Oodles and bunches and tons of eons

Warning: this post has yet another Top Ten List. Only readers over a certain height will be allowed on.

So now I have a second friend in China. How many do you have?

I joined Facebook about an eon ago. (To be precise, an eon in Charlie years = somewhere between nine and ten years.) I have collected oodles and oodles of friends over that time period. (To be precise, oodles and oodles in Charlie’s numbering system = bunches of bunches.) My FB friends list contains people from every nook and cranny of my life. Friends from grade school and high school, current and past work associates,”old” family who I haven’t seen since I was in junior high and new relatives from my wife’s family who I see a couple times a year, people I’ve done theatre with, girls I have dated (I am nothing if not brave), people whose house I can walk into without ringing the doorbell and, other people who I have known very well for decades even though I’ve never met them in person. Despite the widespread collection of people who could be called Members of YIATBORAOKCDTROPR ( aka Yes I Am Willing To Be On Record As Officially Knowing Charlie Despite The Risk Of Public Ridicule), there was one time in my life that was totally blank, online-wise: college. Maybe it was because of my lack of Google-Fu, maybe it was because I killed tons and tons of brain cells back then. (To be precise, this joke is getting old and predictable.) No matter what the reason the results were the same: College Friends on my Facebook list = zero.

Well it was zero, until I brought in an expert.  For online searches, I know only one person who does online searches like Rain Man juggles numbers. The lucky thing for me is that I am married to her. The short version of this story is that, after I grumbled one final time about not being to find any of my college friends, she said to me “Just give me one name.”

After a few hours of extensive research on her computer,…

Well, maybe after about an hour on a tablet,…

Okay, after less than five minutes on her smartphone, she found who I told her to look for. (At least she didn’t whistle into a payphone while wiggling her Etch-A-Sketch’s knobs really quickly. That would have been showing off.) I checked his friend’s list and found two more friends. And luckily enough, all three are really good people who I have incredibly found memories of. Once again, it is proven that I am a lucky and blessed man.

And now, after just a couple weeks of catching up, one of them just flew out to China today to live for somewhere from six months to two years. I hope I can keep in touch with him even though he will be behind the Great Firewall of China. I know I will still do my best to keep contact with the other two. Billy, Maria, Don, thank you all for being my “friend” again.

And now…

Top 10 Uses for My New Spaceship

10. Freak out the stoner who works late night at the local Taco Bell drive-thru window (“Dude, Han Solo ordered a Chalupa!”)

9. Tricking it out with chrome rims to impress my bros as I cruise down Main Street

8. Making extra money flying banners over stadiums (Note to self: buy friction-proof banners due to potential issues with warp drive)

7. Buy red suit and grow white beard. Mission: freak out Santa doubters.

6. Hang out in the parking lot of Science Fiction conventions and brag about how “shiny” my ship is.

5. Put ship on blocks and roast weenies in exhaust blast.

4. Revolutionize pizza delivery (“When it absolutely, positively has to be in Australia in 30 minutes or less…”)

3. Stadium is sold out? Who cares? Hovering over the 50 yard line is a Much better view anyway!

2. Travel to the planet Logicum where common sense and rational thought is plentiful. See if they are willing to help with our current shortages.

and the number 1 thing I will use my new spaceship for

1.Two words: Super Uber

Coming Soon: An expose – The Snuggles Fabric Softener Bear: Cute and Giggly Commercial Icon, or Demon Spawn?

 

How better to support the “coffee closet” industry?

Warning – I am resurrecting this blog. Any of you who don’t enjoy my writings won’t like this fact. Some of you might. The only path to true happiness for is for everyone to go back and read all previous posts. (Ok, honestly, the true happiness would be mine but that counts, right?)

A brief and timely synopsis of my history here – I started this blog years ago. I really enjoyed every moment of pouring out my thoughts into a cup for people’s enjoyment, but physical exhaustion and a crazy busy life sunk in. No excuses, I am the one who didn’t glue his tailbone to the chair in front of his writing desk. I have been doing some work on a book potentially titled “A Twisted Path” but it’s been a pace that would allow a snail to lap me around the track. As time ticked away, I have missed doing this more and more. Recently, the need to write has been burning even hotter than ever before, so here I am. My goal is to post Something at least once a week. Feel free to encourage the muse that whispers in the ear of this easily discouraged guy.

I have to give full disclosure. The wifetastic one came up with the very inspired idea for the two of us to work on a top ten list together. Consider this a collaborative effort. In my opinion, she is a much better writer than me. If there’s anything you don’t like on this list or about this list, it’s not only okay to blame me, it’s logical to do so.

With no further ado, here we go.

