You can't always get what you want........but sometimes you get what you need.

I have been remiss about updating my blog again for the last three months, and there is a very good reason for that. About this time in March, I found out that my mother's lymphoma was terminal, and that she only had about three to six months left to live. I had mixed feelings about this news, especially when you consider the abuse that my sister and I suffered from mom. To make things even more complicated, mom told me that she was leaving everything to me.

That statement alone sent my head reeling for weeks. She was leaving everything to her son that wanted nothing to do with her over the last two years. The son who did nothing while she endured three consecutive courses of chemotherapy over the span of over a year. I've kept my distance for a reason, my own mental health. Prolonged contact with mom frequently brought up too many bad memories, and it didn't help that mom has spent the last twenty years in a benzodiazepine induced fog, trying to forget everything from the past. Mom had slipped into a victim mentality, which something I absolutely had zero tolerance for because of all the abuse she gave me. For many years, I was absolutely outraged about her behavior, and her expectation that I should feel sorry for her. This behavior became far worse after Carly's suicide, and I naturally became more, and more hostile toward mom. As we all know, events from two years ago drove me to the very edge of my sanity, and I was fortunate enough to spend six weeks in an intensive outpatient therapy program in Seattle. It was here that I learned that I have Complex PTSD, and that if I was ever going to be a whole person, I had to forgive mom. I found the courage to do just that, and my attitude toward her shifted from one of rage and hatred, to a form of sadness and pity.

I had forgiven mom, but I still needed to keep her at a distance from me to keep her from interfering with the growth processes that I was undertaking at the time. It was at this point that I decided that I would never reveal to her that I have CPTSD, because I felt that it would be too cruel for her psyche to handle. Think about it, my sister committed suicide back in 2009, an event that the abuse mom perpetrated on Carly certainly played a role in. I just couldn't tell her that I have CPTSD because of what she did to me as a child. The old me would have jumped at the chance to get any kind of revenge on mom, but the new me has far more compassion, and is more interested in my future than inflicting more wounds based on actions inflicted on me in my past.

My initial reaction to the news of mom's pending death was more than a little cold. I told myself that there was no way that I was going to take care of her in the final days and months of her life. Then she told me she was leaving everything to me, something that literally made my jaw go slack, and left me with my mouth wide open. Why would she leave everything to someone who has spent a great deal of his life trying to forget she ever existed? Because buried deep below mom's numerous problems, she still cared and loved her son, that's why. At first I was extremely wary of everything and thought it was some kind of ruse. I feared that she would hold my inheritance over my head like bait, and then proceed to revert to her old way and punish me as much as she could before she died. My friends who know me expressed the same concerns as well. Everyone told me to be very cautious, this could very well have been a trap for me (I've certainly experienced situations that seemed far more unlikely and absurd). I was very cautious for the first few months of contact with her, I would call her every other day to see how she was doing, and would try to make meaningful conversation with her. One thing that struck me immediately, was the fact that it seemed like I was always talking to a drunk person, no matter what time of day I called her. Now, mom has been abusing benzodiazepines for over twenty years now, and I chalked things up to that. My first visit to Helena in over three years dispelled all of those speculations instantly, and I was instantly horrified to discover how things really were. Mom wasn't taking too many pills, somehow she had severely deteriorated cognitively to the point that I question whether or not she had suffered a moderate stroke.

The mom I knew was gone almost entirely. She couldn't talk without slurring, she could barely walk without stumbling, and even the most basic physical movement or activity required all of her concentration. Mom was no longer capable to being abusive at all, she was dying and losing her mind at the same time......and all she could think about was leaving everything to me, and making it as easy as possible for me and her sister to take care of her affairs after she passed. Mom may have lost a lot of her mental functions, but in doing so, it revealed her true character, something I had overlooked over the last thirty or so years. Mom was an extremely caring and compassionate woman.......and she genuinely loved her son. The worst was the fact I could tell she was very afraid of dying. Once I realized all of this, I pledged to her that I would make sure that she didn't die alone, and I kept my word on that.

A week after my initial visit, it became clear to me that mom was going to need someone at home with her 24 hours a day to make sure she was cared for, and didn't fall around the house (which she had already done more than once). It also became clear who that person was going to be.......me. If I was going to be able to live with myself after all of this, I was going to have to do the one thing that she never did for me as a child..... take care of and comfort her while she was sick. The irony of the situation most certainly wasn't lost on me, but like I said, if I was going to be able to live with myself, I was going to have to step up to the plate, and demonstrate an incredible amount of compassion. I'm not going to lie, I was scared shitless over this, and I lost a lot of sleep over it over the last two weeks. In time, I came to view it as an opportunity to bond with mom in her last days, and possibly show her things that she had no idea about when it came to her son. It most certainly wasn't going to be easy, but I found that I genuinely wanted to do this for her. There was one caveat; the dingoes absolutely had to be with me during all of this, otherwise the likelihood of a major depressive episode was almost guaranteed for me. Fortunately, she tentatively agreed to the idea of having two crazed dingoes running roughshod all over her condominium. I made all of the preparations to take three months of leave from work (mom agreed to pay my lost wages with some of my inheritance money), and I was ready to come over to Helena to take care of mom full time starting Sunday, June 9th. I'm writing this very late in the evening on Saturday, June 8th.......I was never given the chance to take care of mom like I planned.

I had just crawled into bed after work around midnight on Wednesday, when my phone jerked me instantly awake with my heart caught in my throat (a lovely symptom of PTSD). I knew immediately that something was very wrong. My aunt was the caller, and was in hysterics when I answered. She had found mom down on the floor trying to crawl into the bathroom, incoherent, white as a sheet......and covered in bloody stool. I can't even begin to imagine how awful the situation was for my aunt, or fault her for being in hysterics when she called me. She has no medical knowledge, or training like I do as a medical professional, but she made the call to 911, and then called me. The paramedics whisked mom off to the ER of the local hospital, and I called one of mom's friends, who happens to be a Registered Nurse. She quickly went down to the hospital, assessed the situation, and called me straightaway to tell me I urgently needed to speak to the attending physician, since I am mom's power of attorney (something we had established less than a week prior). I spoke with the physician, and he confirmed my fears, mom had an acute gastrointestinal bleed, and probably had only hours, to a fews days left to live.

That was all it took. I threw the dogs in the car at 1:00 in the morning, and drove like a banshee to Helena. I arrived to find her resting comfortably, but unconscious, with my aunt keeping vigil next to her bed. We sat there for a few hours, and then I took my aunt back to the condo so she could get some sleep. When I returned to mom's hospital room, it was obvious to me that her breathing was becoming increasingly labored, and pretty soon she was only breathing a few times a minute. I couldn't believe this was happening in front of me. Worse yet, I didn't think to say anything important at the time, when I finally came to my senses, she had passed away.

Sigh, this was not how things were supposed to end between us. I was going to take care of her, and through that process, she was going to learn that I had forgiven her, and held no ill will toward her. She was going to learn about who I really am, and just how much I had changed over the last two years. Sadly, that never came to pass. When I finally came to my senses, I told her I had forgiven her a long time ago, that I love her, and to tell Carly that I say hi. In short, I had none of the closure that I had hoped for. I can't help but think that this was another missed opportunity for me to prove to the world that I really am a good person, I still yearn so much to prove that......not that it will make me believe it in the process. I made good on my promise though, she wasn't alone when she died, and I'm very grateful for that because I would hate myself that much more if she would have been alone.

So here is sit on the eve of the day that I genuinely thought  would transform people's perception of me once and for all. I really was determined to take care of mom until her final day. I was going to try to make her life as full as possible. I was going to take her to movies, watch TV with her, take her for drives, cook meals for her, and maybe even read to her. I really wanted to do all of that for her.....because I actually cared about her, and loved her. One thing that has changed about me over the four years since Carly's death is that I understand her far more now than I ever could have beforehand. That process has already begun with mom, and as it did with Carly, it is helping me deal with the grieving process. I'm not interested in learning the why of everything that happened during our time growing up, I'm interested in learning what the real person my mom was. Looking back, I can honestly say that I truly have completely forgiven mom for everything. I'm still going to struggle with my CPTSD until the day I die, but at least I'm not angry over it any longer. I'm not stuck on what happened all those years ago any longer, now I'm focused on what I need to do move beyond my past. I already miss my mom, and wish I had more time with her before she died because it turns out that she was a much different person than the one I thought she was, and that has given me greater clarity when thinking about the past. Sadly, I think mom died still hating her mother for what she had done to her as a child, fortunately for me, I won't make that same mistake. I didn't get all of the closure that I wanted, but maybe I got the closure I needed.

