Sunday, July 31, 2011

Beth Re-animated

Tip for the day: Black pee is bad.

To check my health today (like the weather), click HERE

A trip to the doctors and my pain meds are now almost double what they were three weeks ago, plus a referral for catheters. You may be wondering what death with dignity has to do with indwelling catheters when you are too weak to be able to transfer to get to the toilet. Not much.

I spin like the flower, slowly wind-stripped of petals, far, far below what I imagined and was informed the minimum of life would be. Even reading how patients with autonomic failure die only gave head knowledge, not ‘heart’ or gut-knowledge. First it was leaning that something like that could happen, suffocating to death, then it mentally understanding it was possible, then realizing exactly how it would unfold, as the individual parts already had, just had not all come together. Finally, with the diaphragm failing, and communication limited to half a word spoken in a pressure-less exhale, dying like that becomes one of the things to work against, to ward against.

Last night, after a tense influx of breath, forgotten, left me seeing spots and the feeling of drowning deep down in the black water, I reminded myself again, “Do not hold breath….as you are too weak to regain the oxygen, or the breathing.”

The heat and fatigue brought by circulation, breathing, sustaining a body brings about micro strokes. I am still prone to talk too much, though it often results in me face down (a photo book: 101 pictures of Beth face-down in interesting locations and foods).

Thank you for the encouraging messages. Less so the 'please send one last postcard now!', as I think you might have missed the point of the previous blogs from Cheryl and Linda and the Postcard Project.

Now that I am to the point where it looks like I might last the week, the complications of that crashes down upon me, in library late fees to regret at not getting a giant garage sale sorted while I still had the energy. I have over 50 postcards still to finish decorating, to write and send out. I have to try and see around the floaties in the eye from the starbursts of high blood pressure and dying capillaries, hoping the body will absorb them somehow and sight will be returned. The collection of eyeball blood bursts: ‘eye of a H junkie run out of places to shoot up’ is a bit ‘ick’. That and the worry I may be taken for a wheelchair zombie.

There is a Terry Moore ‘Brazil’ style organization surrealism as people openly talk about the days or weeks I might have. “Think I can make it until Thursday?”

“Not if you keep losing that much blood, and if the weather gets cooler.”

Reports go up and back as agencies try play ‘pass the parcel’, where Beacon, running out of workers who can get the concept that I am not 80, not bedbound, not apartment bound (all times), yet I am often more ill and more fragile than clients who are in bed 24/7. Also, in a given week, I may be in bed, asleep or just barely conscious for two to four days. Palliative organization says I am registered but not in my last three weeks (though different managers try to convince them otherwise), so no mysterious Black Van to come and collect me. Yet I am woken by EMT’s as a phone jostled by a worker sets off a ‘disconnect’ on my lifeline and being a high risk, EMT’s are sent.

In the horde of zombie fiction Rot & Ruinlurches ahead of the pack. Timely and apt this week in reading, it envisions a world of grief, where death hangs over the remaining people and culture like the Great War did. Benny ends up in ‘The Family Business’, which he enters at 15, in a world of small enclaves and the great vast land of Rot and Ruin, 300 million zom’s. His brother is a ‘closure specialist’ who, unlike the majority of bounty hunters out there is not racking up the kills for profit but finds individual for family members who want closure. Much as we try to remove the idea of death and us, people fear ‘zoms’ not just because a bite means becoming one but because it opens up a whole Pandora’s box of pain and loss in remembering the First Night, and that brothers, sisters, parents, children all remain out there, undead and unliving both.

I will try to find a posting schedule that works, twice a week, I hope, as I have a dozen posts written but for illustrations or rewrites. And I plan, if I can get some bleeding and body parts back under control, or working again, to get a bearable life, and a shareable life working too.