[Drumroll please]

[I said please]

[Pretty please]

[Ok just pat your hands rhythmically on the nearest hard surface]

Top 12 reasons to drink coffee (I love it so much that 10 wasn’t enough)
12. The Hills Brothers, Juan Valdez, Mr. Maxwell House, and all of those who consider themselves Seattle’s Best need the money.
11. Drinking creamer straight from the bottle is frowned upon.
10. How better to enjoy a luxurious and tasty bean broth?
9. When I drink all I want, 97 coffee farmers can feed their families for the year.(When others drink “all I want”, they can stay awake for the whole month of February.)
8. If I own 189 mugs, I might as well use them.
7. How better to pump enough caffeine to a brain so that it can work like a supercomputer? (By the way, 2 to the 24th power is 16,777,216. Who needs a calculator?)
6. Tea is a drink the Chinese enjoy, you know, and I love my country! #MERICA!
5. When I am almost to the top of my caloric intake for the day, coffee only adds two calories per cup. (“Eleven cups to my tipping point, I can make it!”)
4. If I am going to put fake sugar in my mouth, I might as well have something to wash it down with.
3. Used coffee grounds can be used as fertilizer and I have 40 acres to nourish before sunset.
2. It’s kosher! It’s gluten-free!! It’s vegan friendly!!! It makes me use a bunch of exclamation points!!!!!!!!
1. These 700 K-cups I have in my brand new coffee closet aren’t going to drink themselves.

See you all soon, I hope.

Oh and by the way…

Here,  a history and timely synopsis of my briefs – Used to wear boxers, now I have a bunch of tagless Hanes and I really enjoy them

Coming Soon – A review of the science documentary Belly Lint: Biological Annoyance or America’s Future Superfabric

 

 

 

 

 

Are we not men? We are devotional!

Warning: this post will be discussing writing and religion. Therefore, reading this will probably not interesting to anyone at all. Go and read a good book instead.

“By the way, Susan wants you to do the devotion tomorrow.”

“…oh…kay.”

Basic recap time for those who have just randomly found this blog: I am a hubby, step-daddy, coffee addict, customer service rep, Jedi master of all that is surreal and sarcastic, local minister (aka unpaid minister in training), and co-operations manager for my church’s food bank (Living Waters). I also don a cape and fight crime in the big city, but that’s not important right now. If you want to know more about me, you can either read some other entries in this blog, contact me somehow through the interwebs, or send me a list of questions through the mail written on the back of the registration and title for a 1964 Shelby Cobra Daytona Coupe (candy apple red, if I have a choice).

So where was I? Oh yes I have a story to tell about telling a story.

Every Wednesday, before we distributing food, we do a group devotion followed by prayer. On a Friday, Susan (Living Waters’ Grand Poobah) sent a text to my wifey (my Supreme Grandest Poobah) asking her to ask me if I would be willing to do the devotional the following Wednesday. The problem is that Susan’s Blue cellphone company is known for not sending messages well to our Pink company’s phones, so we didn’t get that message in a timely manner. So on Tuesday, Valerie got the “follow-up” text (“You never answered me. Can Charlie do the devotional tomorrow?”)

     When I finally heard about this, I felt honored/nervous (honvous?). After getting past a childhood filled with awkwardness bad enough to hold a telethon for and overcoming a speech impediment (which sounded “weawwy, weawwy” bad), I do get a certain amount of joy from being able to speak competently in front of a group. Of course, if I bungee jump over a pool of rabid piranhas (piranhi?) I might get a certain of pleasure out of that act as well. That doesn’t mean I won’t be scared stupid both before and during the act.

     I hit the computers that night, trying to get some idea of what to say. The blank page is doing what blank pages do. I am a little overwhelmed and a lot intimidated. Every word and idea I throw at this project looks and feels like the only languages I am fluent in are Babblese and Stupidarian. I type this and I delete that; I Google this and Bing that. I finally do what has always worked best for me when I’ve got a next morning deadline. I spray enough words at the page so that it doesn’t look completely empty, I pray about it, and then I sleep on it.

     Of course, I did consider going with a devotional that someone else had written. There were two reasons I didn’t go that way. First of all, that would have been the rational and logical course of action.

Done chuckling at that idea yet? Ok, I’ll wait.

.

.

.

Seriously? sigh…

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.

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     Ok, then. Secondly, I liked the challenge. As frustrating as the process can be, I do love the sense of accomplishment when I do manage to get it Just Right. There’s something almost magical about it. It’s like solving an jigsaw puzzle with an almost infinite choice of pieces that you have to discard most of, and then put the rest together to make a picture that you’ve never seen before. And this is about a subject that I love, so that part of it makes it fun…eventually. I’ve had tougher assignments, including writing the valedictory speech for a prison inmate (seriously, yes I’ll tell that story another day), so this is nothing compared to that.

So I woke up the next morning, I shuffled around the ideas in the direction that my sleeping subconscious suggested to me, and I finally got the devotional finished.

How well did I do? You judge for yourself.

Today’s devotional is inspired by Matthew 18:19-20. Let me start by reading Matthew 18:19. “Again, truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven.” This is the passage that is always used in reference to prayer, where the prayers of many are multiplied. We certainly saw an example of that last week with the food we got from the postal carriers’ food drive. Many people said small prayers, and food pantries across the city received an incredible amount of food to feed those in need. But I want to take a different look on what prayer is. Prayers can be our actions and they can be the best way to communicate with those who don’t speak our language.

To be clear, I’m not referring to those who don’t speak English.

I’m also not referring to those who don’t speak Spanish.

