Re-enter the Light

They Tried to Make Me Go to Rehab

I was barely out of ICU when a smiling woman came into my room one afternoon and introduced herself. She informed me she worked for Cardiac Rehabilitation. She told me, "I know you're not even thinking about this yet, but I wanted to leave this pamphlet for you." I smiled and exchanged pleasantries and said pamphlet was left for my perusal.

I really didn't have any doubts or issues with the idea of Cardiac Rehab because my cardiologist had told me before surgery: "Young men like yourself (She's really stretching the definition there, yes?) go through the surgery just fine, but often have trouble more 'from here up' (indicating from the neck up). In other words, patients of my age are likely to have depression post surgery.

My cousin Norman had warned me about this in typical family style - blunt, no frills, and to the point: "They knock the shit out of you. You go around thinking that you're this alpha male and then you realize that you can't do what you used to and you have to rely on other people." Well, I have never considered myself an alpha male by any stretch, but nothing prepares you for the post surgery experience.


Leave some body parts alone, ok?



A feeling of helplessness was never an issue in the three weeks following surgery, it was more the shock of seeing my battered body in the shower for the first time. I had bruises, wounds all over (Remember I had my appendix out, then a heart cath, then the bypass all within a three week span.) topped off by long scar running from my neck down past mid-chest, held together by metal staples.

In short, what the fuck was I? Man or surgical experiment?

People often spout that empty platitude of "it only matters what's on the inside." Bull fucking shit.  Once yours is a bit torn up, it shocks the system.

I never experienced straight out depression, but rather a deep sense of confusion and shock was my post surgical state of mind. People or socializing were unwelcome. I had a deep sense of mistrust. I didn't want anybody to see me in such a state.

 The pain meds have to go or you are hiding in a frail shell, delaying your coming back into life. And coming back into life is precisely what is happening and little glimpses of it begin to appear in very small ways.

It wasn't until about 8 weeks that I began to get back a sense of my old self. A sense of humor, a freeness, a lightness and with purpose and continuity - all these things I fel had been stripped away with the surgeon's blade.

Next: Rehab Just Ain't For Druggies



Plenty of the old ultra-violence my droogies.

 Last year, Andy Whitfield's star was on the rise. He was the focus point of Spartacus: Blood and Sand, an in-your-face bloody brutality fest about gladiators who are slaves in the house of Batiatus. These poor bastards work out and train from dawn until dusk, all awaiting their chance of glory in the arena. Glory means slaughtering their opponent and winning the hearts of the blood crazed crowd.

Though the series had the look of the film 300 and redefined "over-the-top" on a weekly basis, it ultimately was the acting that saved this series from being more of a cartoon than a drama.

This season's Spartacus: Gods of the Arena had to take a prequel direction because of health issues with Whitfield (God love him, but Starz has replaced him for next season). I thought that this might be a real stretch with last minute scrambling by the writers, but I was wrong. This season is sharply focused on Lentulus Batiatus (played perfectly by John Hannah) and his determination to get his fighters a prominent place in the arena. Of course, his path blocked by real scoundrels like Tullius, who is so despicable, he makes even the coarse and ruthless Batitatus seem sympathetic.

Plenty of twists and turns in this season and no character seems immune to misfortune. Ahh....humna nature. Hast thou changed?

Tullius: thy name means bastard.

The Doctor is "In"

I am recent convert to the instant gratification that is Netflix. I usually come to just about all parties a little late, so bear with my obvious revelations.

Every 12-year-old's sci-fi fantasy was Leela.

One of these recent indulgences is the classic Doctor Who series featuring the greatest Doctor,  Tom Baker. I suppose every fan of the series has a favorite Doctor, but I came to the series in the early 80's and he was the man.

Doc talks some sense into an alien snot ball.

I was living at home at the time (a big mistake) and as Robert in Everybody Loves Raymond says the food is incredible, but like a bear in the zoo, "they keep you doped up on the sauces." It was part of my pre-dinner ritual to watch the good Doctor romp through these silly, ultra-low budget sci-fi episodes. Looking back at the visual technology of the '80's, now it all seems prehistoric, but it's the story lines (however thin) and Baker's quirky performance that makes this worth a watch.

The first one I watched was The Androids of Tara. Well, it was like they mashed up the Middle Ages with hack stage (over) actors all to find some crystal to aid in time travel. Or something. It did not play well. Even Baker could not save this from dullsville.