To finish here is an apt minute and 50 seconds, Into the Dark, illustrated by parts of the film 5 cm per second (the time it takes a cherry blossom to fall), recommend high resolution if possible.
Click HERE

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Brief update

Hi folks,

Linda here. I just wanted to give you a brief update. I arrived home last night to find a very exhausted and weak Beth. She has had an unbelievably rough time while I was away. Poor caregivers and hot days were too of the big issues. I expect it will be a slow crawl to recovery, and am not sure to what degree she'll recover.

Thanks everyone for your comments. Beth will read them as she has time and energy.

I'll keep you posted on how things are progressing. Need to get some sleep now.

Sunday, July 24, 2011


Cheryl here posting for Beth...

Beth is progressively FUBAR. She has tried to get to the computer for three days without success. If you have an encouraging/final comment, message, email. letter, package, now would be a very good time to act. As, IF, Beth manages to stabilize how much function she will regain is unknown. The wish list has medical need items such as florastor or insulated drink containers or gift certificates so supplies can be ordered. Linda will review comments on Tuesday when she returns.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Velocipedes: Penny Farthing to Salmon Haulers (Port Townsend Visit)

Canada Day to Independence Day we took a mini vacation over at Cheryl’s house, to go to Port Townsend, see a Farmer’s Market, watch the stars, light fireworks and buy American Candy. It is like the dream summer days of being a kid.

As we used so many different types of transport, or saw many (including aided by a bike shop in Port Townsend) it seemed that Velcipede was a good theme – it is a term for a human powered vehicle, usually bicycles, but started on our trip when, due to road closures, we had to take the ebay books to post, our luggage and wheel (Linda walked) down to the Black Ball Ferry. The concert in front of the Parliament was going on, and lots of kids were dancing, rolling back and forth on the grass and laughing (that whole tactile overload), and girls playing tag in the trees and rocks by the Olympic Hotel. I wanted to rest and so parked myself in the wheeled rack. This, I was told, was NOT where those on wheelchairs go. Alas.

On the way out, the water still and calm, we saw two of the big cruise ships docked, with others waiting for unloading/loading out at anchor in the land lee. The purser and captain both said they had not seen killer or grey whales this year, the first pod seen only for a moment just the week before. Usually the pods come through starting in late April, and can be see on the way to Sakura-con, but this year, they haven’t shown up. I hope that water pollutant or other human causes have not stopped the whale migration and birthing patterns.

On the other side, the Victoria-Port Angeles passenger ferry and dock were aglow in the ‘golden hour’ of sunlight.. It was the late sun of 9:30-10:00 pm which exists in summer, where light lingers in a summer twilight. We wheeled off, and I spotted and talked to the family in an original restored 1934 Jaguar. Sweet!

The next day we headed up to the Farmer’s market in Port Townsend (take the sign to Port Townsend, then the left turn as soon as you see the hill, up the hill, then a zig and zag and you are there – the market oddly has no disabled parking AND is bounded by two streets with no curb cuts at all, which means wheeling down the middle of the street before making it to the market). We parked across from the old Theatre (another one is in the lower town) from 1897 which still shows movies each day.
The market is a true ‘Farmer’s Market’with growers both in and out of town coming to sell wares from Farms, breweries and workshops. Here you can see some catnip in bloom, a rare sight, but for sale along with other flowers.
I inquired at the cabbage themed shop, selling Kimchi,wanting to know if it could be posted. They said that as it was on ice, it needed to be sent with dry ice and so the $5 Kamichi, a favorite Korean topping, would become a $30 cost. Sorry, if you want the fresh Kamichi (or other ‘kraut products) you need to come here.

I talked to a woman from North London who worked at the Embassy in Washington D.C., and we talked about what we missed from the UK, and the rhyming slang we tended to forget unless we watched BBC (‘take a slash’ I do remember as it is both visual and makes me think of men and how they piss in the snow). It seems that mobile phones are making NEW slang, as more money is made by texting (10 pence a text, a few hundred million texts per day), and in the UK, there are more phones than there are people – a mobile phone for every baby and great-grandfather. The North London Afro Caribbean influence makes ‘Cah’ (‘Cah di man wanna fly up North today’) mean, “Let’s meet up tonight (in North London)”. While the common rhyming slang is not only nouns but verbs, like the Cardiff Police were so ‘bales of cotton’ that they had to replace the head with someone from london due to deaths of minorities ‘falling down stairs’ (Bales of cotton=Rotton).