The rapid manner in which mom passed really is a blessing in disguise. I was absolutely horrified when I found out that she was basically going to starve to death, while losing more and more of her mental acuity each day....a fate that I consider to be worse than death. Thankfully, that never came to pass, and mom's suffering ended before it could get far worse. My life is going to be quite different in the coming days thanks to everything mom has left me, and I hope I was able to adequately convey to her just how thankful I am to her because of it. I most certainly will never forget the very last thing that mom ever did for me.

Goodbye mom, thank you so much, I love you, and I will always miss you.

Violent Video Games, And Children....Things Are Always More Complicated Than They Appear.

As more details emerge from the Sandy Hook tragedy, and Aurora, Colorado shootings, I find myself in bit of an uncomfortable position. Being someone who suffers from a significant mental illness, when the mainstream media talks about "deranged crazies" or just using the term "mentally ill", I can't help but feel a little discriminated against, somewhat (a subject for another day). Yes, I am mentally ill. No, I am not dangerous to anyone, except maybe myself at times. And yes, I play violent video games.

I am not a violent person, in fact I abhor violence. I have absolutely no desire to hurt the people who have hurt me in the past. That is not the path to freedom and enlightenment. If I were to do to those who had wronged me what they did to me in vengeance, I would become no better of a person than they are. Violence, other than in self defense, is never the answer. To commit random acts of violence against the defenseless and innocent is perhaps the greatest travesty that any human being could commit.

It's been over three months now since the Sandy Hook tragedy, and over eight since the Aurora, Colorado shootings took place. The blame game continues to rage, and the NRA continues to demonstrate just how infantile and primitive its doctrines are. Gun violence is a HUGE problem in the United States. This is not going to change unless drastic measures are going to be undertaken by the nation as a whole. I'm not going to suggest any possible solutions or actions to curtail the problems here, just know that I am a very large supporter of bans on any and all guns, with the exception of sporting rifles and shotguns.

Back in December, I had a conversation with my father and stepmother on the issue of what drives people to commit mass murder. One of the first things that my father brought up was violent video games. I grew up in the 80's and was among the vanguard of the video game generation. Video games have been a big part of my life since about 1982. Back in the early days of gaming, the games were pretty innocuous in nature. They were simple, and designed for short term entertainment. Kids and adults alike enjoyed the early versions of arcade games and home entertainment systems. The video game industry collapsed in the mid 80's, but was reborn again when Nintendo released the original NES in the United States in the late 80's. At this time, video games were still pretty light hearted and contained little in the way of graphic violence. That was about to change though.

In the early 90's a company name Midway launched the first game in the series known as Mortal Kombat. While there were somewhat violent video games before it, this particular game took violence and gore to completely unheard of levels for the industry at the time. Mortal Kombat featured blood shed, dismemberment, impalement, and even spinal cord removal. It soon became all the rage in the arcades, and managed to generate more than it's fair share of negative press due to the graphic violence presented in the game. It's important to note that I was in my early 20's at this point, old enough to know the difference between the real world and fantasy worlds. I wasn't some kid, mindlessly plugging quarters into a machine and laughing about the violence that ensued on the screen. I dohave to admit that I was very much into the whole Mortal Kombat series as a whole, in the early days. I even purchased it for my Nintendo system when it came out on the home consoles, and spent hours and hours pummeling my fraternity brothers, who loved the game as much as I did.

It was at this point in time that political forces got involved with concerns about violence in video games. In 1994, the Entertainment Software Rating Board (ESRB), was created. The ESRB then developed a video game age suitability rating scale, similar in nature to the system used to rate a suitability scale for movies. These ratings range from "Early Childhood" to "Adults Only". It should be noted that these ratings are not governed by the government and are not legally enforced. They exist solely to educate parents as to what kind of content is present in a video game. Retailers can, and have, established policies about not selling "Mature" or "Adults Only" related content to minors under the age of 17. Just how well they stick to these policies, is anyone's guess. The point is, there is a system in place that rates the violent content level of video games and what age groups said games are suitable for.

Going back to the conversation that I had with my father regarding violent video games, I support the ESRB ratings systems. However, I don't think it goes far enough, and think the government needs to get involved in the regulation of who can buy these games. I play violent video games all of the time, and have for over 20 years now. I am an adult, and started playing these games as an adult. Adult being the key word there. I strongly believe that almost all of the games that I enjoy playing, absolutely should NOT be played by ANY people under the age of 18. This is where things start to get more complicated.

If I jump on my Xbox 360 to play some Halo 4 online right now, which is a "Mature" rated game (meaning it's only suitable for people over the age of 17), I will most definitely encounter players who are as young 7 or 8 playing the game online. In fact, depending on what time of day you are playing, the majority of people playing Halo 4 online are under the age of 17. This is not an appropriate game for kids, in my opinion. It involves hunting and killing other players in an online environment, full of anonymity (internet anonymity is a subject for another day). Where are these kids getting these games? Their parents are buying them for them, that's where.

Video game violence is ubiquitous now, and as time marches on, it only seems to get worse and worse. Like I said above, I enjoy playing these games, but tend to shy away from the more violent versions in favor of immersion in story elements. Yes, something needs to be done about violent video games, parents need to stop buying them for their children to play. It's as simple as that, people. Parents need to take responsibility for parenting their children, instead of blaming an entire industry for gun violence. Letting your children plug into a video game for 4 hours a day, isn't good parenting, in my opinion. I'm sure older parents can remember the days before the dawn of video games, and I'm pretty sure there were plenty of things to keep children entertained then. There is absolutely no substitute for good, conscious parenting. Stop buying kids "Mature" rated games and letting them play them, people!

I've only touched on one major hot button in the debate about gun violence (or violence, in general) in the United States. Every party in the cross hairs is blaming another party in the cross hairs. It's time for simple, common sense methods to be used to make a difference. Do I believe that the government should regulate the video game industry more? Most certainly. However, I think that parents can make much more of a difference by being just that, a parent. It's time to take responsibility for your children's development and well being. I am absolutely certain that exposing children to graphic violence has negative effects on empathic responses, and ultimately desensitizes young minds to the horrors of violence, as a whole. Common sense and responsibility will ultimately prove to be the ultimate weapons in the war agains violence in the United States.

Does Your Music Have A Sense Of Humor?

It's a very poorly kept secret that outside of the Dave Matthews Band, my taste in music is wildly varied, if not eccentric in nature. Seriously, there really is no way of predicting just what I am going to take a liking to. In fact, the best way to categorize my tastes is to explore what I dislike. I am extremely allergic to any Pop music, allergic meaning that it makes me want to throw up. I am also very displeased with what passes for Country music today, but I don't listen to it, so it can be as bad as it wants to be. It has become clear to me very recently that I have a very strong tendency to gravitate towards music that conveys an underlying message or meaning.....except for all the time when I don't follow this rule. This applies to all of the electronic music that I listen to, it's mindless as hell because there are no lyrics. I've never been able to tell just why I like it so much, it must have something to do with not me not having very good taste (as most everyone points out any time I bring up my love for all things DMB). From a social standpoint, being a 40 year old who listens to a great deal of electronic music can be a little awkward at times. At least I don't attend any of the local raves, drop tons of ecstasy, and then shed my shirt to dance with glow sticks all night. In short, I like what I like, it doesn't make sense, and that's all I really have to say on the subject.

This is the point that I start talking expressing my sense of humor through some of the music that I listen to. To start off with, I feel very sorry for my coworkers, since they are subjected to my musical tastes almost every day. This has to do with the fact that in order to keep my sanity at work, there has to be music playing in the background. I make fun of ALL music, especially my own, so it's best that I play my own so I don't offend someone by making fun of THEIR music. I have my own iPod speaker dock/charger thingy, that I haul out every day, stuff the old iPod into, hit shuffle on my "work" playlist, and begin another shift of acoustical bliss and commentary. For my coworkers' convenience (and sanity),  I do try to do is weed out any of my more eccentric selections from my work playlist, this includes any and all of my electronic selections because, I admit, they can be extremely annoying to any normal person. Occasionally a wayward song or two ends up on the work playlist and gets played, and usually commented on by some of my coworkers (usually involving the term, WTF).

