Saturday, February 4, 2017


Been a while since I have posted. Bad Rodney. But since no one, well almost, some friends do. Just had to say this. I have wondered about some of my critical thinking since my time in the wars. Yeah, in my undergrad studies, it took me a while to get my degree, but yet there I was, taking 2 to 3 classes a quarter, while spending 60-70 hours a week at work. When I came back for grad school, all I had to do (initially, thank you government sequester) was go to school. I had a much rougher time. And it wasn't because of class load. I actually thought the classes taught were easier. But I wasn't making the higher level critical thinking as well. Was it PTSD? It didn't help, but I have been dealing with that since birth. Family upbringing was worse than war. Not nearly as much boredom between the violent parts. My Iraqi office mate? Still friends with him. So no, not it. Then I find this. The malarial drug, which I first started taking in 1989, and in every country I have been to, including most of 2001 to 2010, causes brain damage. Permanent. Wow. Just had to type this out. Have known since August, been digesting the info. I ate that shit like candy for ten years.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Human condition?

I just watched a commercial on TV. It was an "uplifting" commercial. The commercial is of a child, with a cleft pallet, for the most part told first person. You see his family looking at him odd, not wanting to look at him, looking depressed. Mom has a look on her face like it was her fault. You see his classmates whispering behind his back. Then, they show him going into surgery, and in a mirror, you see his lips skewed, teeth sticking out at random angles. He wakes up from surgery, and then everyone, his family, friends, all, are smiling, everyone happy. You see his face, and it has been surgically corrected. All smiles at the end. I know kids and humans can be cruel. If you look different, there is a problem, but you can fix it, and be a part of normal society again. They treat those who are different as wrong, freakish. And this is my point. The answer to this child's problem is to have to fix his face to conform to society. I know there are good medical reasons to have this surgery. But the jist of the commercial isn't about those. It's about non-tolerance, and you should fix your freakish face. The problem is the kid, not societies idea that the kid is a freak, and fix that shit. It reinforces the idea that because this kid looks different, it's not societies problem, and they can look at him as weird, and treat him like that, until the kid has surgery to look "normal". The kid himself is the problem . And this is wrong. Yes, I'm happy the kid got "fixed", so he can eat normal, not have the medical problems that are associated with having a cleft pallet. But he was born that way. He didn't have a choice. So to make a commercial that shames him into surgery reinforces the idea that it's OK to make fun of him, or the mother to take it personal like it was her fault. Don't worry, the kid can be fixed and be normal. Only then can we treat him like one of us. Instead of supporting the child, being nice to him, treating him like normal. I'm sure the people who made the commercial would say they did the opposite, that they were showing the cruel world as it is, and there is no other option than to "fix" the kid. Yes, the world is cruel. And I think this commercial reinforces that. I say, make a commercial that shows the mean people, but also to show the family supporting the child, friends supporting the child, then go into the medical reasons why this surgery should happen. Preach tolerance for those who are born different, who had no control over the "deformities" they were born with. Don't reinforce that you have to fix yourself to "fit in" and "be normal". It's not your fault. Place the onus on society to understand, educate themselves, to learn what exactly is going on. Kids making fun of him will happen. It's up to us as adults to help educate the kids, and to be tolerant and accepting ourselves. Some people are different. They shouldn't be treated that way. Accommodations may have to be made. It's our job as a society to make that happen. Many older cultures, the Mayan of one (which I learned while in Mexico), treated people who were born with "birth defects" were treated as touched by the Gods, and revered. Our society does the opposite. Let's stop that. Just sayin.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Hotel sleeping

Haven't posted in a while, but I will try to more as I now pretty much live in hotels, and no one reads this (prob because of lack of posting). So, I'm working on the road again for my old company. Currently I'm in the shittiest Holiday Inn express I have ever been in. No free beer (funny, because the last Holiday Inn in Austin I was in, and a Main Stay Suite hotel in Pittsburgh, had free beer in the afternoons), the internet drops randomly (longest I've had it work continuously was an hour), and no continental breakfast. Also, the toilet clogs when you look at it, the AC/heater unit is random, and the maids clean at 9-10 at night. Since I get up at 5, I have fun listening to the soothing sounds of a vacuum cleaner as I try to go to sleep. Speaking of sleep, not getting much. In spite of the fact that I haven't had a beer in a week, my body is managing to stay dehydrated. Up every two hours at night. And my old friend night terrors seem to be back. I can tell by the soaked pillows, and the bedding everywhere. Thank goodness I don't remember them. Normally. I went to the Houston Arboretum the other day. It makes a nice park, but an arboretum it is not. Did have a nice little nature hike. Will post it on my YouTube channel, along with a couple other videos I have made, when I get somewhere with internet. I have to edit it, but I got some good footage of a pipleline drill doing it's thing. What I am monitoring at the moment. Working this particular job solo right now, kinda dig it. Easy job, just check the seismometers once an hour, and read books. Well, I will read books, I haven't been on a drill job like this before, so I'm hanging around the rig watching things happen. I think I annoy the crew a bit, but they are slow as mollasses in the winter. Actually getting tried now, time to go nappy. Will pop a benedryl to help. And hope my alarm goes off in the morn, my main one didn't this morn, but couldn't get it to fail again. Have my phone as my back up (it's back up because it has failed before too- POS EVO2). Night.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

The past two years- Just noticed I didn't publish this last December, here is....