Aside over, back to the Market. There was a knife sharpener there, which made me wish I had brought my own knives as the things you have at home don’t SHARPEN them, they ‘straighten’ them so that they cut easier (for me, a knife which cuts a tomato skin clean and slices down under the weight of blade alone is my standard). Linda thought that coming over with 10 knives might make customs a wee wary.

There was fresh Baked Bread of all kinds, made in a stone oven, at the shop behind. We picked up a loaf, which had that hard crust and the lovely soft inside, with warm butter (yum). The shop has won ‘Best Cinnamon Bun of the Northwest, and is a place I plan to visit again.

As I was late, and only had 90 minutes, and I tended to talk to people and get the stories, I didn’t see all of the market, like wood stove, 10 feet tall including chimney, which had been wheeled there to make pizza’s. I was facinated by the idea of a Baja Fish Taco, as though I love my Mexican food from living in LA, I was not familiar with that. But you can see a cyclist filling up on hot sauces for their Baja Fish Taco (sorry, that just sounds wrong, shouldn’t it say WHAT fish).

Cheryl noticed the Penny Farthing, which I immediate wheeled over and started talking to the guy. He has a shop where he makes and restores many of these. Indeed much of Port Townsend (which is having a bit of a recession now, with emtpy storefronts on main street), caters to making or selling Victorian/Edwardian lamps and shades, books and arts. He affirmed that it was an original and showed me the brake (which is a metal that clamps on the top wheel). This he said is not the best thing to do with the hills of Port Townsend (he had come up one to get there and needed to go down the BIG HILL to town). He said that the brake doesn’t clamp hard enough and if it did, you would simply clamp the wheel and be thrown face first over it and down. If it is a small hill, you can back pedal, as it is a fixed axle, like those bikes of youth. OR, what is best is to have one hand on the brake, put your chest on the seat, and put one foot on the mounting bar (just above the small wheel on the frame) and the other as drag on the small wheel to slow you down. It sounds like it takes practice and is a bit of an art form.

He let me know when he was going to ride the Penny Farthing away and first he ran it, getting the bike momentum to give him time to mount, then stepped up on the mounting wheel as you can see here, with his back foot off the ground. Then, still holding on to the ‘mustache handlebars’ he kept it straight while mounting up to the saddle, and then it was both feet on the pedals and away he went.
The Penny Farthing cycle in 1870 was an technological advance on the ‘BoneShaker’ (term used for a Steam Punk Novel a few years ago) as the Boneshaker had fixed wheels and a rigid fixed axle in the FRONT wheel so the bumping was considerable. This is called a Penny Farthing (or an ‘ordinary’) because if you put an old British Penny (big wheel) and a Farthing (little wheel) next to each other, it makes the shape of this Velocipede. This ‘high cycle’ started cycling as a sport, as it was mass produced both in the UK and US for the next 20 years. The hazards for females of bustles, propriety and long skirts made this shape popular for MEN, while women used the older designed three and four wheelers (which look a lot like a modern recumbent).

Cycles are a big part of Port Angeles and we met Helen, the next door neighbor to a husband and wife Salmon fishing team. Helen had spent 15 years on the boats (and had that look you see in women on the west and east coast of Canada that do the cold water fishing) but now delivered the Salmon….on her cycle. She had a Surley elongated cycle attached to a rig holding three full chests of iced fresh salmon (200 lbs of Salmon), which she rode up the BIG hill and then down again. She rides delivery to restaurants and markets and does over 2,500 miles a year as she is six miles from town, but always hauling the salmon. She says that people wave at her and she has had no problems on the road of anyone cutting her off, since she can’t slow down quickly (I should have asked how often she has to change her brakes). I asked how she gets up the hills and she says she weaves her Surley back and forth a bit (but keeps the trailer rig steady) and stands up, but the leg power gets it done.