Like I said above, I am very much into music that has an underlying theme or message to it. This includes tracks and artists that for some odd reason or another, I find very humorous. One of these songs would be, "One of Us", by Joan Osborn. I'm probably the only person on the planet that plays this song regularly anymore. Poor Joan had exactly one hit in her lifetime, and unfortunately for her, I have chosen to immortalize this song for the rest of my life. I find this song humorous because the underlying theme is about the idea that God could be just a regular jerk hole, wandering the streets of some smelly city like the rest of us. As an agnostic, this is an extremely humorous concept. Of course, me being me, I have to makeup my own lyrics....just because it's fun to do. I have this, ummm, how should I put it? Let's say affection, yes, affection. An affection for referring to God as Dog (God is Dog spelled backwards after all. Coincidence? I think not.). I, of course, find this to be very, very humorous just for the fact that I could very well be living with the creator of all things every day, and not know it..... God, or I should really say Dog, (Praise him!) may just be my good friend JackJack. Though if this really is the case, homeless people, UPS delivery men, people on Harley Davidson motorcycles, and teenagers on skateboards, are the worst of sinners and are doomed to go straight to hell after leaving this plane of existence. Anyway, what if Dog really is "One of Us"? I would absolutely be happy as a clam if this were the case and as a result, very ironic, and very, very humorous. Yes, I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell, there absolutely no changing that, so I'm just going to continue on my merry way (on second thought, I already spend 40 hours a week in hell, I work at the Community Medial Center laboratory).

This would be a good time for a disclaimer of sorts: At no point in time is my sense of humor supposed to make any sense whatsoever. I make fun of absolutely anything, and everything, this especially includes me, myself, and I. If there is one rule I live by, it's not to take myself very seriously. However, if you don't find any of the following examples to be funny, you need to have your head examined.....because I am the very model of a well adjusted human being.

So, there are more than a few songs on my iPod that are there only to remind me of just how funny that life is. This includes the cheesiest, 80's butt rock that you can find (actually, this particular example is very serious in nature, it's the delivery that's hilarious). Lounge singers with effeminate voices (come on, it's Wayne Newton). Songs about chickens (sorry, Dad), hot dog stands (sorry again, Dad), cocaine (this, at least, is in good taste...for once), marijuana, some cow bell, more marijuana (I just think the whole weed culture is hilarious), terrible covers of classic songs, country legends at their worst, extremely annoying songs about classic toys, songs about speeding, absurd songs about being a cowboy (that one is for you, Yarrow), old school Ozzie (so funny), more country legends at their worst, awful James Bond themes, another legendary lounge singer at his worst, legendary Mexican trumpetists (so sorry, Dad), more awful 80's music, stuff I'm not even sure what to make of (is she having a seizure?), the worst rapper ever, and even more country legends at their worst.

Am I eccentric? Most certainly. Is this funny? Undoubtedly. Do my coworkers hate me? Absolutely. They say, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.". I say, "Funny music is in the eye of the beholder.".

Finally, I would like to apologize to anyone foolish enough to watch any of the linked videos I posted. I would also like to thank my Dad for exposing me to so much hilarious music. And on that note, I'm going to go hunt for even more musical selections of dubious taste to entertain myself with.


Did I say I was done? Not quite. There is one last song I absolutely have to share. "Luka", has a very special place in my heart.......just not with those lyrics. Here's how it should really go:

My name is JackJack,
I live on the basement floor,
I live downstairs from you,
I know I've barked at you before.

As if anyone needs any further proof that I'm obsessed with my dog. Also, I'm so full of shit (but you know that already).

Experience, Adversity, Discovery, Evolution, And A Crisis Of Identity.

A few months ago, someone close to me told me that I dress like a hipster. A hipster? I may be many things, but I most certainly am not a hipster. My fashion wardrobe consists entirely of "Life Is Good" shirts, Dave Matthews Band tour t-shirts, a multitude of outdoor and workout tees, Keen shoes and sandals, a multitude of Buffs, and the ever important designated hat. This, most certainly, is not the wardrobe of a true hipster.

This moment triggered some reflection and self analysis concerning who I was, what I've become, and what it all means to be me. Coincidentally, it is the 7 year anniversary of my move to Kauai. Ever since my experience on Kauai and relocation to here in Missoula, I have struggled with just who I think I am identity wise. Before I moved to Kauai, I was obsessed with materialistic pursuits and living the "normal" life someone in their thirties with a good career lives. I tried extremely hard to follow this path, determined to be just like the rest of the average United States citizen....... and I was very unhappy, as a result. I told myself, "There has to be more to life than this.". I was married, I had three dogs, we were on track to buy a house someday, why wasn't I happy? I yearned for something completely different, I needed an experience so different that it would force me to see life in a completely different way. Well, I got just that... in spades.

My wife and I had honeymooned on the island of Kauai, and it had given me a taste of a lifestyle that I had never experienced before. We jokingly entertained the idea of giving everything up and moving to the island, at no point in time did I think my wife was serious. One day, she called me at work and was really excited about something. She had done some sniffing around on the internet and found a job opening for a Medical Technologist, on none other than the island of Kauai. Suddenly, we were seriously entertaining something that was beyond the wildest of my dreams. Long story short, we took the plunge. I literally had no idea what was to come once I set foot on the island as a resident, or even just how much of an effect it would on the person I was at the time.

The state of Hawaii has a style that is completely it's own, to say the least. Being a haole from the mainland, integrating with this culture proved to be far more difficult that I could possibly have imagined. Despite those obstacles, I found that I embraced a hybrid of Californian and Hawaiian surf culture. I found this to be a very good fit for my personality, and quickly grew very comfortable with it. Surf culture is usually very laid back (when not in the water,waiting for sets to come in, then it is very, very structured, rigid and intolerant of non-locals) and very liberal in nature. Before I moved to the island, my ideals were very much what you would consider middle of the road, I was socially and politically conservative on some issues and liberal on others. Growing up in Montana, my cultural experiences were very limited and naive in nature.

 However, once I got to Kauai, a radical change began to occur, so much so that my then wife told me that she didn't recognize who I was anymore. My wife left me after 6 weeks on the island, unable to deal with the cultural differences and sheer distance from all that she had know. Suddenly, I found myself to be a lot more financially challenged than I had ever been. As a result, my personality moved away from materialistic endeavors to a much, much more laid back and liberal mind set. Being able to play in the waves every day only strengthened my adoption of the island lifestyle and mindset. Oh how much I miss riding waves every day. I have always been a real water person and it just seems like I was born to  close to the ocean. To this day, I have yet to encounter a euphoric experience that even comes close to riding across the face of a wave, time seems to slow down and you feel very at one with the essence of the wave and the ocean as a whole. It was a very life changing experience, and I would like to believe that it opened up my mind to things that I had never contemplated before.

Hawaii is a very beautiful place, but it has a very sad side to it. On Kauai in particular, a great deal of the local population lives in what we would consider poverty. For the first time in my life, the disparity between the "haves" and the "have nots" was a constant presence. The Hawaiian people as a whole, are some of the most beautiful people I have ever met. I had the honor of meeting two women who were 100% Hawaiian, in fact the person who introduced them to me told me to touch them because they were 100%, and were extremely special. Both of these women were very much true representatives of what it Hawaiian culture is. Unfortunately, that culture is slowly dying, something that I lament very deeply to this day. I learned what Kau Inoa means and why it exists as a movement. You see, the indigenous people of the Hawaiian islands do not hold "indigenous people" status in the eyes of the United States government. This means that native Hawaiians do not receive the same kind of benefits that the many tribes of Native Americans of the mainlands from the federal government. This is an absolute outrage since the US expatriates overthrew the Hawaiian monarchy in 1893, and the US government annexed the islands in 1898. I became more and more ashamed of the actions of my government and country as I learned more and more. This had the effect of opening up my eyes to plight and treatment of all the indigenous people of the United States. Things were no longer simple, or black and white. I came to realize that we, as human beings, have a responsibility to each other and society. In short, I was becoming more and more liberal, and socially conscious each day.

As much as the Kauai had an effect on me, it wasn't a good place for someone who has Complex PTSD, making me very much susceptible to any negative social stimulus, due to the abuse I suffered as a child. I learned how ugly racism could be, the locals hated haoles from the mainland, we were occupying their land and taking all the good jobs from them. Racism was very real toward whites, and I identified with and understood the reasons the local people of Hawaii hate us. Things didn't work out for me and I crash landed back on the mainland after a very public nervous breakdown at work. I discovered that my ex-wife had taken almost all of the furniture that was in storage, the majority of which was given to me by my father before we even got married. I had next to nothing, it was me, JackJack and my car. I only two friends left over from the divorce and worse yet, I was in a relationship with a very, very unstable woman who, in the end, tried her very best to destroy me.