I’m talking about those who don’t understand the language of Christianity, the love language of Jesus and His followers. There are people out there who just have no idea what we mean when we talk about Jesus, no idea what His unconditional love is like. For them, Christianity is a bunch of phrases with no real meaning because they Just Don’t Know what our message truly means. Those of you who have studied other languages know what the process is like in those initial learning stages. You catch a little bit here, you grasp a few slivers of meaning over there. Slowly you start to piece together what others are saying, you start to more fully comprehend the meanings and messages of what they are expressing. I’ve heard it said more than once that the best way to truly learn a language, to really be totally fluent, you have to be immersed yourself in that culture. Learning about Christianity can be the same way.

Studies show that when two people communicate, 60-90% of their communication is non-verbal, and I believe that this is all part of God’s Plan for us. After the Tower of Babel, we lost one way to get through to those who are different from us, but God’s Wisdom left us many more ways. All we have to do is do as Jesus would do and learn how to share that Ultimate love language. The actions we take, the things we do speak greater volumes than the words we speak. It’s not the words of love we say, it’s the love we show. It’s not about the passages we can point at in our Bibles, it’s about the unselfish acts of generosity and compassion that can be pointed out in our lives.

 

I pray that every day, especially when I am here at Living Waters, that somehow, someway I can help others learn more about a love that is like none other. Let me finish with my thoughts on Matthew 18:20. “ For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” We all work together to touch the people who walk in here, we’ve already seen our efforts multiply just as He has promised. Let our actions be the kind of prayers that can speak most directly to their hearts. May what we do here, as a group of believers, show them that God is with us in this place.  Whether I get to hand them their food for the week, or if I speak directly to someone and let them share some part of their life with me, or even if I have no direct contact beyond a smile but I’ve helped the process of what we do run smoother, I pray that my actions help to bring them closer to understanding God’s Love.

P.S. Yes, in this post, I exaggerated in an silly, over the top kind of way just because I thought it sounded cute and kind of funny and I apologize for being so absurd.

I would never “Bing”.

Coming Soon: a memoir from my youth – D&D, Dandruff, and Dorkiness: My Secrets to Being a Teenager Without a Date

Oddly, no one there was dressed as an police officer

Warning: Following the life example in this posting can cause a variety of ailments, from dandruff and ingrown toenails to both premature and immature senility. Read only under a doctor’s supervision.

Ok so after having that heart attack which led the doctor to implant a stent somewhere in my amazingly manly chest, I laid in that hospital bed and made many vows to myself. I swore I would exercise more. I swore I would eat healthier. I vowed that I would do many things to transform me into a different person, rebuilding my life and my body, replacing the old me with a leaner, meaner Charlie machine. Goodbye, cardiac victim; hello, paragon of humanity. Farewell, aging chunky funky dude; greetings, male model with superhero-esque capabilities.

And then I woke up.

More to the point, I went back to the real world. And in that place waiting for me were my old habits. Sure, I was a little better about things. My portions were slightly smaller, I used steps instead of elevators…occasionally. Looking back, all I was doing was taking a longer way around back to the cardiac ward instead of the shortcut I was on before. I didn’t think of it that way then.  Denial and self-delusion was my favorite comfort foods.

So what changed me? I hate to admit what the initial trigger was, but…well, brace yourself.

At first, it was about money.

If you know me, you know I am not really driven by money.The wifetastic one will tell that I don’t care what things cost if they are a good value, There’s only one monetary thing that makes me go cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and that’s when money is wasted.

Guess whose family really, really, really wanted a Y membership?

Guess who decided there was no way in the world that he was going to give that kind of money to a place with a free pool, a weight room, and most importantly to this toddler chasing fifty year old, daily access to two hours of their Kids Zone(aka “someone else trying to lasso that 3 year old varmint”)and NOT use it?

I could babble out a long list of reasons that going there regularly is a good thing, but there’s one exceptionally great reason to be there: my wife. SInce the very first time we walked in the door with our brand new sweats, she is feeling stronger, healthier and happier. She doesn’t get winded so easy, she can walk around a grocery store without wishing they had an oxygen tank at the exit. Most of all, she finally has something in her wellness portfolio that she never had before. She has hope She knows that she can lose weight and with enough work she can live a longer, healthier life. She is starting to believe in herself like never before. I feel that maybe, just maybe she can be a success story that might just inspire others.

I wouldn’t bet against her.

Coming Soon:  a study on cures for insomnia called Warm Milk, Calculus Textbooks and C-SPAN

And It’s A 4 Letter Word, Too!

Warning: This blog is extremely dusty from long term lack of use, so protect your lungs while reading it by wearing some kind of breathing device (HEPA filters are preferred).

Ok here I am, playing hooky from church. I feel like such a wimp for staying home. Really, what kind of guy stays home when he has pink eye, bronchitis, and two ear infections? A smart guy? Ok so why am I home then? Oh that’s right, I have a wife who is a lot smarter than me, so that explains a lot.

Ahhh, this feels good. I’ve missed flailing away at the keyboard. I could come up with lots o’ excuses as to why I haven’t been writing. I could try to sound realistic and claim that I have been a combination of too weak and too busy. I could craft a story wherein I was kept away from my keyboard for national security purposes, . As likely as a second career as a international super-spy is for me, there’s only one reason I haven’t been writing more.

You see, I came down with a debilitating condition. It saps a person’s energy and leaves them unable to focus. Some of the symptoms include shortness of breath, shaking, and tightness in the chest. In extreme cases, it can lead to death.