As many of you have surmised, I haven't posted in a couple of years. Here is the past two years. In spring of 2012, as OU finished it's system of quarters, and switched to semesters, I finally finished my undergrad career, spanning some 20 years. And the following semester, I began grad school. Well the high points were easy to list. I swear the Athens Gods were out for me full time. I moved back to Athens the summer of 2011. Times were promising! A buddy of mine, who is a merchant marine, and spends his life at sea for 9-10 months of the year, said I could live for free at his house, just to have someone there, and do up keep on it. Sounded perf to me. Well, the neighbor, wow. Turns out I was also to help keep him a bit off step, he kept trying to move the property line. So I got to play the insane old vet. The houses, well, my buddies house, and the good neighbors houses, and this idiots tenement on wheels if they hadn't been removed were in the middle of nowhere. I soon made connection with the other neighbors and they were on board with the plan. The plan being, at 2 or 3 am, I would open up my private gun range. And flew a Jolly Roger outside the house next to an American flag. That was actually kinda fun, I would set my alarm, and unleash hell. The good neighbors were in on it. I used my night vision to watch this idiot freak out. In my tenure there he was genuinely afraid of me, and the property line moved back to where it should have been. Then the world caved in. Literally. It was the 4th of July, 2011, and I was working on the house, running satellite for both levels of the house (2 story, double apt style). I stepped on the first step of the stairs on the deck, and went through. But not all the way. I was kissing my left knee, stuck in what was the first step. Right leg dangled, was sure I broke my ribs. Did I mention I lived in no where? Yeah, I had to self extricate myself from the situation. And by extricate, I mean I sucked up the pain (no skin on my right back, broken ribs, various injuries), and hurled my self down the rest of the stairs, thinking, fuck it, I'm broke anyway. I rolled down the stairs to sweet mother fucking earth. And laid there. A while. Then realized, I should go to a hospital. And the next realization was I had my cell phone and my keys in my hands, and they were no longer with me. 30 minutes of crawling under the deck and stairs, I found everything that evacuated me, locked up the house, and crawled into my Jeep. I drove myself to the hospital, where the staff thought I was a whiner until I too my shirt off. They were impressed. I am still paying on those medical bills. Well, in the summer of 2012, I had to leave that house. And so did my buddy. Was rather sudden. Long story, legal complications not on our behalf. I moved in town. That was good for my health, I lost 20 pounds because I had to walk every where. Fall started, I started grad school, and found out I may have brought something back from Iraq with me, a bit of PTSD. One of my office mates was and Iraqi. Now, don't get me wrong. Yes, I fought in Iraq, but I don't hate Iraqi's or Muslims. And he is a super nice guy, very smart. But hearing him on the phone (constantly) talking in Arabic, got my brain in the wrong place. Now, most vets with PTSD don't get the way the media portrays, because that doesn't sell ads. I got really depressed, and couldn't concentrate, because I couldn't believe myself, and the way my subconscious reacted. Why would he upset me? I learned from him. My grades really plummeted, and I was advised to drop spring quarter. My adviser had went to college with several Vietnam vets, who had issues. More on that later. Earlier spring semester, I had some chest pains, and, true to me being myself, drove myself to the hospital in a snow storm. Being a big guy, usually when in a medical situation, they assume I am having heart problems, and therefore, my heart is one of the most studied organs in my body. And it is always healthy. And this turned out to be true this time. However, my potassium was a little low, and they put me in an ICU unit for 3 days. Of me feeling fine. I actually had to threaten them that I would pull my IV's and walk out. They had not given me my blood pressure meds, and were bitching my blood pressure was high, and they couldn't release me. I also had a schizophrenic roommate, who the ICU knew well, but couldn't/wouldn't give him his meds until his doctor could be contacted. Day one, he was kind of a nice guy in a bad way. Day three, he was constantly screaming at a little girl who wasn't there. I really hope he got the meds and help he needs. He was also about 6'4", 300 pounds. I don't often get scared of people. This man terrified me. On a fun note, I often took my IV for a walk, and purposely not wear underwear and not tie my gown up. The nurses loved me, and really worked to get me out. I kept them laughing. The Indian doctor, fuck him. He was the only one of the three doctors who thought I should be there, and was the one who denied my meds. I finally got out. Those are the big points. I'll post more later. Involving me apply for food stamps, being fired for the first time in my life, and being ten minutes from being homeless, and getting kicked from grad school. Just got to think of a funnier way to tell it. And all 9 of you are face book friends of me, so you know I broke my finger so bad it needed to be surgically repaired because of the Blackhawks winning the Stanley Cup again!