I had absolutely no idea who I was anymore, and things only continued this way for nearly three and a half years due to the manipulation and abuse my ex-girlfriend subjected me to. Things finally came to a head in May of 2011, after a six month long stint of an increasingly absurd, and cruel ruse perpetrated by my ex, designed to do nothing but torture me, I snapped. Fortunately, I landed in an intensive outpatient treatment program for people with mental illness. It was at this time that I finally started to untangle the experiences of the previous 5 years and gain some level of understanding of who I am again. I'd like to say that this has been an easy process for me, but it hasn't. I'm forty years old now and I struggle with concepts of where and what "normal" people my age are doing with themselves. I know I'm not supposed to think about things like that, people are all different, and lead lives according to who they are. It helps that Missoula is a very liberal community that supports a very wide variety of lifestyles. What doesn't help is that if I drive 5 miles in any direction, that sort of tolerance comes to an abrupt end. I'm forty now, I have lived in a tiny studio apartment for almost 4 years now. I'm just now climbing out of the debt I accrued during my time on the island. I'm about 40 pounds heavier than I was on the island, my sister killed herself nearly four years ago, I have a very serious mental illness and I have basically stopped trying to interact with the people in the world. I carry a great deal of shame over this.I feel like I have nothing to show for the last seven years of my life. People tell me this isn't really the case, and to a large extent, this is very true. The amount of life experience I've gained during this time is absolutely staggering and cannot be calculated. I have undergone a radical change, so radical that I doubt the person I was ten years ago would even begin to recognize who I've become. Unfortunately, I'm not sharing that experience with anyone, and I rarely ever talk about my life and  experiences on the island. In fact, it's only been within the last few months that I have even been able to think about those experiences and how much they had an effect on me, it was just too raw and painful. This was coupled with the fact that I was literally just trying to survive from one day to the next without removing myself from this plane of existence. Recently, I've done things to remind me of those days I spent on the island. I got a tattoo of a Hawaiian Honu with a representation of the Hawaiian islands on it's shell, Kauai colored in red, on my left calf. I also purchased a Maori Koru and Honu surf necklaces to serve as daily reminders of my experience, and adventures on the island. I need to remember that culture, it's very important to me. Sadly, I still can't bring myself to listen to the Hawaiian music I collected during my time there, it reminds me too much of the time I spent with my ex-girlfriend. Maybe with time that will change.

I've finally stopped denying that the last seven years happened, and I'm trying my best to learn about the person that I've become. It's a daily and complicated process and it most certainly is going to continue to take a long time. However, I know the following things: Ideologically, I am extremely liberal, bordering on non-conformist, this means that I am far more empathetic than I used to be. My "emotional "age and "experience" age couldn't be farther apart if they tried. I am a vanguard member of the "geek" generation in terms of age and growing up, that territory is largely unexplored as far as societal acceptance goes. I've seen things that are so beautiful that they have brought tears to my eyes (that subject is for another time and place), and I have seen unspeakable cruelty. My path is my own, and no one else's, I have to accept that for what it is. I am no longer materialistic and seek the meaning of life through experience and enlightenment, instead of material possessions. I will always, always have dogs in my life, preferably rat terriers. Things I struggle with: What I have to offer to people in terms of relationships and friendships. My exact place in the world. Trust. Trust. Trust. Isolation, both self imposed, and incidental. A balanced view, and sense of self.

Coming to grips with who you are is something that everyone has to deal with in their life. Unfortunately, a lot of people aren't capable, are too wrapped up in their lives, or are just too much in denial to stop and look at themselves. I'm not claiming to be an expert on this subject, just having learned how to look, and perceive things myself. I am beginning to be able to see just how much I've grown and changed over time. Though I have suffered a lot of pain over the last seven years, I am very thankful for the experience and wisdom that it has provided.

"Came in from a rainy Thursday
On the avenue
Thought I heard you talking softly

I turned on the lights, the TV
And the radio
Still I can't escape the ghost of you

What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some are saying
Where is the life that I recognize?
Gone away

But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive

Passion or coincidence
Once prompted you to say
"Pride will tear us both apart"
Well now pride's gone out the window
Cross the rooftops
Run away
Left me in the vacuum of my heart

What is happening to me?
Crazy, some'd say
Where is my friend when I need you most?
Gone away

But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive

Papers in the roadside
Tell of suffering and greed
Here today, forgot tomorrow
Ooh, here besides the news
Of holy war and holy need
Ours is just a little sorrowed talk

And I don't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive

Every one
Is my world, I will learn to survive
Any one
Is my world, I will learn to survive
Any one
Is my world
Every one
Is my world"

Duran Duran "Ordinary World"

The Rise Of Reality Television

I decided to dump cable television about 2 years ago in favor of other pursuits and through a desire to save myself approximately $120.00 a month. That decision is quite possibly the best decision that I've made in the last few years and I have never looked back. I had become absolutely disillusioned and disgusted with the direction that the few channels that I watched were taking. Networks like The Discovery Channel, The History Channel and even The National Geographic Channel had subtly been shifting their programming away from programs devoted to nature, science and history to more mainstream shows. Mainstream being the scourge that is known as reality television. My disdain for this form of entertainment has been well documented for nearly ten years now. This originally was not the case though and during it's early day, I consumed it regularly.

 Reality television really got it's start back in the early on a little station known as MTV. Remember MTV? You know, that channel that used to solely devoted to music and music videos. Back in the mid to late 80's and the early 90's I worshipped MTV. I still remember the world premier of Metallica's video "Enter Sandman" (which interestingly, I feel was the beginning of their fall from grace, but that's a story for another time). The things is, MTV used to be about music...MUSIC! I'm digressing though.

Anyway, MTV decided that it was time to expand it's programming and on May 21st, 1992 a little experiment in TV known as The Real World was broadcast for the first time. It was billed as "The true story, of seven people, picked to live in a loft in Soho, New York and have their lives taped, to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start being real. The Real World" (It's truly sad that I can remember this intro to the show to this day). This one television show would herald the eventual downfall of everything that was great about MTV and ultimately be responsible for the state of broadcast television today.

The first few seasons of The Real World actually weren't bad. In fact, the third season of the show, "The Real World: San Francisco" would have a lasting effect on how I view some social issues of modern society. The San Francisco cast featured a young Cuban-American gay man who was HIV positive named Pedro Zamora. Like many Americans, Pedro was the first exposure to gay men or anything of alternative lifestyles (is that even politically correct?) that I had. Pedro was determined to reach as many people and educate them about HIV and how it's contracted and spread. He took the concept of The Real World and used it to broadcast his tragic and inspirational story to millions of young people. This man was an extremely beautiful and courageous man, a true inspiration to the triumph of a human being faced with insurmountable odds. For many people, myself included, this man opened up our senses to one of the worst diseases to arise in the latter part of the 20th century. Through his story on The Real World, I came to accept people who are LBGT (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) because Pedro humanized them. I think he did more for the LBGT community through his time on The Real World and anyone had done in the entire history of the movement. Unfortunately this was the early 90's and HAART therapies (Highly Active Antiretroviral Therapy) had not come into being yet, so being HIV positive was still a death sentence. I watched almost every episode of that season of The Real World and saw Pedro's daily struggles with his disease and his own mortality. It was very a very gripping and emotional story, to say the least. Sadly, Pedro died on November 11th, 1994, the day after the broadcast of the last episode of The Real World: San Francisco. I openly wept when I learned of his death and wish to this day that I could have met him to tell him how much of an inspiration he was and how much of an influence he would be on my ideals involving tolerance and acceptance of people who are different from. Through Pedro's story I matured as a human being and for I am very grateful Fortunately, Pedro's legacy lives on through various charitable and educational organizations founded in his name that are dedicated to fighting HIV and the spread of the disease. I will never forget Pedro Zamora and ironically, it's because of a reality television show.

The Real World: San Francisco was the pinnacle of the Real World series and a true testament of the power of broadcast media. To this day, I don't think I have ever seen anything on television that moved me as much as Pedro's story on The Real World. From here it was all downhill, MTV continued to produce seasons of The Real World with each season feeling more and more produced, edited and acted by the producers and cast members. MTV debuted Road Rules soon after and the fate of the network would march onward toward the dismal incarnation that it is today, a station with little to no music programming on it at all.

Reality television seemed to be mostly localized to MTV and a few other fringe networks for most of the 90's in the United States. However, on May 30th, 2000 reality television went mainstream in this country in a big way. The program known as Survivor (a program originally from the U.K.) debuted on CBS. I'm pretty sure everyone reading this has either seen or heard of the infamous (and still running) reality game show. I have to admit that I watched the majority of the second season that took place in the Australian Outback. Though I found it to be very engrossing, I couldn't help but have misgivings about the glamorization of scheming, lying, betrayals, backstabbing and the willingness to do just about anything just to win. Why would we glamorize virtues those kind of virtues? Doing anything just to win money? It's only a million dollars, which really isn't a large sum of money in this day and age after taxes. I most certainly would never sacrifice my personal ideals and dignity in the pursuit of money. Thoroughly disgusted, I stopped watching.