What “disease” did I come down with? I’ve been suffering with a case of “fear”.

I’m not talking about those more obvious fears like acrophobia (fear of heights),  agoraphobia (fear of open spaces), or even that incredibly widespread omphalophobia (fear of belly buttons). What I am speaking of is a subtle set of fears that sneak into the corners of your mind. These fears can slowly eat away at the kind of life you want to build for yourself.

“I’m afraid that if I don’t do it, it won’t get done!”
“I’m afraid that I’ll never be good enough!”
“I’m afraid that what I write won’t be good enough!” (yes this one always hits me hard)
“I’m afraid that people won’t like me for who I am!”
“I’m afraid that I really don’t deserve to be loved!”

I’ve suffered (literally) from each of these thoughts at different times. No, not in a paralyzing obvious way. For me, my fears are much more insidious, They are like a small chisel, chipping away at the foundations of the person I want to be. Think these thoughts once or twice, no real damage occurs. Think them repeatedly over a lifetime without taking time to fix the damage, and the results that occur are obvious and predictable…and sad.

So what’s the cure for this condition? Well, I don’t want to get too preachy here (not enough energy or time to do it justice) but to me,I use the opposite of fear. No, not “courage”. To me, fear’s opposite is “faith”. Whether it be in a church (my preferred way), a synagogue, the pages of a self-help book, or even in a good hard look in the mirror of life,  there are ways to find truths that can help a person heal from the scars that lies can leave on our souls.

Believe in yourself, don’t believe the lies that fear tries to feed you.

[Good advice, Charlie, you going to take it? You are? Ok then, prove it in the most obvious way you can. Write more, even if it isn’t “perfect”, I’m sure it will be good enough…and more importantly, it will be good for you.]

Coming Soon: Tuesday nights on Food Network – Iron Chef, Bachelor’s Edition (first episode – Battle: Last Night’s Cold Pizza)

Yes. Yes he is.

Warning: this post will be discussing both politics and religion. Charlie is aware that he is going to offend some people out there. He really doesn’t care. He is also aware that some people will ask if he is crazy.

For those who have been following my blog, I apologize for my time off. My lack of writing is not so much about the heart attack I had. What it has to do with is the reaction to taking about 343 pills every day. Ok, honestly, it’s 17 pills for 11 different prescriptions, but it truly feels like triple digits.(“Ok, so I take the blue pills for blood pressure, the red pills for blood sugar. What do I take the green pills for? To remind me to take the orange pills!”)

For anyone who has never read anything I’ve written before, please know that I am rarely totally serious but I do tend to be honest. I write from the heart with a certain amount of freshly brewed whimsy and sarcasm. If you want to know more about what goes on in my head, check out Part Uno, Dos, and Tres wherein I tell some details about my little hospital visit. (If you like it, tell your friends. If you don’t like it, still tell your friends, I’d like the exposure.)

Yes, this post is about politics as I promised the last time I wrote something here. I’ve been juggling different versions of what exactly I wanted to say here for a very long time. I considered being totally serious, filling this post with link after link supporting my opinion. I was going to do two simultaneous posts, each of them attacking a different party. I even thought about bringing back Interviewer Guy. I was going to have him ask me questions about my Robo-Candidate, created in my Blogotorium Laboratory.

When it comes down to it, I don’t have the energy. I am sick and I am tired. I am sick and tired and that’s the core of my political opinion. You might ask what I am sick and tired of exactly. (You might not ask me any of this, because by now you might be on another page checking out a video of a dancing cat, but I digress.)

I am sick of a lot of things in the process, but you can sum up most of what I hate in three words.

Ego, lies, ignorance.

When I see a politician talking, all I hear is “I’m smarter than the people I am talking to, so they will buy what I am saying. They will buy it so much that they won’t do any research to find out about my deceit.”

Side A lies, side B lies. Too many voters say “well, if someone that belongs to my favorite party say something it just Has to be true!”. The same people say “well, everything that my least favorite party does is evil and wrong!!”

It just makes me sad. There is just so much animosity.

“I hate that guy, he is nothing but a socialist!”
“I hate that guy, he is nothing but a fascist!”

No. Not really. It’s easy to paint the other side as capital-E E-v-i-l, but it’s just not true. Neither side sits around their lair in the middle of a volcano planning world domination. There are no twirling mustaches, no death traps for the heroes, no sharks with laser beams. I think both sides are too much about winning instead of actually serving the people, but that’s not evil, it’s just stupid and misguided.

There is one other major gripe I have about politics as they exist in America today. Ok let’s get out the white board.

There are basically two sides right now.

Conservative Republican          Liberal Democrat

So let me describe two different people here. First let me talk about my father. Back to the white board.

Conservative Republican          Liberal Democrat

Raised in poverty(Depression)

Strong Christian beliefs

Now let’s talk about a friend of mine.

Conservative Republican            Liberal Democrat

Raised in poverty(Depression)   Raised in time of prosperity, had it relatively easy

Strong Christian beliefs               Atheist, hates God

Ok, so do you know who you would vote for? I do. When you look at what I have here, you can s… oops. I made a mistake. I got the right-wing and left-wing backwards. Let me fix it.