Much better, though some CGI might have helped some scenes, was Horror of Fang Rock. Give me some fog, a lighthouse and an alien and I'm suspending disbelief like a bitch. Leela (as if you didn't see the picture), the series siren, was not in her now famous leather garb, but was wearing period clothes. Louise Jameson is actually a good actress and not just eye candy. One lone bummer in the cast, the woman playing Adelaide, was way over-the-top, but she doesn't ruin the good fun.


The 12 year-old in me wants to own all the Tom Bakers, but prices are still high. An episode is broken down into three parts of a total 1:35:00 minutes of Who. Not bad.


Next: The Pyramids of Mars.

Old Creepy Things

From Boing-Boing: creepy playground figures.

This is on a kid's playground? Hell, I wouldn't go near it.

"Figure" It Out, Dinosaur

February 16, 2011

Borders files for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection

By The Associated Press


"Internets? What is internets? Internets not hurt me."



NEW YORK -- Bookseller Borders, which helped pioneer superstores that put countless mom-and-pop bookshops out of business, filed for bankruptcy protection Tuesday, sunk by crushing debt and sluggishness in adapting to a rapidly changing industry.

Who didn't see this coming? Their prices are outrageous at best. The last time I was in the Borders in Barboursville, I must have silently cursed a dozen times. I could not believe the jaw dropping audacity of their prices.

If Borders wants to be consumer friendly by selling coffee and playing smooth jazz promoting a community coffee house atmosphere, then they better get more competitive. Barnes and Noble is next if it hasn't happened already. I have nothing against them and I want the Borders to stay, but if no executive could see this coming, then the ship has already run aground. It may not even be a price problem. Maybe book stores are dinosaueric after all.

The 40-year-old company plans to close about 200 of its 642 stores over the next few weeks.

None of the five Borders-owned stores in West Virginia -- including Borders stores in Barboursville and Vienna, Borders Express stores in Charleston and Bridgeport and a Waldenbooks store in Mount Hope -- is on the closure list. All five stores are in malls.

All of the stores closed will be superstores, Borders spokeswoman Mary Davis said. The company also operates smaller Waldenbooks and Borders Express stores.

Borders Group Inc. President Mike Edwards said in a written statement that cautious consumer spending, negotiations with publishers and other vendors and a lack of liquidity made it clear Borders "does not have the capital resources it needs to be a viable competitor."

Borders plans to operate normally and honor gift cards and its loyalty program as it reorganizes.

The company will receive $505 million in debtor-in-possession financing from GE Capital and others to help it reorganize.

Telephone Hell

We create our own devils sometimes.

Good old Captain Beefheart called the telephone "a plastic horned devil" and damn, if he wasn't right.

Having done a post yesterday on the Morning Sitting, I resolved to integrate this as much as possible in the morning rituals.

I got about 12 minutes into it, feeling very relaxed and trying to experience mind-body union when the hellish sound began.

Without revealing details as to "who" was the rude person, I will say that there are some people for whom drama is a way of life. This is indeed the case of the person who called. Lie cannot be normal, stable and happy-the shit has to be stirred. This person has deep issues, a baby to care for and an unstable environment and therefore, does not have the luxury of a quiet home to sit idly, working on something seemingly so frivolous and abstract. I get that, but choosing to repeat one's mistakes again and again, hoping as Einstein said, for a different outcome, is insanity.

We can all understand this, because who doesn't enjoy a little excitement even if the excitement comes with a heavy price tag? Excitement is a condition which doesn't last. Emotional states, which seem so powerful and overwhelming at times, come and go in a tidal fashion. This also ties into the lack of mind-body union that Sandra Bain Cushman speaks about in her blog. I have met Ms. Cushman and wish that she lived closer so that I could study with her because she is a marvelous, down-to-earth teacher.

"When one first hears the Alexander Story, it seems remarkable that an individual spent nearly ten years studying himself in order to overcome his vocal problems. Yet after we establish our own practices, and like Mr. Alexander reap the incremental benefits of an ongoing commitment to the integration of mind and body, it might not seem so far-fetched."


Amen sister.

Inviting Silence

This is the exercise (or practice known as the morning sitting) that Fripp introduced at Guitar Craft 2008 in Snowshoe, WV. I have been so lapse in my practice. This morning I had a real urge to do the morning sitting, but other things demanded my attention. It's unfortunate because I feel rather lost without it. Find a quiet place before your day begins and just sit, drawing attention to the body as specified.