Unfortunately, I was in the minority in my views of the program and Survivor was an enormous hit in the United States. Soon, new programs began appearing that shared similar concepts as Survivor (The Amazing Race being a good example). Next thing you know, we have the hugely popular phenomenon of American Idol, which is basically a popularity contest between people who can kind of sing coupled with three celebrity judges (one of whom could be construed as nothing but a huge jackass). While I was married, I was forced to consume Survivor once again, The Amazing Race and Dancing With The Stars. It was during this period that my disdain of anything reality television related started to gain momentum. My wife, however, did not share my views on the subject and it was always a bit of a point of contention between us and may have had something to do with our parting of ways.

I was granted a respite from the onslaught of more and more ridiculously themed reality television fare during my two year experience on Kauai. Kauai was very refreshing for me since I didn't have television and the Hawaiian islands are about as far removed from mainstream US culture as you can get and still remain in the union. One other thing that I did not miss was the continuous onslaught of advertising that is associated with modern day broadcast television. Sorry Dad and Mary (long story).

Fast forward in time to 2009 when I resumed my relationship with cable television and mainstream American popular culture. It is then that I discover that reality television has not only gained in popularity, it had become a very significant part of just about every major television network's programming schedule. It was clear to me at this point that the United States was clearly addicted to the phenomenon and it most certainly was not going to go away. To make things worse, the content had not improved as far as promoting loving and respecting one another and tolerating opposing opinions and view points. We now had shows about people who were famous just for being famous, what the hell is that all about? The Discovery Channel, one of my perennial favorite channels, had begun broadcasting shows like Monster Garage and American Chopper (which ranks up there with the worst of the worst, in my opinion) back in the early 2000's and things had only gotten worse during my absence. Mythbusters had gained in popularity during that time and I enjoyed the early seasons of that immensely just because it showed how cool it is to use science in real world settings. Another program I enjoyed on the channel was The Storm Chasers, a program that documented a group of scientists chasing tornadoes across the midwest in an attempt to better understand the phenomenon and develop earlier detections methods. However, by the third season of The Storm Chasers, the legitimate research scientists had departed, leaving only a thrill seeking, wannabe meteorologist and an IMAX film producer to headline the show. Instead of focusing on tornadoes, the focus shifted to the competition and drama between the remaining protagonists. Even Mythbusters became formulaic and more about explosions than real science.

There had been other reality television programs that invaded The Discovery Channel during my absence, most notably, The Deadliest Catch. Having spent some time with the phenomenon against my will, I further became disenfranchised and vowed never to watch the Discovery Channel again. Now it seems, The Discovery Channel has all but abandoned programming about science, exploration and learning in favor reality television based loosely around the aforementioned themes. The story is the same with The History Channel and I won't even begin to discuss the crap that the Bravo and E' networks has given us.

Is America really that addicted to highly produced, possibly fabricated, and edited versions of people's lives and the associated drama that comes with them? What about the behaviors, lack of tolerance, morals, and philosophies that these shows frequently encourage, endorse or glamorize? Seriously, What. The. Fuck? What are we? Romans? What about the UFC and "professional" wrestling? It doesn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to see the similarities of these phenomenon to the gladitorial games conducted in those ancient times. I'm going to be honest and just say that I absolutely abhor it all.

Thus, I dumped cable and broadcast television completely and I most certainly don't see myself ever going back to it. Maybe I'm just too old, too liberal, or too idealistic for it all. I'm sticking to my ideals and if that makes me uncool, that's perfectly fine with me. With that, I hereby step down from my soapbox. It is my hope that anyone who reads this that regularly consumes reality television programming will think about things and maybe boycott the phenomenon, as I have....or maybe not. I am very eccentric, after all.

Carter, the other dingo.

Jack is the dingo that gets most of the press in my household and a lot of that is because he honestly believes that he is person. Jack seems to possess a lot of my more, shall we say, more eccentric qualities. As a result, the other dog in my household, Carter, is frequently relegated to the background. Well that changes today, today we are going to talk about Carter. Carter is a terrier whose story needs to be told and songs to be sung about him. Jack wants to rule the world, but Carter lives for something else entirely. It's time for Carter to stand in the limelight!  By the way, since Jack honestly thinks he is a person, he views Carter as the dog in our household and has tendency to treat him as such.

Dingo riding shotgun.

Carter came to be a member of my household just over three years ago in the fall of 2009. I had been talking about getting a companion for Jack since he spends so much time alone in his crate and I had a lot of anxiety over it.. A coworker of mine happened to be perusing the local pound directory and came upon a doggie that was listed as a fox terrier. Intrigued, I went out to said fox terrier. To start out with, Carter is not a fox terrier. I'm not quite sure just what Carter is, he's tall like a rat terrier but his face is more like a Jack Russel terrier. I just say that he's a rat terrier for the time being. Anyway, this poor dog was found wandering a trail just south of town and he looked absolutely miserable in the pound. I went home that evening and thought a lot about him, I couldn't stand the thought of him being abandoned and placed in the pound, his face was haunting me. So, I adopted him a few days later.

Carter's name that the pound had given him was Scrappy, which did not sit well with me. He needed a proper name. Jack is named for Captain Jack Sparrow and Carter needed a similar, honorable name full of character. I decided to name him after the always smiling drummer from the Dave Matthews Band, Carter Beauford. I can hear everyone groaning over this and I stand by my decision to name him thus. I'm allowed to have one animal named after a member of my favorite band, at least his name isn't Dave. I think it's a good name and it suits him well.

Speckled nose, speckled tummy.

When I brought Carter home, he and Jack sorted out the pecking order of the house terrier style. Terrier style meaning they humped each other for four hours straight. Apparently Jack's stamina won the day and he was crowned the alpha of the two of them. Let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've experienced listening to two terriers hump the hell out of each other for four hours straight while you try to play video games. Jack may be the alpha but every time the two of them get into a scrap, Carter usually kicks the shit out of him and Carter isn't as tall and weighs 3 pounds less than Jack. This dog has heart, lots of heart. That's something that I find very endearing in a dog (I wouldn't have terriers if this was the case). Carter could steal the alpha status from Jack at any moment, the things is, he doesn't care about being the alpha for reasons that will become clear here in a little bit.

We lost a lot of balls to that creek.

Carter fit in just fine in the household, he has a great personality, but he is a bit dim witted as far as terriers go, especially in comparison to Jack's megalomaniacal genius. Unfortunately, Carter is a bit of a nervous doggie, which makes me wonder if he wasn't abused in his former household. Jack trusts me implicitly but Carter gets nervous if I randomly show him the same level of affection that I'm used to giving Jack. That's not to say that he doesn't want affection, he's just more independent and wants his attention on his own terms. Carter has this habit of crawling up on my pillow just after I've crawled into bed and laying on his back for what I like to call "Carter Time". I scratch his belly to his heart's content and he grunts and groans.....like a piglet. It's really funny, Carter's snout is completely white and his coat is so thin there that you can see the pink skin that resides underneath. Thus, he loosk like a bit of a piglet and sounds like one too.

The first few months with Carter went by without much incident. If anything, he seemed to be the exact opposite of Jack. Jack is spilling over with character, whereas it didn't seem like Carter had much personality in that department. That all changed one day when Carter found a ball outside our apartment. Carter is absolutely bonkers for balls. It was like someone flipped a personality switch within him. For Carter it's all ball, all the time. This was a completely new experience for me, Jack couldn't care less for chasing balls and fetching them.  In fact, I'm pretty sure Jack looks down on carter for his obsession. Carter on the other hand, lives to play ball, there is nothing else to him. When I come home from work, I let the dogs out and Jack jumps all over me demanding to know where the hell I've been. Not Carter. He goes straight for his ball without even a glance at me. His nightly ritual involves spending 15 minutes rooting with his ball in my pillows on my bed. He does this thing where he nudges the ball under the pillow, sticks his nose under the pillow and the ball and then flips the ball into the air and catches it when it comes down. It's really amazing to watch, he flips the ball up so high that it bounces against the wall before he catches it. Once he's done with rooting around in the pillows with the ball, it's at this time that he finally acknowledges me. There are days that I feel like my sole purpose in Carter's mind is to throw the ball for him. Let me tell you, Carter may be dimwitted when compared to Jack, but he is an absolute whiz when it comes to playing ball. He never ceases to amaze me, when he gives me the ball it's like he goes into some kind of focused trance. He shuts out the entire world and focuses on nothing but the ball in my hand. You absolutely cannot fake him out because his eyes never leave the ball. As a result, he can often catch the ball in the air as soon as it leaves my hand. He routinely catches the ball in his mouth directly after it bounces against the wall. It's a shame that I don't have more free time because he could be a world champion flyball dog.

