president could actually foresee this "breakthrough."
I am assuming that President Bush, because of this magical, mystical breakthrough, will now feel that it is ethical to contact Rael, the well-known spiritual leader of the Raelian Movement, the world's largest UFO-related organization, and founder of Clonaid, and demand that Rael and his medical team clone a copy of W from W's skin cells, which might just bring about the predicted "complete paradigm shift on our planet."
Or has Bush already caused that to occur?
Lewis Black was nearly smashed by a malfunctioning backdrop curtain at the State Theatre last night. He exclaimed, "What the fuck is that?" in response to a grinding noise; and down came the backdrop, an obvious sign from somebody's god that he was in serious trouble. A shaved-headed guy raced across the stage and dragged Black to the rear of the stage before he was struck in the head. Black said that he thought he was being attacked by a guy from "The Hills Have Eyes," only slightly better looking.
It happened during his rant about Christmas, but my feeling is that the golf gods were none too thrilled with his rant about the stupidity of golfers -- Black is a golfer, by the way.
It was a great time; and, Robin, we heard all about you and how you perform from [your boyfriend] [your husband][some guy] (pick one), who sat in front of us downing one Bud Light after another.
The 8th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution establishes the right to reasonable bail. And shouldn't a civilized society which subscribes to the presumption of innocence and requires that a person be proven guilty of a crime only by proof beyond a reasonable doubt have such compassion?
The right distinguishes this country from other societies, like those presided over by dictators and the military, in which individuals are held for indeterminate lengths of time without being charged and without bail.
The temperature thing on Public Square on the news ticker and advertising sign on the Higbee Building flashed 52 degrees Saturday morning at just before 6:45, as I walked the dogs. I doubt that the homeless guy sleeping on the metal cover of the access to the underground steam pipes that supply steam to the buildings in the downtown area would have confirmed that reading, being an overly optimistic reading from his view on the ground; but the sun was coming up, and the sky was clearing. It was a pretty good day we chose to see a football game in Columbus.
My most excellent friend, DT, was waiting for me, as I was late, which was not out of the ordinary, at an exit just north of Columbus. I had never been to a big college football game, meaning by "big college" a place with a stadium that held over 100,000 screaming fanatics. Oh, don't get me wrong. I went to college football games, even earned money for the baseball team's trip to Florida by working at the concession stand making popcorn and hot dogs. But the school I attended back in the day had an enrollment of about 2200, none of whom were fanatics. The football field -- you see there, I used "field," not stadium -- had a couple sections of grandstands that could hold several hundred people, if they crammed together on the parallel strips of cold metal rising twenty rows above the field, which was owned by the local board of education. The baseball field, where I played with a championship team in the Spring, across the crumbling asphalt driveway in the village park, served as the parking lot for the football field.
So, we picked up our tickets at Matt's place, along with the student ID's we borrowed -- if anybody asked, DT's name was "Mel;" and getting his hair cut was admittedly a big mistake because he looked much, much younger and better with long hair and a little make-up.
I was not prepared for what I saw -- when I say I wasn't prepared, I mean to say that DT told me that I wasn't going to believe what I saw and that no description was going to be adequate and to just wait and see. I had been a season ticket holder and had seen the Cleveland Browns play in the old Municipal Stadium that held almost 86,000 screaming, maniacal Browns fans, but DT was right.
Ten minutes before game time, the stadium was a sea of roiling red -- it seemed like everyone was wearing red, or in the parlance of Ohio State football, "scarlet," except for those forming the white "O" at the other end of the stadium. And they were louder than anything I ever heard at a stadium before. DT said it was a lot louder down near the fieldbecause the noise was funneled down toward the playing field.
Before the game, it seemed like they were all outside the stadium -- with tens of thousands more -- celebrating, cooking, eating, watching cheerleaders get thrown 20 feet in the air, many forming a wide lane for the Ohio State Marching Band to march to Ohio Stadium from St. John Arena across the street.