Liberal Democrat                       Conservative Republican

Raised in poverty(Depression)   Raised in time of prosperity, had it relatively easy

Strong Christian beliefs               Atheist, hates God

Yes, my Christian father who was very well educated was a liberal. Yes, I know an atheist conservative. I know several. Unfortunately, too many people think and claim that because they vote for a particular party that they are being more “Godly”. I go to a fantastic church, but I have sat quietly when people have insulted “those liberals”. In short, they insulted all Christians who have a different political bent. These insults come out of ego and willful ignorance. I’m not a confrontational person, but sometimes I wish I was.

It just makes me sad when Christians focus on being something else besides Christian.

More levity next post, I promise!

Coming Soon: a preview to a movie about superheroes who have sex changes – Ex-men X-Men!

My Guess Was That He Just Can’t Shut Up

Warning: This post is all about a trip inside my mind, so please wear your seat belts at all times. In case of a water landing, your seats can be used as a flotation device.

So here I am, a blank page in front of me. I still don’t have all my physical strength back (I believe in order to be classified as a healthy food, the government requires to contain a certain percentage of kryptonite), and I’m more than a little wiped out mentally. Thank God for the spiritual rechargings I’ve been receiving.

So the question I have to ask my self is why do I write? Why am I considering putting forth the effort to bleed out some of myself on this page? And yes for me, writing IS an effort. Ask my wifey, I write so very Very S-L-O-W-L-Y. Wouldn’t it more fun to lay on the couch with remote in hand?

No.

Well, maybe if the Steelers were on…

Honestly, no. I do write for the pleasure. That has to be part of it. The amazingly quotable Dorothy Parker said, “I hate writing, I love having written”. I can’t quite say that, because I do find enjoyment from the process, despite the struggle. The closest analogy I can make is to compare what I do to solving a jigsaw puzzle. The framework of an idea or topic is the picture on the outside of the box and the words are the puzzle pieces. The difficulty is not so much the fact that sometimes I only have a fuzzy out-of-focus snapshot as my framework to get started. It’s those words. Those amazing words with all their nuanced meanings, the ways they sound, the way they look on the page, the feel of them in my mind as I ease them into place. I juggle them between sentences. I’ll change almost every over word in a whole sentence so I can use the perfect word that’s aching to get out of my head onto the page. I shift, slide, take out, put back in, do whatever it takes to get those puzzle pieces to fit Just Right.

Yes, I have OCD tendencies, why do you ask?

But this whole need to write is more than that. I learned to read at a crazy early age. Naturally the go-to choice for a Charlie gift was a book. I had no issue with that. I loved reading everything. Marvel and DC comics, Bradbury short stories; old poetry books; Asimovian science fiction novels; the Bible itself; mystery novels featuring a variety of heroes from Encyclopedia Brown to Travis McGee, from Hardy Boys to Sherlock Holmes, books that featured Try This With Your Parents’ Permission science experiments; etc, etc, muy etc.

I was voracious. I dug into the stories and ate them all up. I began to recognize that there was multi-layered magic on those pages. Sentences could paint tapestries of emotions. Heroes would be heroic, villains would be evil, and both could excite the imagination. Plots would twist and turn and surprise and excite and and and….

When it comes down to it, I write because I love it. I write because I love what happens when that empty page is filled with magic. Words, raw emotions, ideas, plot structures, all dancing together with the power to transport the reader to a special place.

I know most of my writing here has been primarily about me and my life. Consider it as if I am doing my mental warm-up exercises. This blog will always continue to be a lighter look at life, even when I deal with more serious subjects. (Next up: politics. That’s right, I’m going there). I do have another poetry blog in the on-deck circle that I will be starting soon. It won’t be as light in tone and I probably won’t promote it as much. I just have that need to do a workout with those writing muscles that I don’t get to use here.

I want to thank everyone who has been so incredibly supportive of my writing. It means a lot. As I told a friend recently, I write primarily for myself, so any sliver of positive response I get is always semi-surprising to me. That’s all for now, so good night all and I wish you all w…

Oops I almost forgot!

Coming Soon – a historical documentary, The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire and Its Effect on Vending Machines

Part 3: Playing Darts with Hypodermic Needles Might Work, Too

Warning: This is Part 3 in a series. As everyone knows, sequels are usually pretty lousy, so this post is probably not worth reading.  

So I get the news of 90% blockage in the main artery of my heart, and my reaction is underwhelming. Remember, this all started with some minor pains and shortness of breath. The whole “cardiac event” was over and done within a minute. By the time the EMTs showed up, I was sure they had been called for nothing. Sure, I was experiencing some residual shortness of breath. Sure, my chest still felt tender and achy from what occurred. Yes, my blood pressure was so high that when they measured it, the first meter actually read “Continued on next meter”. Who cares about symptoms? They were nothing compared to the power of what I had at my disposal. I had MANLY DENIAL! With access to Manly Denial in my Charlie Utility Belt, I can disregard any condition this side of quadruple amputations! (Except for paper cuts, those are so owwwy!!) Despite the massive quantity of MD at my disposal, it was totally trumped by an even larger amount of CS (Common Sense). Even after a night in the hospital, all my self-talk was geared towards minimizing the potential dangers of the situation. None of this seemed life-threatening at all.