It was 2:00 p.m. and time for the market to close, but I had to stop by to take a picture of this moon charm/pendant and the theme that went with it (yah!) as well as pick up from Robert the last bottle of Raspberry Cider from a local brewer, Eaglemount. As you can see by the apple in front, they mostly do apple, but also pear (Robert was sold out of Pear Cider as it is his favorite so he talks it up more). It was good, and we just drank the last of it, without a vinegar aftertaste, but not the hard crispness of many B.C. ciders, more like a dessert wine.

Leaving we spotted this senior citizen who with backpack and three wheeler was ready to take on the hills. The one thing about Port Townsend is that it is a place which seems to hold many aspects of time. The barns and wooden fences behind the cyclist could hail from the 1900’s but more like the 1970’s, as he himself exudes a ‘free spirit’ of the 60’s and 70’s.

We even saw a man who was walking his dog while riding his recumbent cycle. Off they go, cyclist and dog, which was on a leash making me think that was a well trained dog, or a disaster waiting to happen.

Last time we came we took pictures of the Victorian architecture, so this time it was the 1950’s and 60’s I was interested in. This 1961 Bel Air shows the fading of paint, the scrapes, repaints, love and wear of a classic car. After we investigated the alley’s and gardens of downtown, Cheryl taking on the hill back up to the lower town,we were hot and hungry, so on to FOOD.

What better for hunger and hot than to go than to get a Malt, which is made with real Malt Machines rescued from the midwest and west coast, restored and going strong. An order gets you a full fountain glass and the steel shaker besides, full of chocolate and malt. Linda meanwhile was picking out songs, which are still 25 cents, from Love Potion #9 to Runaway. We split a burger and fries and then it was back to Port Angeles for a long nap and then a steak BBQ on Cheryl’s new gas grill.

The previous night I had gone up the hill to where it was dark and the night sky seemed to leap forward, just out of reach. The little dipper was just in front and as I lay there watching Venus, I saw a small streak then with Linda a little later a long streak of a meteor entering the atmosphere and burning up.

One thing I had never done, not as a child, a teen or an adult was to buy and set off fireworks. Now while Cheryl was a pryo, the kind which must have had her well known by the police force in town, and her becoming a law enforcement ranger with LOTS of time on her hands (and lot of other rangers with a love of things going ‘BOOM’) meant she had lots of stories. Indeed, these were stories which got worse and filled with more risk for the boom soe so much I looked to see if Cheryl had all her fingers. It was a surprise to me that she did! Linda took my $35 down and bought a bag full of fireworks and so after the BBQ, at 2 a.m. to 3 a.m. We set off snakes that whizzed and erupted in flames of green, red, orange and white as they spun around the empty street. Then we had the launchers which sent up the bursts of erupting colour and light. My first thought was ‘MY GOD! LOUD!!!!!’ But Cheryl assured me that her neighbors would, the next night, do fireworks even later. Oh, if I live another year, get me a cot and bring me out to do that again. I guess I like the boom too, good thing I did not have time on my hands with people who knew how to make 'boom', I just set fires instead (cause that's SO much more healthy!)

I couldn’t actually light the fireworks as they required throwing, and for me to light it, and then throw it instead of drop it into my clothes…..way too risky. After I asked, Cheryl did intertwine the fuses from the launcher so they sent up a bam, bam series of bursts, where one erupted in colour and light just as the last was finishing. They may not have been as impressive as the ones seen at festivals by hundreds of thousands or tens of thousands of people but in a way these were better because it was a private show: for an hour. I hope to make a short 30 second video of the best of the fireworks but I am glad that was something I did before I died.