But close to game time, 4 F-16's roaring a few hundred feet above our heads, all I could say was "Wow!" The football game was secondary to the experience of being there. I never believed television could do it justice -- even with the HDTV hype -- now I know it can never get remotely near the experience.
Wow!
The weekend is upon us. I'm heading down to Columbus to watch the Buckeyes of The Ohio State University play football against some other team tomorrow. It's not even close to Thanksgiving, but the Christmas shopping season is upon us. I could not find candy corn in Marc's, a store that stocked hundreds of thousands of bags of candy corn and Indian corn from floor to ceiling -- removed from the shelves and replaced with Christmas stuff.
I don't understand this significant slight of the Thanksgiving holiday. It's not just a football day, after all; it's a day to celebrate the generosity of the Native Americans in sharing their local food knowledge with ignorant foreigners.
According to the U.S. History book I'm using to tutor a 10th grader, which differs from what I remember from elementary school, the Native Americans introduced the Pilgrims to turkey and sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes and gravy and pumpkin pie and candy corn. So, why isn't candy corn still in stock at Marc's?
And I always thought that the Pilgrims, in exchange for their saving the Pilgrims from certain extinction, gave the Native Americans syphilis -- something like that. That's not in the history book, but I told the kid that anyway. Then he wanted to know how the Pilgrims gave the Native Americans syphilis. I wasn't sure what I was allowed to tell him; after all, this is a Christian organization sponsoring the tutoring sessions.
I told him that he should ask his parents about that one, but I did tell him that I thought that the Pilgrims had given the Native Americans Aqua Dots and told the Native Americans to suck on them. I'm thinking that he didn't believe me, but that he might get the idea.
So, if Marc's had candy corn, this would have never happened.
I walk the dogs, and I see the fucking billboards. I drive any place, and I see the fucking billboards. I am not quick enough to get to the clicker all the time to switch channels or mute the fucking AT&T commercials about its wireless network that annoyingly meld city and country names.
I will never patronize AT&T.
It must be pretty bad in Pakistan. People are rooting for the lawyers, who are marching in revolt against Commandant Musharraf and his suspension of Pakistan's constitution.
Democracy. That's what Bush the Lesser so fervently believes in that he has poured, with the help of the castrated Congress, over half a trillion US dollars into Iraq. So, Musharraf killed democracy in Pakistan, suppressing what little freedom the Pakistani people had to redress their grievances and what tiny hope there had been for free and fair elections.
And what did Bush the Lesser do? Nothing. Thousands of lawyers have been arrested. Many have been tear-gassed and beaten. And what did Bush the Lesser do? He promised to continue military aid to Pakistan and support Musharraf.
Bush rewarded Musharraf.
It would not surprise me if Bush privately wishes that he could do the same thing. The problem is that he probably can do the same thing under laws passed since 9/11 -- he can use National Guard troops to quell civil disturbances, such as peaceful protest marches when he or other executive department officials might be in the neighborhood; he has ignored laws passed by Congress although he took an oath to uphold the law, claiming that he need not enforce unconstitutional laws, even though the courts are the proper bodies to rule upon that subject matter. Why not give it the old college try?
Dear Cool Guy,
I was standing there waiting for the doors to open when you and your lady friend pushed in front of me and my cane-enabled wife (and I imply nothing about the politesse you lack in regard to that) for some reason that was not apparent to me. I feel that you have opened yourself up to some constructive criticism -- not about your manners -- about your attire.
Firstly, I noticed that your hair was newly permed and dyed. I'm a guy who doesn't really care about such things; so, if I noticed, then your lady friend also noticed. And I never thought the purpose of having your hair done was for it to be readily apparent that your hair was actually done, especially to the major extent that you had it done. By the way, I pegged you at 63 or so, even though you did not have graying, curly hair (Not paying to have your neck done was a mistake, even though the facial wrinkles were totally gone, man.)