Throw the damn ball already.

At first it seemed like Carter didn't have a lot of character quirks like Jack, but that proved to be wrong. Carter is absolutely obsessed with the dog food dish being full. If the dish is not full, Carter is not happy. I free feed the dogs since Jack tends to be a bit of a grazer. If the dish is empty, Carter will whine incessantly and push the bowl around the kitchen until I get up and fill the dish. This isn't because Carter is hungry, it's because he's worried that there isn't going to be any more food. Ever. I think this comes from him being abandoned on a trail and he may have had to fend for himself for a time. Thus, he worries if there is going to be a next meal. Carter also like to roll and smoke his own cigars. Smoking cigars meaning he likes to eat his own shit. Jack finds this extremely distasteful and turns his nose up at Carter any time he observes him lighting up a stogie. I do believe that I have mostly broken Carter of this habit though I do catch him looking intently at a freshly passed specimen. It's really funny, he looks around to see if anyone is watching and then sort of casually places said cigar in his mouth, like he's lighting up a marijuana joint in public and is afraid someone is going to narc on him. Carter is unlike Jack in his sleeping habits too. Carter is a sort of "let's get up early and play ball" kind of dog, whereas Jack and I are very much about sleeping in. I think Carter waits for hours each morning for my telltale deep inhale and exhale that signifies that I am waking up. As soon as he hears this, he's out of the bed and has his ball in his mouth, ready to go. Carter also has what I like to call an "iron bladder", he can seriously go over twelve hours without having to pee. Jack gets me up at least twice a night to go out but Carter stays in bed for the duration. Also Carter has his favorite spot when I'm playing video games or watching a movie. Jack is usually snuggled up next to me, whereas Carter sits on top of the couch back, wrapped around my neck, it's just where he likes to be when he's tired of playing ball.

Enthused dingo is enthused.

Carter's favorite spot.

                                              

It may seem like Carter plays second fiddle to Jack and to some extent that is true. I've had Jack since he was a puppy and we really bonded strongly during our time on Kauai. That's not to say that I don't love Carter dearly, I just have a different sort of relationship with him than I do with Jack. Personality wise, Jack and Carter couldn't be more different if they tried. Appearance wise, it's the same,  Jack is very regal and handsome, whereas Carter is cute in a piglet sort of way. They are different dogs, I'm not sure I could handle having another dog with Jack's personality, having one dog that thinks he is a person and wants to rule the world is enough. I'm very to have Carter and couldn't be happier with the fact that Carter joined our family, even if he drives me nuts wanting to play ball 24 hours a day.

Who can say no to a face like that?

Some dingos just want to watch the world burn......

I did something this weekend that I rarely do, I took the dingos to Petsmart to buy them some toys appropriate for their ferocious demeanor. Taking two very curious and hyper dingos into a store by myself is an experience in chaos, to say the least. Jack has his head in just about every bin and actively pulls dingo toys off of display hangers. Carter sniffs around and growl occasionally at people and dogs passing by. We were on a mission this weekend though, a friend of mine had suggested that I try purchasing a Kong Wubba since they are supposed to be nearly indestructible. I should have known better......

Jack has never been interested in toys, as far as toys being for playing with goes. Jack treats his toys like he would treat any squirrel or rodent, they are to be ripped limb from limb and their innards are spread across the apartment while he stands triumphant in all his terrible glory over their shattered forms. Toys are just another instrument of Jack's unending megalomania and are seen as nothing more than conquests of his divine will. I have yet to find a toy that kind stand up to 30 minutes of intense abuse from the scissoring action of Jack's jaws, great white sharks would be envious of the power of Jack's methodical sawing actions. I thought the Kong Wubba was going to stand the acid test though since I was told that the toy is "heeler tough". I hate to say it, but blue heelers just aren't in the same league as Jack is and was my hopes were soon thoroughly dashed. Jack ripped open one of the seams of his latest victim within 30 minutes and then began actively shredding what was left of the toy. Seriously, this thing was made of the same material as leashes and he tore it apart like it was tissue paper. Why can't he just play with the damn things as opposed to destroy them completely?

I feel bad for poor Carter, as soon as Jack finishes with his designated toy he sets upon Carter's toy with the same fury that he showed his own toy. All dingo toys die horrible, horrible deaths in my household, Jack persecutes them all with extreme prejudice. Jack is the best there is at what he does and what he does isn't very nice. The only thing that has stood the test of time in our household is this blue rubber ball that I bought for Carter three years ago. This ball is the very embodiment of courage and defiance and many songs should be sung in it's honor. That ball is Carter's absolute pride and joy and he expects me to throw it for him every waking moment of every day. Old Blue is the only dingo toy that Jack has not been able to demolish and it frustrates hime to know end. Jack steals Old Blue from Carter at least once each day and begins his ritual of trying to rend the ball into pieces. I've never seen Jack so determined about anything in my life, he tries and tries but just cannot defeat this ball for the life of him. If it weren't for Old Blue, I'm pretty sure Jack would have succeeded in taking over the world by now.

Three years of having a ferocious dingo try to rend you into little pieces is long time, so I decided to buy Carter a couple of new balls so Old Blue could retire to our empty dingo toy basket (empty because no toy has ever survived long enough to be retired in my apartment). So, I went back to Petsmart today and selected two new balls of different sizes for Carter to fawn and obsess over constantly. Jack has no interest in playing ball whatsoever like Carter does, balls are just another item to be destroyed to Jack. So, I came home with these two balls and Jack set on the smaller one with his usual voracity and Carter was left with the larger ball. Sure enough, 30 minutes later Jack had torn a large gaping hole in the small ball and he was poised to go "medieval on it's ass". I put the hapless ball out of it's misery by throwing it away and while I was doing this Jack stole Carter's other new ball and began the methodical process of destroying it too. The larger ball has managed to withstand Jack's first onslaught but he did manage to remove the squeaky plug from it and has frayed the rubber around the gaping hole that's left. I expect the ball's defenses will fail later this evening and Jack will have another notch in his belt from his latest conquest.

This means that Old Blue will not be able to retire to the comforts of the dingos' empty toy basket as was planned. Carter loves that ball more than he loves me, it's all he really lives for I think. Jack will continue his efforts to be Old Blue's ultimate undoing and I'm sure he will come up with new methods to torture the poor thing. So, I raise my glass in a toast of Old Blue for defying the odds and standing the test of time against a foe who is as unyielding as he is vicious. Here's to survival in the face of extreme adversity because some dingos just want to watch the world burn.....

I think it's time for a break from DMB at the Gorge

After much soul searching, I have decided to take a break from going to the Dave Matthews Band's three day concert at the Gorge this year. Those who know me well know that I pretty much eat and sleep DMB and DMB at the Gorge is the biggest event of the year for me. This isn't a decision that I make lightly but in light of my experiences there over the last two years, it's time for my first break since I lived on Kauai.

You see, two years ago I bumped into my ex-girlfriend there on the first day (the one who pretended she was in a coma for 6 months). This completely ruined the experience for me and I turned around and left for home after the first day. I was pretty badly rattled by the experience and just wanted to be home with the dogs. Someone who is capable of torturing someone for six months pretending to be in a coma could be capable of anything and since she had gone to the Gorge with me the prior two years, she knows exactly where I stay. Part of me believes that seeing her there was no coincidence. I had a good time the day I did stay but was very happy to be home and in a safe place for me after.

Last year I changed things up and went with some friends that I met within the last year. They stay at the Gorge campground proper each year and meet up with all kinds of friends from all over the country. I had heard things about staying at the campground at the Gorge and how it was nothing but a three day party but decided to find out for myself what the experience was really about. It turns out that the rumors that I had heard were true, it indeed a three day party. I pretty much left drinking behind back in the Summer of 2011 due to the negative effects that it has on my well being. I make an exception for DMB at the Gorge but was not prepared for the level of partying that was present though. I guess I'm just over that sort of thing now though I certainly don't judge anyone who does really party it up there. For a lot of people it's a chance to be away from their kids and the normal worries of every day life and try to recapture some of the care free experiences of yesteryear. I wholeheartedly think that's a good thing, it just isn't me anymore. I tried drinking on the first night and just didn't feel right about it so I took the next day off and felt out of place because I wasn't participating in things. What happened the next day was definitely a step in the wrong direction.