And so the weekend came to an end, back to bed, and then packing and heading back to Black Ball to catch the Ferry. getting back home in Victoria. It was fun and I got to see a lot and take a lot of great pictures. I hope you enjoyed the show as well – I may not be able to get out much, but I try to see all I can, while I can.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Jellicoe Road, Catcher in the Rye and meta-story

I never understood the attraction to Catcher in the Rye until now. Or rather, I never understood those who related to the book. Holden’s idea is one that sticks though, the person who keeps those younger than themselves from danger.

In reading Jellicoe Roadby Malina Marchetta, a book about a girl named Taylor whose Father died on Jellicoe Road, things became clearer about both the Catcher in the Rye and myself.
Jellicoe Road is a mish-mash, almost a dream state book until a quarter of the way in when it finally becomes clear that Taylor is a girl, and is at a boarding school, and belongs to a ‘House’ where 50 girls stay. And now that summer has come the war of the school versus the townies versus the Cadets (who come to camp in the woods) begins. Taylor has been chosen leader, both of her house and the school. She does not understand it, as her mother left her at a 7/11 one day ten years before. Indeed, she has no adult interaction except for Hannah, who has disappeared. Taylor ran away five years ago to find her mother, teaming up with a Cadet, Jonah, only to have him call the school when she was only a few kilometers from her mother. Jonah is now in charge of the Cadets and the summer war is on, but also in the background are romances, the history of Hannah, the Brigadier (who brought her home before), legends of a dead Cadet, and a long term serial kidnapper and killer who randomly had struck in the towns around where she lives over the past several years.

After wading through all this, the odd and inherited rules of pre-adult state appears: those traditions followed without understanding and the questioning of what these rules are about. Taylor, as head of House learns that she is, want it or not, the ‘adult’ the other girls look to, even the arsonists that the state dumps on them (boarding school with some juvie offenders in it). With a dead father, and pointed out as the girl who a local hermit whispered something to before blowing out his brains, Taylor wants to be just alone, but she starts to understand that her actions can bring calm or agitation and fear. And it is that fear and uncertainty which she has herself known, growing up with a junkie mother.

There is much to recommend Jellicoe Road, from the use of all the senses, when she stays overnight at a friend’s whose mother has her wear an old fashioned nightie with starch and bows. She wears it because it smells like comfort, like a mother should smell. Off to find her mother again she meets Sam, whose mother watched the kids when her mother ‘worked’ (the streets). Why is Sam so mad, and what has this to do with the memory she told her friend Raf long ago, the one that Raf won’t tell her back. Raf says there are some memories that shouldn’t be kept. And Jonah, who is helping her find her mother grows more and more appalled at this woman, as they follow the trail of her self destruction. Taylor sums it up simply by turning to him surprised and saying, “I said I wanted to find her, I didn’t say I loved her.”

So, watching the 7th year girls and younger, the 8 year old to 13 year olds singing and gossiping, she wants to give the security and stability that she never had. She knows where the emotional cliffs are because she has fallen down them, or been thrown down them many times. And so she, like so many empathetic individuals whose lives have ‘fucked up’ written across them in bold letters, stands guard so that others will not know the solitude and ache she has inside. The other girls have family but more than that, they know that someone cares about them, and cares every minute of every day. Taylor learns more than to ‘fake it’ but to be part of that circle of stability in their lives. To simply 'be there' in all time, the one for whom it can be said, "I knew you would come for me."
And while I did not have a summer like Taylor, not since the age of 8 or 9, due to a childhood lost, having more in common with homeless and settlers who scrounge for living, than I did with any classmate, I understood the importance of what I didn’t have. I wanted to be there for others, to be the one who wrapped them in love and caring even when they did not love themselves.
For me, in a state of post exercise from the Y, I am recovering, watching the anime, Heroic Age: The Complete Series. It is a space opera, but based on the 12 labors of Hercules, as well as other aspects of the Greek Gods, demi-god and men. Plus there is ideals of Buddhism, mixed in with Shinto and historical Japanese ideas. It also includes the debates of the 17th/18th century rationalists. But it comes together, thanks to some in depth research on the meta-story, as Jung would describe it, and good writing. Much as the joy at finding Hamlet in Season 1 of Sons of Anarchy, I was happy to watch this intellectually engaging meta-story. The Heroic Age is set in space where Humans, losing a universe wide war which they only were aware of once earth was invaded and locked away from them for now over 120 years.