Valerie gives me the 90% news and then she uses a term which I have juggled around in my head since she said it. She says the artery that was blocked is often called the “Widowmaker“.

I don’t like that term. I don’t like what it implies. I like least of all what could have been.

Funny how unanswered prayers are sometimes the best prayers of all. I had been praying for “health” or “healthiness” or being filled with “healthticity”, whatever would be best for me. However, a sliver of time of sickness and discomfort was better for me than any ultimately transitory “healthy” feelings.

Eventually it was explained to me what I’d have to do for the rest of my hospital visit. I’d have to get as much bedrest as I could, and I wasn’t going anywhere until my blood pressure was down to regular human levels. (The different levels are Low, Regular, High, Very High,Oh Wow That’s High, So High I’m Going To Make Sure This Meter Isn’t Broken. When I was first admitted, mine was above that, as in “I have 3:15 on the hospital pool as to when you’ll have your stroke, and I hope you’ll last that long”.) My BP was still at the Very High level even after the procedure, so they were going to try a varying cocktail of medicines until they found a combination that would work. I didn’t care a lot what exactly they were giving me, so I would just swallow whatever they handed me. (“What is it this time? Carvedilol, lasix, MSG, DDT, 3 eyes of newt with a side of fries? Ok works for me”.)

There are one type of meds that I grew not to like. To make sure I didn’t build up any fluids in my system, they kept giving me diuretics. Well, that was their excuse. To give a man trapped in his bed a ton of pills designed to make him urinate excessively is cruel and unusual punishment. Some might argue I got what I deserved for the barrage of surreal humor I subjected them to. We’ll let the lawyers decide. There was one positive from this particular torture. I got very good at using my hand-held urinal. By the end, I was like an expert gunslinger, my hands reaching without looking, my arms going through their well-practiced motions faster than the eye could follow. I was going to start practicing spinning them on my fingers, but thought that would be a little showy.

I did get some surprising visitors. One of the ex-baristas from my favorite coffee shop came by. She’s now a nurse…yeah, I don’t see how that works either. I googled it to see which barista school offers classes that help someone get that kind of degree, but couldn’t find a thing. Sam (see Part 1), my brother in Christianity and Caffeination, stopped by and we shared stories. Ok, he’s got the cool stories, I just know how to laugh in the right places as I sit there being impressed by his awesomeness. Susan, the administrator who we work with at the food bank, and her son stopped by. She shared her typical level of southern belle graciousness, and he prayed a simple, yet from the heart, prayer. We got a visit from Richard, our church’s music pastor. He came by at a point of my maximum exhaustion so he was spared much of the humor/tension relief I had been spewing. One very surprising guest was H.O., a friend from our church who had been through his own heart issues in that very same hospital. To sum it up, he had the same kind of stent that I do now, but they threw his away…after replacing his whole heart. Valerie swore to put him on speed dial for any heart-related questions. Just knowing that someone can survive all that he went through gives me hope for the minor issue I had.

Eventually, it was getting late on the Monday after the procedure. My BP finally seemed low enough, but I had to wait for the doctor to come by and give the official word. Valerie had to get home and she knew I was bored. I kidded with her about finding a way to make them let me out quicker. She challenged me to write a list. Well, I do love a challenge, so …

“

Top Ten Ways to Hurry Up Your Release From The Hospital

10. Go from room to room, asking people to trade gowns.
9. Set up a toll booth at the door to the elevator.
8. Just before it’s time for your pain medication, take some baby powder and apply it to your upper lip. “No thanks nurse lady, I’ve got my own stash!” (The more wide-eyed the look and the less blinking you do, the better)

7. IV lines, double-dutching. Works every time.
6. Get a black sheet, wear it over your head like the grim reaper, look into each room on the cardiac ward murmuring “…not yet…”
5. Cover your hair, upper lip, and chin with antiseptic foam. Complete the Santa Claus imitation by yelling at the nurses “elves, bring me a reindeer burger!!”
4. Get a big container of lemonade mix. Use it and some water to fill the handheld urinal jug to overflowing every three minutes.
3. Wearing an untied backless gown, repeatedly dance back and forth in front of the nurses’ station, doing your best “moon”walk.
2. Hotwire the electric wheelchairs, add truck horns.

I got to this level, and I was wrestling around what to add next (It was either Darts with Hypodermics, pulling out all the patients charts and slipping in Chuck E Cheese menus, or grabbing the intercom and calling out things like “Paging Dr. Demento. Dr Seuss to Pediatrics. Dr Doom, you are needed in X-Ray”) when the on-call doc came in and said I could go home.

So I typed in

1. Do what i’ve been doing, annoy them by asking repeatedly…and it finally worked!

So kids, what have we learned from this adventure? What is the moral of this story? One might think that we should always remember to take our health very seriously because every day is precious. Or maybe that regular checkups and preventative measures are very important. Maybe even that having top-notch medical people (even the IV nurse) who are there to help can really make a difference because the place I went to certainly had a ton of those. The two lessons that I will take from this?

1. I have learned that there is nothing so serious that it can’t be nervously deflected through humor and sarcasm.
2. Make sure that you take care of yourself to the best of your ability, because it’s better to endure those efforts than to have to endure seeing fear and pain in the eyes of those who love you.