You see, I have a lot of social anxiety and don't do well in groups of people that I don't know. It's not that I didn't meet nice people, everyone that I met was really nice and were all huge DMB fans, like me. I was absolutely terrified though and just didn't feel like I fit in. Hoping to ease my anxiety some, I took some valium that had been subscribed to me in the past for such situations. This would have been just fine had I not decided to drink that day. Valium is a benzodiazepine and benzos do not mix with alcohol, it has a multiplexing effect similar to rohypnol (the date rape drug, which also happens to be a benzodiazepine). In essence, I had roofied myself. I woke up eight hours later (20 minutes before the concert started) in my tent, in a different shirt with absolutely no recollection of how I got there. Long story short, I passed out. Thankfully my friend (big thanks, your know who you are) dragged me to my tent to sleep things off. Naturally I was very embarrassed and ashamed of my stupidity. I had no idea what I had done or said prior to passing out and in my case that means I was not in any sort of control of my emotions. It was a bad, bad thing for me to do and I'm still beating myself up over it. I decided to buck up and spend the rest of the weekend chemical free but my social anxiety kept me from enjoying the experience at all. Like I said, I met a lot of very nice people, I just couldn't mix at all.

Needless to say, I went home dejected after the whole experience. If I couldn't form connections with people that love DMB as much as I do, how am I going to be able to form friendships at all? DMB at the Gorge is supposed to be an experience of belonging for me, not one of isolation, shame and embarrassment. This experience demoralized me so much that I became suicidal and ended up in the hospital for a short stay. I still have anxiety over the whole thing to this day. I can't believe I was so fucking stupid and was seriously questioning whether I would ever find a group of people where I felt like I belonged.

That's why it's time for a break, two years worth of heartbreak is just too much. I could go alone and stay where I usually camp but like I said, my ex-girlfriend knows exactly where to find me and capable of just about anything. Going alone also provokes it's own set of anxieties and insecurities, going alone is just out of the question. It really is time for a break.

There are other reasons not to go. For tickets and camping the price tag is close to $400.00 and I usually pay for this with my income tax return. My mountain bike is ten years old now and I would much rather put that money towards the purchase of a new one in hopes that it will inspire me to hit the trails with the dogs in ernest this year. The long term effects of this far outweigh a weekend at a concert, even if it is DMB.

I feel pretty good about my decision as whole right now though there is a certain level of sadness, which is to be expected. This really is a good decision for me right now. I still love DMB as much as ever and feel the new album is the best work they've done in close to 15 years. It's not like I can't go again next year, maybe with a close friend or female companion? I do plan catching the band this summer in Detroit which gives me a chance to spend time with my father and his wife. I'm sure that will just as fun for me even though the band is best experienced at the Gorge.

Most people are going to say, meh, what's the big deal? It's a pretty big deal for me, DMB is a huge deal for me. I connect with their music in ways that I cannot even begin to describe here. I think I'll just leave it at that. On a positive note, this is the last self-centric post that I'm going to write for a while. I think it's time for a little tongue in cheek humor for at least the next few posts!

Optimism, Pessimism, Depressive Realism, Cynicism, Naive Realism and Idealism....a study in " 'isms"

I've spent some time as of late analyzing my attitude towards life and what attitude I wish to have for it. Anyone who knows me would categorize me as a very cynical pessimist. I wholeheartedly agree with the cynicism part but I would argue with the pessimism part. Depressive Realism is a concept that states that depressed people actually have a more accurate perception of reality than normal, mentally healthy people do. I find this concept to be very interesting and find that I subscribe to many of ideas put forth in it's definition.

I've always believed in the idea that I see the world more clearly than most the rest of the world does. This, of course, is based on my perception of the world and that's where the idea that I'm a
depressive realist comes into question. Complex PTSD is in it's infancy as far as it's description, diagnosis and prognosis with treatment goes. According to Wikipedia, sufferers of CPTSD often have alterations in self perception, including "a sense of complete difference from others (may also include a sense of specialness, utter aloneness, belief no other person can understand, or nonhuman identity)" This statement pretty much sums up exactly how I've felt most of my life, especially the belief that no other person can understand me. The Wikipedia entry also talks about alterations in systems of meaning, specifically, "a sense of hopelessness and despair". This also applies directly to me and my attitude toward, life, interpersonal relationships and the human race in general.

Talking about perception and reality and the effects that they have on each other is a very slippery slope that I'm not going to delve too heavily into right now. The idea that my mental illness shapes my perception of reality is something that I struggle with constantly. I really want to believe that the concept of depressive realism is very plausible but as we've seen above, certain tenets of the description of CPTSD are in direct opposition the this idea. One of the therapists that I saw when I was away at an intensive outpatient program made this analogy as to how my mental illness shapes the way that I view the world.

 The story goes that a couple went to visit the Tuscany coast in Italy for a vacation. Upon arrival they found everything to be as beautiful as they expected. As they explored various walking paths and hiking trails, they observed dog poop wherever they went. Mortified by this, they took a picture of said dog poop when they first encountered it on the side of the trail. Instead of moving on and taking notice of how beautiful the scenery was, they became obsessed with how inconsiderate they thought people were by not picking up their dog's waste in such wonderful place. So on they went through their entire trip, taking pictures and focusing on dog poop whenever they found it until it was time to go home. Once they got home, they showed their pictures. Naturally the first picture they showed was of dog poop and the couple and their friends had a good laugh about it. The next picture was, of course, of dog poop again. The couple's friends laugh again, though not as enthusiastically as before. Once they got to the third picture and subsequent pictures of dog poop, it becomes clear that the couple's sole attention was on the negativity of finding dog poop everywhere instead of just accepting it for what it is and enjoying the rest of their trip.

The therapist who told me this story told me that my illness makes it so that I only see dog poop wherever I go and miss out on all of the good things that are present in the world. At the time, this made a lot of sense to me and I started to think about the idea that my mind presents the world behind a filtering lens in the shade of dog poop. In other words, I see only the negative and therefore, obsess over it to the point that I can see nothing else. This begs the question, can I see anything in the world objectively or is my perception of reality really that skewed? My current idea as to how answer this question? Yes and no.

Being an outsider all of my life helped me develop one positive characteristic, I am extremely observant and try to look at things scientifically and develop a working theory of how things work, interact and what kind of outcomes/consequences/results can occur in situation. I seek to understand everything that I see, I want to know exactly how the world works, how people interact and what motivates them in life. This is the clinical side of my personality that I described a few post ago. Because my mind is so analytical, it makes me very well suited to science and most certainly had a lot to do with my choice in careers. I am constantly watching and observing things, be it my dogs,  people walking past my coffee shop, people I work with, the world....etc. As a result, I have a working theory that the human race is ruining the planet we live on and that we will be the cause of our own undoing. I also see what it is that we are capable of as a species. We have this wonderful gift of conscious thought and we spend it in the pursuit of wealth, vanity and self servitude. The things that we are capable of accomplishing are so astounding but we are weighed down and ultimately underachieve spectacularly because of things like race, religious backgrounds and socio-economic status. This is not a post about my social, political, religious (specifically my lack of religious beliefs) or economic beliefs. It's about how I perceive the world and the human race in general. Because we are capable of conscious thought, we should strive to be more altruistic instead of selfish. So, is this my dog poop filter talking or is is the result of a great deal of observation and conscious thought? I honestly have no idea but I can tell you that the above examples are some of my most strongly held beliefs.

The very nature of my diagnosis begs the question, am I even truly capable of forming objective conclusion about anything, let alone the nature of the human race? Is my dog poop filter so strong that it effects every conscious though I have? These are difficult questions that most certainly don't have straightforward answers. This is where the concept of mindfulness comes into play. I have learned that I have to be mindful of every emotion and every thought that I have each and every day. I have analyze everything and determine if my response is my dog poop filter talking or a true interpretation of a situation. As you can guess, this isn't an easy task by any stretch of the imagination and I have been completely lax in practicing this for about 8 months now.

It takes so much energy to be mindful every second of every day and naturally, when I'm depressed, coming up with the energy to be mindful all the time becomes extremely difficult. Mindfulness is almost like the "spin" that political analysts like to use. Being mindful in my case means that I have to put a positive or optimistic spin on everyday situations in my life. I have friends who I work with who are incredibly proficient at being optimistic about almost everything. I spend half the time in awe of them and the other half wondering if there perceptions are in truth, reality. There's that perception vs. reality conundrum again. Mindfulness boils down to choice, I can choose to perceive things in a positive light and be the optimist or I can accept my dog poop filter interpretation of events and be the pessimist. My default option is always pessimism, unfortunately. That is why the conception of mindfulness is so important/essential to my recovery and continued growth as a human being.

