tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49381781051237020292024-02-08T09:51:44.082-06:00Inaudible CacophonyThis is an effort for me to write more, to practice writing. I used to write all the time, was published as a poet, magazine writer, and editor of a local college weekly newspaper. I also wrote a lot of science fiction for my own musings. There will be random stories, odd bits, and stuff I hope the statute of limitations has run out on...Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-82650716726788121112022-09-08T16:55:00.001-05:002022-09-08T16:55:15.522-05:00Rodney's rules, for what its worthRodney's rules:
A couple of these may seem harsh, but have proven true. And yes, my life growing up was a bit rough sometimes, and I have had some less than safe occupations.
1) Be nice/kind. You never know what someone is going through.
A) But keep your guard up. Some assholes prey on nice ppl.
B) Get new winter wool blend gloves when yours are broken in and a little worn. Give the old ones to a homeless person. They will get their ass kicked wearing new stuff. Give it straight to the person, not a company to resell. Learned this living in Chicago.
2) If you borrow a vehicle, return it with the gas tank full
3) Learn to drive off road, especially in a truck or SUV, but at least your car. You don't know when that skill may come in handy. Storm damage, floods, can close roads. If you have a medical emergency, you are the ambulance.
A) Bonus points if its a Jeep Wrangler.
4) Travel as much as you can. It will make you a better person, and learn other ppls perspectives.
A) When traveling to other countries, DO NOT go to places Americans vacation (Acapulco, Cancun, etc). Those places are pretty much just America. Meet the actual ppl in those countries.
B) Volunteer for a mission or NGO work. They will pick up much of the tab, and you will truely meet the ppl of that country, and do good.
5) Study a martial art. Not only will you be able to protect yourself, it is great exercise, and builds confidence.
A) Not all gyms are good, some are filled with assholes. Don't be afraid to switch gyms until you find a crew you like, but the will still make you work your ass off.
6) If you have to tell ppl you're the Alpha, you are not an Alpha.
A) There is no such thing as an Alpha, not even in wolves. That designation was made upon stressed animals in captivity. That behavior doesn't exist in nature.
7) Get punched in the face, and know what it feels like, so if it happens unexpectedly, you don't stand there like an idiot thinking " WTF" while your attacker proceeds to kick your ass.
A) If you are in a job where violence happens frequently, ie cop, bouncer. etc, get punched so hard it almost knocks you out, so you can train through it.
8) Work out. With a friend for motivation, when you feel sluggish.
9) Work in the service industry, even if only as a part time job for the experience. Only then will you really see how nice some people are, and how selfish even more are.
10) Learn to ride a motorcycle. It is incredibly liberating. And will also teach you to look out for bikes when driving your car. Most bike accidents are the fault of the car not paying attention to those little bikes.
11) Don't tailgate. You never know when the vehicle in front of you may slam on the brakes (deer, kids in street, etc)
A) Doubly true for semis and other big trucks. If you can't see their mirrors, they can't see you.
12) Breathe.
A) It relaxes you, and brings clarity to complicated situations. Learn how to breathe properly.
13) Read. Learn.
A) To include the news. Read everything from the far left to the far right, not just what makes you feel good in your culture bubble.
14) Get away from everyone/be alone occasionally. It will do your mental health good. While alone, do something you really enjoy.
15) Get outside in nature. Ground yourself. No music/head phones. Listen to nature. Reading a book under a tree is ok, just take breaks to enjoy the beauty around you. Even the most desolate desert is filled with life and sound.
16) Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.
17) There are lessons to be learned in everything you do, and everything that happens to you.
18) Pay attention to what is going on around you. Do not get lost in your own world.
19) Be tolerant of "stupid" ppl. Because you can be that "stupid" person.
20) Teach.
21) No one can make you feel anything (bad, worthless, etc.) unless you let them. Don't listen to the negative. If there is a lesson, learn from it. They don't matter. That said, enjoy the positive. Those are the ppl who enjoy you for who you are.