Coming Soon: an NFL special – Referees and their Favorite Breeds of Seeing Eye Dogs 

Part 2: Of all the possible dramatic reactions, that wasn’t one of them.

Warning: This is yet another installment of the story of my hospital visit. Any blood and gore you see while reading this blog is totally a product of your own imagination. But if you do see anything that makes you feel faint, please lie down and elevate your feet.

Ok so where was I? Oh yes, I was letting you know about the lighter side of my hospital visit. Let’s see, I let you know about the ambulance ride, the ways I amused myself as they were asking me admission questions, the abuse that the IV nurse inflicted on me… Oh, did I mention what I did when I was being wheeled from the ER to my room? Did it come up that I acted like I was leading a conga line of medical people and visitors? Complete with singing and dancing arm motions? No? Hmmm, that’s weird I didn’t mention it earlier. Maybe I held back because of my shy and backward nature.

Anyway, I attempted to get comfy in my bed when my wifetastic spouse, her best friend, and I were visited by a couple friends of ours, Brad and Rhonda. Brad is the pastor who married Valerie and I, Rhonda is a dear friend of my Wifey, we’ve been to their house for dinner, etc. Do we know them? Yes, we’ve met. Brad gave us some good information about the medical side of what was going on. Since he had some major heart issues last year, he is definitely someone who knows more than most in this area. He also gave us some great prayer support. Since he does that whole pastor thing, he is definitely someone who knows more than most in this area. He also promised to get me some really good coffee once I was cleared to have some. Since he and I have enjoyed many incredible cups o’ java at our favorite coffee shop, he is defin…oh you know where I’m going with that. (Ooh, I hate being so obvious!)

Eventually everyone but Valerie left. For the next few hours, I had a series of nurses come to do what they needed to do. “We need some blood…now time to take your blood pressure… let’s check your sugar… “. This went on repeatedly for the next few hours in a mind-numbing cycle of boredom. On almost every visit, they kept referring to the stress test that I was eventually going to have to undergo. I couldn’t help thinking that this whole experience was a multi-hour “stress test” of sorts.

At least I had some fine cuisine to dine upon. The Cordon Bleu master chefs in the kitchen presented me with a magical feast for the ages. I can hear them discussing my diet now. “Sacre Bleu [or some other cliched French exclamation]! Zee gentleman in Room 333 has zee following restrictions: no sugair, low so-dee-yum, clear liqueeds. Queekly, sous chefs, whip heem up some sugair-free gelatin, while I work on hees soup. Le soup must be without both so-dee-yum and flavair, so we must combine our best tap watair with a subtle blend of our finest brown food colairs.”

[translation available upon request]

Late that afternoon, the routine finally changed. Due to some enzymes that were detected during the blood tests, they decided to skip the stress test. Also, I honestly think that I had made them laugh enough so they didn’t need the extra humor of watching me on a treadmill. (YouTube’s loss, my gain.) Instead of doing the test, I got the privilege of undergoing a catheterization. At 8AM, I would get wheeled down to an operating room where I would get to lay uncomfortably while they ran a tube from a cut in a leg all the way to the inside of my heart. All I had to do to qualify for such a special offer is to stop eating or drinking after midnight. Despite the incredible culinary sacrifice, I agreed to the procedure.

Sleep time came around and my mind was more than willing to cooperate. However, my lower back considered all the variables (stress of the situation, uncomfortable bed, sleeping alone for the first in years, strange medicinal sounds and scents, etc) and made the decision to wake me up at odd intervals throughout the night.

Insanely-early o’clock rolls around, a nurse comes around with a saline bag, she attaches the bag to the IV line in my hand (using a ball peen hammer to tap it into place, anything less would be too subtle), and the waiting game starts again. Some more testing took place, and more than once, I was told that if they had to put a stent into my heart that I wouldn’t come back to that room. Instead I would be taken to their Cardiac Care Unit where they could observe me more closely. I’m sure I said something incredibly funny each time i got the news, but it was too early and I was too tired for any of it to be properly filed into any of my long-term memory banks. Just assume that whatever it was, was Comedy Gold, ok? Thanks. Eventually, a guy comes by with a wheelchair that’s a perfect fit and my wife comes in just as I’m getting comfy in it. As she is a-walkin’ and I am a-rollin’ down the hall, just as we come to her waiting room area, we see Phil and Shirley, two more special friends who are part of our church family. Here I am in front of them, feeling naked and a little chilled under my gown, no shower, no shave, bleary eyed from minimal sleep. I suppose that God decided to see to what degree my Embarrassment Meter would go off. [Final verdict: the needle never moved.]