Thursday, October 21, 2010


Had a really messed up dream last night, just have to write it down, perhaps I will quit thinking about it before I go to bed now. I warn you now, it's messed up.
I drempt that I had failed, horribly. I looked like I was in the civilian world, but I kept thinking that the military was part of it. For my failure, I had to kill myself. Now, I'm not sure if in the dream that I was told to do it, but I remember feeling that it was obligated. Much like a Samurai committing sepiku (ritual suicide for failure to protect his master). Here is the freaky part, I felt that if enough people wanted me to live, that I wouldn't have to do it. But everyone was completely indifferent. Couldn't care one way or the other. I wandered around everywhere, dreading killing myself. Finally, it was apparent that I would have to do it. I drank Hemlock, and I remember thinking that was how Socrates killed himself. Here is where it gets really freaky. I am dying, slowly fading out, scared. And I remember, this is a dream, this one is over, and the next one will start thank God. But it didn't. I stopped "dreaming", and only experienced blackness, and nothing.
Let me tell you, that is one hell of a way to start a day! No, I am not suicidal, have no intention of hurting myself. well, maybe a few brain cells with some alcohol. So don't worry, I'm not gonna do something stupid. But that is a messed up dream. I will figure out what it means to me at some point.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

my bread,

Oat bread Kcal fat (g) Chol(mg)Na (g) Carb(g) Prot(g)
Ingrediant ammount
2lb loaf
Water 1.25cups+2Tbsp 0 0 0 0 0 0
Margerine 2 Tbsp 140 16 0 220 0 0
Honey 2 Tbsp 120 0 0 0 34 0
Mollasses 3 Tbsp 180 0 0 60 45 0
Oats 1.5 cups 450 9 0 0 81 15
Wheat Flour0.75 cups 300 1.5 0 0 54 12
Flour 1.5 cups 660 0 0 0 132 24
Gluten 0.25 cups 120 0.5 0 9 6 23
Salt 1 tsp 0 0 0 2360 0 0
Sugar 4 Tbsp 180 0 0 0 48 0
active dry yeast2 tsp 0 0 0 0 0 0

total= 2150 27 0 2649 400 74
1 slice, 1/2" of 7"= 154 2 0 189 29 5
1 slice, 1/4 "= 77 1 0 95 14.5 2.5

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Old stuff, but still funny. at least one post a day...

Well, my buddy Nate and some of his friends came to Chi-town for St. Pats day, as Mike was getting married and wanted a bachalor party. No worries for his bride to be tho, they were here drunk watching the NCAA tournament the entire time. No hookers, strippers or nothin. I think we're all a little growed up for that. At least I am. But I was only with them for Friday night. I had planned on staying in the hotel that night, after we got done harrasing innocent bar employees. However, comma, I ain't in the drinking shape I used to be in. Trying to be responsable, I had my girlfriend (Deb) drive me to the EL (what we call the above ground subway in these parts), and I trained into the city, planning to train back the next day. Anyone who has drank with me for a night or so knows that when I hit a certain point, my go home instinct kicks in before I get in trouble. If I ignore it, I do stupid things like fall in dumpsters and break bones (true story for those who don't know).Well... I was a long way from home, and the instinct kicked in hard. I wanted to be home, and nothing, not cops, not lack of bathrooms, or taking the wrong train was going to stop me. Should have been easy enough, take the red line to the blue line, call Deb, and I'm home. I went the wrong way on the brown, got turned around, came back, and there was no bathroom. What i remember mostly is leaving the station to find a back yard (i'm in a city, no dice), making it back to the second platform, and for the sake of any future political ambitions, I'll deny anything after that point. I got on the red, made it to the blue, and started heading home. I watched a guy sitting across from me puke all over himself, and never wake up. I wondered if I would pass out like him. I think the girl next to me thought that. When she go off she practially ran. I then remember that I texted Deb that i would be in the station in an hour, and since that ammount of time had expired, plus some, I had better check my text's. In a fit of drunken wisdom that only I can understand while drunk, I had turned off the ringer. Deb had been trying frantically to get ahold of me. Her brother is a chicago police officer, and she had been about to call him to see if they could find her big drunken boyfriend somewhere on the EL in chicago. In her mind I could have been stabbed, murdered, or worse yet, passed out in a corner of a station. All of these were legitimate concerns. But my drunken ass prevailed, and texted her back. Not call, text, cuz i figured I was too drunk to talk. and I probably was. When I finally made it to the station, Deb was just relieved to see that I was OK. Then I promptly threw up on the car ride home. In the car. Ain't done that in a long time. Car stank for days. And Deb never got mad at me. to bad she is an ex.