* This list is non-inclusiveInaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-55217350528037896482022-01-05T12:39:00.001-06:002022-01-05T12:39:09.286-06:00Test blogJust testing to see if this site is still activeInaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-21452934447880695222018-12-07T02:15:00.001-06:002018-12-07T02:15:08.805-06:00Story time- Deep in the woods of Houston<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zCFpbz61ees" width="480"></iframe>Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-60009527859741338142018-11-30T14:45:00.000-06:002018-11-30T14:45:24.958-06:00UV therapy Started tanning again, works best for my skin. Was told not to for the drugs I'm on for my auto immune diseases. Choosing not being a skin rash ball that has gotten infected twice this year over quality of life. I will die of cancer, at least I get to pick itInaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-64733347982989127452018-10-20T23:53:00.001-05:002018-10-20T23:53:54.320-05:00a friend diedI started to post this in 2015. But didn't. But in September of 2015, the death toll by suicide passed the number of deaths in combat zones in the two units I deployed with in the wars since 2001. Just sayin. Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-88896650721705105532018-10-19T23:44:00.001-05:002018-10-19T23:44:05.882-05:00Bad Rodney?Late, drinking, and thinking. I think it's time Bad Rodney came back. Now, a lot of people know me from specific time frames, and, honestly, different Rodneys. I'm not talking about the "Pub mean guy" that was most of my tenure at The Pub in Athens Ohio (world's second greatest pub behind "The Split Crow" in Halifax, Nova Scotia (Canada you fucking twat waffles), but the last two years I worked there, not an act, just fucking hating every air pirate on the planet. Then I went to Iraq and centered myself. Might be time for that Rodney to come back, because of all the Goddamn self-centered pettiness that has taken over. Think of someone other than yourself, try to think critically about the things that happen around you, and make decisions to make this better. Too many narcissistic self-centered twatwaffles making decisions that affect you, pay attention. Everything you do affects people around you. KNOW THIS. The "not here for a long time just a good time" holds the same weight as " kill them all, let God sort them out". No matter your age, please, have a good time and enjoy yourself. But realize that everything you do, no matter how small, affects someone else. Unless you Antifa. Which are the most fascists assholes on the planet. Bring your black block to me bitchs, I'm going to Valhalla regardless.
Beware the old man who lived in a world where men die young.
This message is sponsored by Grammarly because I am drunk. Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-48982097642645599832017-02-04T20:03:00.000-06:002017-02-04T20:03:07.342-06:00update?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. http://www.militarytimes.com/story/military/2016/08/11/malaria-drug-causes-permanent-brain-damage-case-study/88528568/ 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.Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-44188161696640727852014-04-17T12:34:00.003-05:002014-04-17T12:34:51.589-05:00Human 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. Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-47491191366144250582014-04-14T22:52:00.000-05:002014-04-14T22:52:57.014-05:00Hotel sleepingHaven'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. Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-26140644695353557732013-12-03T17:22:00.000-06:002014-04-14T22:59:05.237-05:00The 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!Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-65235974543763342902010-10-21T23:06:00.002-05:002010-10-21T23:14:57.034-05:00dreamHad 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. <br />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. <br />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.Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-55116414848870913892010-01-16T21:11:00.002-06:002010-01-16T21:14:25.844-06:00my bread,Oat bread Kcal fat (g) Chol(mg)Na (g) Carb(g) Prot(g)<br />Ingrediant ammount <br />2lb loaf <br />Water 1.25cups+2Tbsp 0 0 0 0 0 0<br />Margerine 2 Tbsp 140 16 0 220 0 0<br />Honey 2 Tbsp 120 0 0 0 34 0<br />Mollasses 3 Tbsp 180 0 0 60 45 0<br />Oats 1.5 cups 450 9 0 0 81 15<br />Wheat Flour0.75 cups 300 1.5 0 0 54 12<br />Flour 1.5 cups 660 0 0 0 132 24<br />Gluten 0.25 cups 120 0.5 0 9 6 23<br />Salt 1 tsp 0 0 0 2360 0 0<br />Sugar 4 Tbsp 180 0 0 0 48 0<br />active dry yeast2 tsp 0 0 0 0 0 0<br /> <br /> total= 2150 27 0 2649 400 74<br /> 1 slice, 1/2" of 7"= 154 2 0 189 29 5<br /> 1 slice, 1/4 "= 77 1 0 95 14.5 2.5Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-15043389201597191742010-01-14T20:07:00.000-06:002010-01-14T20:09:33.261-06:00Old 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.Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-62416520398123291912010-01-13T15:25:00.002-06:002010-01-13T15:35:23.590-06:00Chuck NorrisThis is probably not what you think it might be. I've heard a lot of Chuck Norris talk today on the interwebs, and just wanted to relate this story. A cousin of mine had a son who had cancer, name of Caleb. Now this was in the early 1990's, when "Walker, Texas Ranger" was big on TV. Caleb was in the make a wish foundation, or maybe starlight, honestly I'm not sure. All he wanted to do was get Chuck Norris' autograph, and maybe meet him. When Chuck Norris' representative was contacted, she said that Mr. Norris doesn't do that sort of thing. Well, people were stunned, but it was Hollywood. But the story is only beginning. Somehow, Chuck found out about this conversation. Turns out, the representative for him was very new, and fired on the spot. As it turns out, Chuck loves to do this sort of thing. And this is how much. All that was asked for was an autograph, maybe meet him. What Caleb got: Several in person bed side visits. More posters and autographs than you could shake a stick at. Video tapes made on the set of "Walker, Texas Ranger", by Chuck himself, having the cast and crew wish Caleb a speedy recovery. This continued, not a one time thing, for the rest of Caleb's life, which was about a year after that I believe. Now I love Chuck Norris Facts as much as anyone (Fact: Chuck Norris has no chin under his beard, just another fist), but the real man is far greater than any "Fact".Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-45660711116776412382010-01-12T13:45:00.002-06:002010-01-12T14:12:04.518-06:00the little voice inside my headThought I would share this story, it seems to amuse people. And explains why I disappear sometimes. I have a little voice in my head that I listen to. It usually keeps me out of trouble. That is why, when out consuming my favorite legal beverages, I sometimes vanish. My friends know this, and think nothing of it. The little voice says "go home dumb-ass, before something stupid happens".<br />One particular evening, while consuming Labatt Blue and Rumpleminz with friends at the greatest pub on earth, The Pub, the little voice told me to go home. So off I go, walking (staggering?) up State Street, to my little house, also known as the Una-bomber Shack. The Una-bomber Shack was a one room house I lived in for several years, pretty much parked in the backyard of another house, next to a good size parking lot. I made it all the way home, had my key in the door, and my little voice said, "whoa dude, let's no go home quite yet, look behind you". I turn around, and there in the parking lot, sat a large industrial dumpster. Sometimes I need to ignore that little voice. That night I didn't. I HAD to see what they were throwing away. It appeared they were gutting the house in front of me. So, I climb in the dumpster. Rather easy to get in, there are lots of hand and foot holds on the outside. I walked around for a while (it was really big), looked at the desks and beds and stuff, and decided this was a stupid idea. Now, the inside of the dumpster had no hand or foot holds, just a smooth metal wall, about 6 feet tall, which is the same height of a drunken Rodney. The synapses in my brain, not being able to hold hands due to the aforementioned libations, did not tell me to stack up the furniture to get out. Instead, I remembered that in years past, I had been a fairly good rock climber, and I could mantle my way out. So I pulled myself up, and sat straddling the top of the dumpster. I thought, ok, now all I have to do is swing my leg over, drop on the ground, roll, and I am out of the dumpster. Note: no thought of climbing down like I climbed in. So, I swing my leg over, and physics happened. Physics being, when a force is enacted on a lever in one direction, an equal and opposite reaction will happen to the other end of the lever. My leg was one end of the lever, my upper body the other. I fell on my head and arm INSIDE the dumpster. There was no obvious damage to my head, other than what I had done to it at The Pub, but my arm at my wrist had swollen up to the size of my fist. I laid there thinking, "great. I broke my arm, and I am still in the dumpster". I honestly do not remember how I got out of the dumpster, but I must have mantled up again with a broken arm, because when we checked the next day, I HAD NOT stacked up the furniture. I remember laying on the ground, thinking, "wow, I forgot to roll". I went inside the Una-bomber Shack, and called my friend Katie, who was coming to visit me the next morning. She yelled at me repeatedly to go to the hospital, that my arm was broke. By this time the alcohol had kicked back in, and I was feeling no pain. I did my best to convince her that is wasn't broken, just sprained. I didn't really sleep that night, as the pain grew as the alcohol left my system. At 10:00 the next morning, Katie walked into my place, and I immediately said to her, "don't take your coat off, we're going to the hospital", to which she replied "I TOLD YOU IT WAS BROKEN!!" The consensus at the hospital: both ulna and radius had split about an inch up the length of the bones. I hate dumpsters.Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4938178105123702029.post-32599235604286637012010-01-12T11:38:00.000-06:002010-01-12T11:46:19.168-06:00Right off "The Bat"Apparently I get paid to set at work and surf the interwebs, facebook, and create blogs. Really nothing to do at the moment, not much going on in the vibration monitoring world with the economy down. Keep waiting for the layoffs to begin. But until then, I am here, looking at the pretty snow outside my window (yes hate me those of you who reside in a cubical farm, I HAVE A WINDOW!!), typing away. <br />As for the title of this blog, I thought "silent storm" or "silent scream" just a tad too cliche. But I always liked the concept. And it was the first thing I thought of. <br />My brother recently gave me one of the greatest inventions ever, next to velco and the beer tap. A fleece ball-cap, with fold out ears. For someone who works outside in the cold a good bit, I have always thought "why don't they make a fleece hat with a bill?" Should have marketed that...Inaudible Cacophonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02228219899053179911noreply@blogger.com5