It was a much appreciate birthday present, as I often, like today, only have the range of my oxygen cord to move. It was to me what I wanted the Postcard and gift projects to be to others, the tangible expression of the idea: “You matter, how you feel matters, I care about you and please, don’t give up.” I think that desire to have someone there to wrap the arms around you and say they will always love you is universal....even convicts love their mother and vice versa.

Some times, some days, I just need to rest and be cared for. The pain is high, the body is weak, and what can be endured has been beyond limits. I live while most at this stage have died; I go out, while the experience of carers and families is that this is a time lived out of my bed. I fight, I hold, but some days, I have to be carried. I am not phsycially stronger than those who die, I just seem to want 'it’ more.

Perhaps that is why I identify with Taylor, who moves with purpose. I have not the energy to chase a dream and let it slip away as Holden does. Whether the dreams are folly or not, I pursue them with singular intent. I am lonely in a way that will likely never be full. But that doesn't stop me from trying. I send emails, postcards, gifts, blog posts and I keep postcards, and polished rocks, mementos and gifts all littered from bed to bathroom to study. For they, like the ripples of the wind upon the water are the proof that I am not alone.

Saturday, July 09, 2011

Is Elizabeth Dead Yet?

Am I alive? Well no, or not really fully alive, since I’m marked as Palliative but not 'the last three weeks' Pallative, or so they are guessing, based on not knowing the disease. That means I don't have to move into the hospice.

I had to drag myself out of the bed yesterday as the worker wouldn’t come, not to calls or bell ringing. I could hear her on the phone. She had ignored everything on the note, and when I asked her phone Beacon, the care agency for me, she said, no, and “you don’t take that tone with me. Once you change your attitude..”

I pulled myself off the floor using the kitchen jam. “Do NOT blackmail someone in their own home. Just now you were on the phone with Beacon….call them again!” and I fell to the floor.

“Move away, you're blocking the door.”

“I can’t” I told her between breaths, “I’m on the floor, assist or call Beacon.”

She tried our phone, then started slamming it against the counter “JESUS CHRIST! …ohhh" the worker growled, "that she would say that to me….then blocks…..ahhh!” (she didn’t know how to turn off the phone so this actually ended up on Linda’s messages.

She got Beacon and told them I had threatened her and then put all the locks on the door (it was still unlocked). I was still curled by the door in panties as I hadn’t had care to dress, food or drink. It is becoming a rather odd and similar experience to end up that way after ‘care’ from a Beacon worker.

I finally got to talk to the RN. “Hello, is this Elizabeth?”

I said, “This is Dr. Elizabeth McClung.”

There was a long pause and then, “Can I please speak to the client.”

“This is Dr. Elizabeth McClung”

With a question in her voice she asked, “Are you receiving care?”

“No. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Another 30 minutes and another RN later with me in panties and nothing else and the worker standing in the hall with the door fully open.

“No, she ignored the instructions on the daily note.”

She stepped in from the hall and said, “Lie! There was no note.”

I pointed to her bag, “Odd, since you put your bag directly atop about 1/3rd of it.” She grabbed her bag and tried to destroy the note.