As the male nurse and I enter the operating room, and I’m humming the Six Million Dollar Man theme song (google it if you must), he asks me if I know what’s going to go on here. “Of course. As soon as everyone gets ready, you make a call to the RotoRooter guy. He backs up the truck between my legs, attaches an artery-sized bit to the end of a garden hose, and drills until he hits the heart bone. What?” Since he hadn’t read my chart yet to see just how deeply committed I am to the art of sarcasm, the laugh was nervous. They asked me to lay on a two foot wide table in a half-naked state. If you thought I was good at being funny, someone in that room said one word that trumps every nugget of humor that I’ve ever uttered. That one word: “Comfortable?” The inherent absurdity of that question left me knowing I was in the presence of a Comedy Genius that I had no chance of keeping up with. I decided to quietly ask for something to relieve the pain in my lower back. They gave me some ibuprofen, and as soon as the pain subsided, I fell asleep. I was so deep into my sleep that not only didn’t I wake up during the procedure and my leg was being sliced into. I didn’t move when the hose was going up inside of me. I didn’t stir at all when the beeping started as the truck was being backed up. I stayed asleep when being moved from the OR bed onto a gurney and rolled down the hallway. I did barely wake up when I was nudged….ok, shoved from the gurney into a new bed in an unfamiliar room. The shock of being in new surroundings kept me awake for at least three, maybe five seconds. ( That’s me, always combat-ready, like a ninja.)

When I did start to wake up, Valerie was there waiting for me. It didn’t take long for her to get to the “heart” of the matter(pun unavoidable). She said to me that they had to place a stent in my heart. I replied that I figured that out since I was in a different room. She took a breath and told me that they had to do that since they found blockage in the main artery of the heart. In fact there was 90% blockage there and that the doctor said I was very lucky.

My reply: “…oh wow…”

Part 3 is on the way asap.

Coming Soon: A look into the love life of a typical house painter – Fifty Shades of Off White

Part 1: Ok, playing Doctor as a kid was a lot more fun than this

Warning: I just had a heart attack so if you read this post, you might catch some of my cardiac cooties. Read at your own risk.

So what’s new with all of you?

Let’s get the obligatory questions out of the way. Yes, I’m fine, just had a little chest pain so my workplace felt the need to call paramedics, the paramedics were headed back to the hospital anyway and they asked me if I wanted to ride along with them. Well, I wasn’t having fun at work and I’ve never ridden in a vehicle that had flashing lights and a siren (well, at least not without there being handcuffs involved, but that’s another story). So there I go, Swype-ing away on my phone with one hand, IV in the back of the other. The Today Show is on the TV (Al Roker still looks way too thin to me), my headache starts screaming at me (next time, instead of giving me some nitroglycerin pills, they can save some money and simply take five minutes hitting me in the head with a hammer), and I go through a series of the same questions repeated ad nauseum (“My birth date was in nineteen sixty two, November eleventh. No I have no more chest pain any more… My birth date is 11-11-62. Yes the chest pain went away… November 11th, 1962. That is right, my chest no longer hurts, but if it would make you feel better, I could punch myself right here a few times…”). Once they finish taking a ton of basic information and they find me a gown from their Maximum Embarrassment fashion line, I lay back on the ER room micro-bed and wait. And wait. And wait. Did I mention I spent some time waiting?

Of course, with so much going on around me, one might think that I just let these medical professionals do their work without a word from me. Yes, one would think that if one didn’t know me.

Security Guy at work: “Are you comfortable?”
Me: “I make a decent living.”

Nurse, filling out an admissions form: “Name”
Me: “Charles Boyd”
Nurse: “Address”
Me: “313 N Brunswick”
Nurse: “Phone”
Me: “Samsung Galaxy S from T-Mobile”

IV Nurse, after getting needle into my hand: “Did that hurt?”
Me: “Only in a painful way.”
IV Nurse: “Sorry”
Me: “It’s ok. Two questions though. Why did you use such a rusty bayonet and did you really need to take a running start?”

Me: “I don’t like this color of gown. It doesn’t match my eyes. Could you find me something with vertical stripes, I prefer something a little more slimming, hmmm?”

My favorite moment was after I was wheeled into my room. My wife, her best friend, and Sam (my favorite writer/barista/blogger-who-has-not-just-one-but-two-or-more-real-blogs/great guy) showed up to check up on me. The nurse who was assigned to my room (I think her name was Job, or at least, that’s what the other nurses nicknamed her after dealing with me for a while) started asking me a series of very personal medical questions. To be fair, she did make sure I was ok with having others in the room while I went through this medical interrogation. Since I have neither shame nor inhibitions, I told her she could proceed. She asked me about how much drinking I do(none), How much smoking I do(none), how healthy my eating habits were(did I mention I don’t smoke or drink?). She did want to know how many cups of coffee I have in a day. I smirked and said “depends”. She asked “Well, on a good day?” I answered”On a good day, about 8 cups.” Her reply: “And on a bad day?” Me: “Only 1 or 2.” (That confused her just enough for my amusement, but yes I’m doing that digressing thing again…)

Anyway, near the end of this series of increasingly potentially embarrassing questions, she tilted her head forward, looked directly at me with a smirk in her eyes, and said “Any STDs?”. I gave a little self-giggle and said “No”. She turned her head, looked at the other three in the room and asked them with a perfect playful tone “Is that true?” We all broke out into laughter. I chuckled my way through asking her “Ok, I understand looking at my wife with the question, but why ask the other two, especially him?” Sam explained “Hey I just serve the coffee, that’s all.”

Maybe you had to be there, but I hope not.

More about my wacky hospital visit with my next post.

Coming Soon: A new reality show – Disco Veterinarians and the ShihTzus Who Love Them