Okay, I've talked about depressive realism, dog poop filters (negativity bias if you want to be precise), mindfulness, optimism and pessimism so far. I'm leaving out a key element to my personality though, cynicism. I am one cynical S.O.B., it's my primary defense mechanism and the source of almost all of my sense of humor. Cynicism, negativity bias and pessimism all have a lot of features in common with one another. For the longest time, I thought cynicism and sarcasm were one and the same, this is not the case though. One of the things that I have been taught through therapy is that sarcasm is considered to be nothing but displaced resentment by clinicians. If this truly is the case, it's no wonder that I'm so damn sarcastic. I don't subscribe completely to the above statement because I use sarcasm in my humor so much. We aren't talking about my sarcastic nature here though, we are talking about my cynicism (though it should be noted that the vast majority of my sarcasm comes from my cynicism). I am cynical as result of my upbringing and my experiences with my peers in grade school through high school. I am cynical because I am so observant. This goes back to my general opinion of the human race and the state that we are in right now. Being cynical is easy and is makes a great defense mechanism. Being cynical in my case discourages interaction with the world in the people in it because I am cynical about everything. Oh, I am so good about being cynical. Did I mention that I'm cynical about everything? I did because it's true. I moved to Kauai in part because I was so cynical about the "normal life" that someone in their mid-thirties and is married, is expected to live. I don't want to be your average United States citizen because I'm cynical. I work in the medical field because I'm cynical (though I am very cynical about the state of medicine in the United States today). I am so cynical that it would appear that I have unwittingly embraced a lot of concepts to be found in existential nihilism (I can't believe this philosophy actually exists, I thought I was the only person who thought this way). There is healthy cynicism and then there is Jon cynicism. Once again, am I so cynical because of my dog poop filter? I'm sure this is partly true but I'm sure that my intelligence plays a large role in this too. I would like to think that my intelligence results in a sense of naive realism but I am forced to question this because, once again, of my dog poop filter. The problem is, I like being cynical, I really like being cynical. Is it possible to be cynical about being cynical? I fear that being cynical is part of natural state of being and contributes greatly to my pessimistic nature. One major benefit of my cynicism is an extreme tendency to form my own opinions on subjects that may not follow the norm or majority. This is because I question everything but trust nothing that isn't backed up by scientific fact (clinical side of my personality again). A major drawback would be how my cynical attitude can affect the way I interact with people in general. This naturally feeds my nature of not trusting people and frequently results in dissociative behaviors on my part (not a good thing). Being mindful helps to counteract this to some degree but the dog poop filter is always in place.

Finally, I would talk a bit about my sense of ethical idealism. I hold very fast to my ideals and hold the rest of humanity to what I think should be our ideals as whole. As a result, I'm very cynical. Once again, I see what we are capable of as human beings and am ultimately disappointed because we seem to be unable to transcend our current state of society and achieve a form of utopia (altruism again). My father asks me at least once a year when I'm going to grow up, leave my blatant idealism behind, and join the real world. This always makes me sad because it means ultimately, this means that my father has given up on seeing the world change. Of course, his attitude is probably far more healthy and realistic than mine is because he accepts things as they are instead of pining for the impossible like I do. Here's a brain burner, does my adherence to certain ideals constitute a kind of anti-cynicism? My brain hurts too much to contemplate this question right now, I do intend to give it some serious thought though.

So, what have I learned tonight? Clearly, I am capable to whoring out to Wikipedia by linking endlessly to entries on philosophies and thought biases. Everything cycles back to perception versus reality and the existence of my dog poop filter. Mindfulness is the key to higher state of mental well-being for me. I question everything and as result, I am very cynical. Oh, what I mess I've made tonight, too much to digest right now. I hope your brain doesn't hurt as much as mine does right now and I hope  all the crap I wrote tonight was worth your time.

The legacy of Doctor Who

I recently joined Pinterest a few months ago. Pinterest had been on my radar since last year but I thought it was a new experience aimed primarily at women's interests. I can say that I most certainly like this new social experience and hope it manages to stick around for the duration.

Pinterest is a great way for people to find and share pictures and tidbits on their favorite passions. My pins tend to center around comic book characters, epic sports cars, random favorite anime series and other science fiction odds and ends. Pinterest even provides various categories for you to browse based upon your general interests and I find that I frequently browse the Geek category.

The thing is, the category may be called Geek but what it really should be called "Pining for Dr. Who and Sherlock Fan Girl Pins". Let me get this out of the way, I am a true nerd/geek (whichever you choose) and I am very much "Old School". I have met and know more than my fair share of women who are true, Old School nerds/geeks like me. Old School meaning that the person in question has been this way ever since they can remember. Science fiction has always dominated my interests and most likely will continue to do so until I pass on into the next world (can the next world be cyberpunk please?).

"What does this have to do with the Geek category of Pinterest?", you ask. Okay, go to the Pinterest website and browse the Geek category for 5 minutes. What do you predominantly see? Pins gushing  over how adorable David Tenant, Matt Smith and Benedict Cumberbatch are. Now, I know next to nothing about this Sherlock show that can be found on BBC and BBC America, but I do know a thing or two about Dr. Who. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that I know far more about Dr. Who than 90% of these fan girls posting about how awesome Doctor number s10 and 11 are.

You see, the BBC rebooted Dr. Who back in 2005 after more than a decade without airing the various adventures of the Gallifreyan Time Lord and his ever present "Companions" in his Time And Relative Dimension In Space (TARDIS). This new series is quite excellent from what I've seen and the Doctor has been played by 3 separate actors over the last 7 years. Doctors 9, 10 and 11 (Christopher Eccleston, David Tenant and Math Smith respectively) have all done an excellent job of furthering the mystery, intrigue and quirkiness of the character. As a result, there are now legions of new Dr. Who fans, a much greater percentage of them women than ever before, fawning over the Doctor. All of these new found fans aren't real Whovians (as they call themselves) in my mind and need to understand and respect the immense history this show has.

When I was 7 years old and visiting my father in Minneapolis during the summer, I stumbled onto this strange science fiction show starring a tall man with curly hair in a hat, a very multicolored scarf and an English accent, playing on PBS every day. The production value was shabby at best and the monsters looked very fake but the show was the coolest thing next to Star Trek that I had ever seen. This show was Dr. Who, of course, and I had started watching during the Tom Baker years. No one I knew or talked to had ever heard of this show and I soon discovered that Dr. Who had been around for a very long time, even back then in the early 80's. I only got to watch Dr. Who when I was visiting Dad because he had cable, which something that my mother never believed in. When I was able to, I watched the show religiously and came to know about such things as Daleks (a villain that I've had a life long obsession with), Cybermen, The Master, Sontarans and Silurians. I didn't just experience Tom Baker (the 5th incarnation) as the Doctor, I spent time with Patrick Troughton (2nd), Jon Pertwee (3rd), Peter Davison (5th) and even an episode or two of Colin Baker (6th). Some of the episodes I watched were so old that they were still in black and white.

Like I said, I never once encountered anyone else who knew what Dr. Who was or had even heard of it. It was like my own little secret, daily science fiction television show. Eventually Dr. Who all but disappeared in the 90's and I left it behind..... until 2005. Dr. Who came roaring back with a new face, and new companion and a much higher production value than anything seen before. During that roughly 15 year gap, my science fiction tastes had matured considerably and regarded anything science fiction to be found on television to be of questionable quality. I'm not someone who consumes mass quantities of television (I haven't had any television service for close to two years now and have gone long periods of time without it in the past) so the return of Dr. Who was a minor blip on my radar. I did tune in to watch the return of the Daleks and Cybermen and was very satisfied with the stories told. Here we are six years later and Dr. Who is huge franchise now.... full of fan girls dreaming of being whisked away in the middle of the night by a handsome stranger with an English accent and his blue police box.

I am still a Dr. Who fan and will always be what I consider to be a true Whovian. I love Dr. Who for it's science fiction, not because the Doctor happens to be dashing. I welcome the legions of new fans who now love the series, I just hope that they take the time to experience the Doctor the way he was originally and become true fans and not just a bunch of hopeless romantics. This article is not meant to be sexist in any way, there are old school Dr. Who fans who happen to be women. If any of them happen to be perusing this post I have one question: Will you marry me? Seriously.

                                    Now that's Old School, how about pining for these guys?