Please bring part of the attention to the soles of the feet;

to the top of the head;
and what is in between;
what is in front of us, and what is behind;
what is to our right, and what is to our left;
to what is above us, and what is below.


Returning part of our attention to the soles of the feet;
moving the attention up through the legs, up the spine to the top of the shoulders; the finger tips & the palm of the hands, up the arms to the shoulders; up the neck and to the top of the head.
Then, to the left hand: the palm, the back of the hand, inside the hand itself; into the thumb and each of the fingers in turn.

Another thought:


It not our aim to drive out noise.
It is our aim is to invite in Silence

Not an "A" Game

Even Liam Neeson can't raise this A-Team above a C.

Guy movies. Where shit blows up "real good", hot women abound, and ass-kicking is a given and destruction to property must be in the millions at least.

Let's go through the list, shall we?

1. Shit blowing up: check. Cool aerial stuff. Action sequences lead pace of film.

2. Hot women: Jessica Biel is the draw. Even dressed in her conservative Fed duds, she's got it in spades.

3. Ass kicking: check. "I pity the fool" ass kicking scene is great.

4. Destruction of property: really fun.

Then why does this flick fall short? In short, it's too damn obvious, plays out every cliche and each character seems to be immune to injury no matter the implausibility. For example, hundreds of cargo holders fall around the A-Team (Are one or two guys inside? Unclear.) and not a scratch. What are the odds?

Patrick Wilson and Brian Bloom do nice turns as the bad guys. Bloom particularly shines an an arrogant asshole assassin. Even still, this film lacks substance.

This A-Team gets a C from me. And here's hoping there's no sequel.

All the News We'd Like To See

February 14, 2011


Charleston man thought about robbing, but life was turned around
The Charleston Gazelle


CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- A Charleston man was nearly robbed Sunday afternoon while walking down the street.

Michael Jonas, 51, of Charleston, was walking along Chandler Drive with another man at about 12:20 p.m. Sunday when the two were approached by a young white man asking for money, according to Sgt. Eric Hodges of the Charleston Police Department.

Jones told the man to "Get a job and get your own money," Hodges said.

The man pull out a knife, but then paused. He then thoughtfully stated, "You know, you're right. I'm a lazy-ass motherfucker that's addicted to meth and my life choices are the reason why I'm such a piece of worthless shit. I'm going to look for gainful employment tomorrow."

Hodges said the man then shook his hand, thanked him profusely and then ran off into the woods.

The investigation is continuing.

We Gotta Get Out of This Place

Ben's been doing more than just Jennifer.

The Town, directed and starring Ben Affleck, is one of the best films of this genre that I've seen in quite a while. Usually these type of movies have hard-ass badasses banging, beating and dropping the F Bomb every other word and all the while you sit and wonder where the hell the plot went. Not so for Mr. Jennifer Garner's excellent film.

From top to bottom, this film holds up to the most jaded of cinéastes. Affleck plays a long-time street criminal from Charlestown Mass., evidently the bank robbing breeding ground of the US, and his struggles with his criminal-cum-jailbird lifer and what he sees as his bleak future.

What I liked about this film is that it didn't preach at me, no characters were over-the-top tough guys, the plot was clear and the action was dynamite. Plus, Jeremy Renner is in this and he is just aces. John Hamm plays the relentless prick FBI agent with perfect pitch. Excellent. I give it Five Boxes of Popcorn (air popped, no salt or butter please.)

Get Thee Behind Me, Satan

An obvious story, but good shocks and scares.

We love Netflix. Though Blockbuster has a superior collection of the newest films, their mailing service in Charleston is glacial as it took nearly a week for their mailing service to send another movie. Unacceptable. There's always a quid pro quo, isn't there?

We devour all horror movies that come out. Most are low budget and not worth a shit. I had heard that M. Night Shyamalan's Devil had gotten some mixed reviews, but I am always interested in Night's work as I believe he has been a breath of fresh air in the film making world ever since he kicked my ass with The Sixth Sense. That was brilliant and original.

Devil is a well done little shocker. Reviews on the web (Not a good place to read nor trust reviews. Except here and Film Geek's site.) have been hard on the "obvious" plot - people trapped in an elevator and their consequent panicked and dangerous behavior. The small twist is that one of them appears to be the Devil. If that whole concept really bothers you, then this film will not sweep you away and you've missed a good experience.

The film has a solid cast, well acted, and delivers some good scares. To say more would ruin it.

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