There is a certain ‘ass covering’ action from some workers. The regular worker was moved elsewhere and she was another who had been thrown in, hadn’t read the care notes, hadn’t read the care plan, just put her bag down, and called beacon about what pills to administer (written in the care plan)

Eventually Beacon wanted to speak to her, she grabbed the phone and leaving the door open went quite a ways down the hall. Since it was her phone I slowly closed the door and silently locked her out. A Beacon manager called me and needed to see the kind of note that DAY. I told her that we had sent it to her, then sent it AGAIN last month when this happened, and the VIHA manager had it as well. She understood what went wrong, and I asked her to stop sending replacements and stealing the regular person or have the person READ the care plan before coming (they can download it or access it online). I said, since she wanted this all resolved, could I have her name so I could know who to refer the RN’s to next time.

“Oh, I’m just a temp filling in and there is no point, as I won’t be here next time.” She said not giving her name.

Sigh. I called Linda to let her know she would need to do both her work and my care later.

There have been a lot of rapid declines in health in the last two weeks. Beyond the problems with heat, now the autonomic function to tell me whether I am hot or cold is dead. I alternate between chills and full body goosebumps to overheating in minutes and then back to freezing for three hours, all in the same bed. The kidneys stopped, have been not working off and on for a while, but stopped, bulging and pushing the skin in the back out. I lay on them, the pain bearable because of the amount of pain elsewhere. The Fentynal has been increased 1,000% from the first prescription and I am over the maximum of the ‘breakthrough’ pills also, taken ever 3-4 hours.
Edema of the brain, chest, upper arms, groin, and face could be both lymphedema – a failure of the lymph system or Super Vena Cava Syndrome or something else all together. This week I didn’t really eat and lost a lot of weight, last week too. The nausea makes it hard, and often I am paralyzed when I wake up, so unless someone comes, there is no way to move. My hands wake in fists or clamped to my other wrist, due to the pain.

I have been having seizures of the body, arms shooting off into space or my lower legs and feet going onto point, and waking me up from the pain. I’ve woken three times from biting my tongue in my sleep and also my lip, my cheek. There are strokes which make the face droop and it harder to swallow anything. But no, no body yet.

When I can, I fight, and when I can’t I resist, and if I can’t do that, I just hold on, or try to find a handhold.
That’s all there is. Except I decided I am a queer pirate: I’m here, I’m queer, run in fear!

I watched Machete, and while it gets 71% on IMBD and 73% from critics at Rotten Tomatoes, none of those critics were female. I must miss the part of the brain which finds a guy who attacks people with garden implements (in three to four different times of the movies), has sex with naked women every 20 minutes, and goes against the anti-illegal Hispanic vigilante group with a Hispanic collective… jacked up bouncing cars as a super film. (I watch it so you don't have to - I showed part to Linda, she was....less than impressed).

Because what else is there to know about Hispanics except they like to have cars that bounce – bounce, bounce, bounce: there are the prolonged shots of outside the vigilante base with cars and trucks bouncing, bounce, bounce (and the guy pushing the freeze ice cream and drink cart in the back). Bounce some more, then break through and lots of shots of vigilantes being bounced on by those ‘wetbacks’: bounce, bounce, bounce. Oh look, Machete has an extra large machete (5 feet long) to attack with (which has no symbolic meaning at all).

Quote: “Oh, he is a Federale, don’t you realize that is like the FBI, CIA, NSA, police and SWAT all rolled into one but tougher!”

The vigilantes hire a ‘pro killer’ who has a late night commercial showing him doing push-ups.

Spare your eyes and watch The Man with No Name DVD’s with Clint Eastwood. Sergio remakes the Seven Samurai, while Machete remakes the song “Speedy Gonzales”. Ug.

I’m off to sleep more and then and go see the outside world.
Surviving is hard. Some weeks it takes all I have to do that.

It is when I feel most alone.

So close, but no, the dying didn't stick.

Port Townsend trip next time, okay?

Tuesday, July 05, 2011

Sneak Preview To The Weekend That Was

It's Linda. Beth asked me to post a quick blog to let you know she's still alive. She is hoping to post a blog in the next day or two, talking about our weekend.

In the meantime, here is a photo to whet your appetite. I've never seen Port Angeles look so beautiful as it did on Friday evening close to sunset.