Secondly, I know you were really trying to get into the Bruce Springsteen swing of things to impress your lady friend. The blue jeans and white t-shirt were right on the money if you were trying to emulate the Born in the U.S.A. Boss, but the red bandanna ... no. It was a red cap rolled up, I believe, that was stuffed in the right back pocket, not a red bandanna. And the jeans jacket -- I don't recall the Boss ever wearing a jeans jacket -- was out of place. Leather jacket. Leather vest. Just the t-shirt. Do your homework next time so that you can really impress your lady friend. Of course, maybe she was not a Springsteen fan.
That is all.
I hope that you enjoyed the concert.
Bill
i just finished the clapton autobiography. loved it. love him. duh. he's 62 years old and better than ever. and better looking than ever.
sunday night, we went to see the boss, bruce springsteen (and the e street band) in concert. he's 58. and better than ever. i'm not sure HOW he looks cuz we were in the fucking LAST row at the Q. he looked pretty good on the jumbotron.
bill and i are 53 and 54. we live exactly where we've always wanted to live, do exactly what we want to do. we're at the beginning of a huge life-changing project. we're having a ball.
it's a surprise to find yourself in your 50's with the same passion as you had in your twenties. i (i'm guessing like most people) didn't think it would feel the same (it being me. or living. whatever). i guess i just felt (when i was youngER) that i'd feel calm. and wise. and settled. different.
what i DO feel is pretty much the same. but a hell of a lot smarter. i feel the same passion for my husband. no, that's not true. really, it's more. and better. i don't feel like i should have to apologize for riding around on a pink scooter. or wearing overalls and converse tennis shoes. or going to rock concerts.
i believe that the best thing a youngER person can do is learn to keep his or her big, arrogant, know-it-all, self-righteous mouth shut for maybe 10 years past the age of majority, so that he or she doesn't say anything big he or she might regret. i'm not talking about every he or she. just the ones that are arrogant, know-it-all, self-righteous. the ones that look at their driver's licenses and think they're grown ups because it says so right there.
they walk around like the emperor with his new clothes, naked for all the rest of the world to see (except for the rest of the naked emperors and empresses). thinking that others see a grown-up, when, in reality, we can see right through them. to their stupidity.
to my kids: i'm not talking about you guys. you guys are wayyy smarter than that. i'm talking about the kids that walk around like they have the keys to the ENTIRE kingdom, and nobody else (ESPECIALLY old people) have the right to any of the perks. [please forgive all the metaphors : you don't know what a metaphor is? go ask your mother] and make their nasty, arrogant, know-it-all, self-righteous comments. because, you need to know how they feel, you know. because, um, well i guess it's because how they feel is the only thing that really matters. fucking fascists.* (oh, you don't know what a fascist is? go ask...)
if you're lucky, you'll feel the way i do. at the springsteen concert, the (i am not kidding) average age of the ticket holder had to be 45. i swear to god. it was fabulous. i'm not used to this. at most concerts we go to, we're a very, very tiny minority. the emperors and empresses look at you wondering why the fuck you're there. to listen to the fucking BAND, assholes. most of them are AT LEAST my age!
we are here. the baby boomer generation is all grown up. aging. still having a ball. get over it. we made a hell of a lot of mistakes (a whole fucking LOT of mistakes, and some of them have to do with the way SOME OF US raised little emperors and empresses) along the way to "maturity," but we're here. and we're not going to go quietly.
*"fucking fascists" is a movie allusion. i know you probably know the "big lebowski." go ask your mother what an "allusion" is. yep, it's spelled correctly.
Decided that nobody took me to dinner for my birthday. Went to Olive Garden at about 2:00 in the afternoon today. Don't know how to describe the experience -- I think the server was older than I am -- but she talked at me like I was about 85 and a little senile.
I thought that at any second she was going to offer to cut up my food -- or puree it on request.
Now, a transcript of the session would not give that impression -- she said all the right things. It was the tone of her voice and the cadence of her sentences.
Probably treats everyone that way -- everyone who comes in at two in the afternoon on a Thursday.