plastoblog

I'd say this pretty much nails it...

2009-06-27T20:00:00.000-07:00

Year One (Batt Level Review)

2009-06-17T21:55:00.000-07:00

Throughout cinematic history, there have been movies so bad they could almost be classified as Unintentional Genius; Or what I like to call: UG.

UG Exhibit (a)lpha:

During a recent bout of insomnia, I ran across the movie Anaconda, while flipping through channels at four in the morning. What followed was a movie so bad -- so deliciously ridiculous -- it stayed my hand from reaching for the remote control. I watched it from beginning to end. And let me tell you -- if you think bad CG is what brought this film down -- you've got it all wrong! You aint seen nuthin until you've witnessed the grand suck of John Voight's constipated performance.

So Anaconda's an UG.

Then you've got movies like Year One:

"Oy Vey!"

And sorry Jack Black and Michael Cera -- it's no Anaconda!

Year One is a movie so bland, so toothless -- it could be classified as cinematic stillbirth. A lifeless pile of nut-less sludge that has the entertainment value of watching frozen dog shit melt in the snow.

Before you discount this review as the pretentious ramblings of an art house film snob -- keep in mind that I have often championed movies comprised of nothing but good dick and fart jokes. I love "stoopid" as much as the next guy. Unfortunately my friends, this movie is too stupid to be stoopid; It gives nothing to no one. Forget renting it -- it's not even worth a torrent download.

My prediction?

It'll pass through your local multiplex as stealthily as warm piss through summer bathing shorts.

NO BATT

Year One starts Friday, June 19th.

Strange Days...

2009-06-11T09:34:00.000-07:00

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

"i" on News

thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Newt Gingrich Unedited Interview

We're all stars now in the dope show (Terminator Salvation Hypertext Review)

2009-05-18T22:56:00.000-07:00

......ATTENTION REQUIRED......

#Science Fiction Fans = Year: [Two Zero Zero Nine]

#If: MALWARE DETECTED ≠ Skynet
then DISPLAY:
The geniuses who brought us Catwoman and Charlie's Angels/

#FATAL ERROR =
Making what is essentially Terminator "xXx"

#SUBSTRING.1 =
Now we know why Bale was so prickly on the set + gotoandplay [he had nothing to do/]

#SUBSTRING.2 =

You'll find more realistic military tactics + protocol in your child's playground + gotoandplay [and stronger logic!\]

#SUBSTRING.3 =

Terminators are bitches/

#SUBSTRING.4 =

No dogs? Really?/

#SUBSTRING.5 =

Thank you Michael Ironside for another "they sucked his brains out" moment/

#SUBSTRING.6 =

I'm just shocked we weren't subjected to EXTREME TERMININJAS!

#SUBSTRING.7 =

Danny Elfman: For shame/

#SUBSTRING.8 =

That didn't work in the Matrix sequels and it don't work here/

#SUBSTRING.9 =

A good writer earns romance/gotoandplay[variables/whatmakes]

#DATA (this film is) =
Poorly written. Unfaithful to original material. Laughable (bit variation)/

#TABLES =
T1 = steak with mushrooms/
T2 = filet Mignon wrapped with bacon/
T3 = popcorn with warm butter/
T4 = a soggy, microwaved burrito stolen from a Kentucky gas station. Found on the side of the road. Smothered with bland hot sauce. Washed down with a flat can of Mountain Dew. Thrown by Bill Murray on the set of Charlie's Angels/

#IF:

[You hold the Terminator franchise in higher regard than the average summer popcorn film]

#ELSE:

[You are over the age of 12]

#then DISPLAY:

[YOU ARE THE RESISTANCE]

#End/

Terminator Salvation starts Thursday, May 21.

Floating Frequencies

2009-05-16T23:04:00.001-07:00

So...

I'm getting ready to listen to one of my freshly downloaded Adam Carolla podcasts. And I notice the name of the guest: Joe Rogan. "Meh," I think to myself. "Isn't that the Fear Factor guy?"So I skip it.

CUT TO:

My bathroom. A week later. It's a late night grooming session. I've got no fresh podcasts left.

"What the hell," I say to myself. Much of the genius behind Adam Carolla is not so much the guest but the spark. So I push play.

I'll admit it. Joe Rogan is a hell of a lot smarter than I gave him credit for. As I stood naked in my bathroom, looking at the clumps of dark man hair that littered the linoleum floor (thinking it looked like someone sheered a Wookie) I was dazzled by Rogan's isolation tank experiences. It sent my thoughts hurling back to the early 90's. To Cocoa Beach, Florida. To a young lad who was slowly climbing out of the recreational drug haze of his high school years. That little guy was now looking for other means of cerebral exploration.

Maybe it was too many viewings of Altered States:

...but the thought of sealing myself in a dark vacuum of water for several hours with nothing but the company of my thoughts, both thrilled and scared me beyond measure.

If only the owner had warned me not to rub my eyes! You see, in order for your body to float "above" the water, the tank has to be filled with a truck load of Epsom Salt. And getting that stuff in your eyes pretty much kicks you out of the garden. At the end of my short, very painful session, my eyes stung and my back was in knots. I never went back.

After hearing Rogan and Carrolla's conversation, I decided to give it another try.

It's no secret that I've been riding this intense wave of creativity for the past several months. These electrical storms come and go, so over the years I've learned to grab my key and my kite and get to flying before the winds no longer blow. I've completed more work in the past six months than I have in my entire life. The unfortunate biproduct of that productivity is the inability to shut my brain off when I want to.

If there's one thing I realize at this point in my life, it's that I'm less of a "creative," and more of a pair of "rabbit ears." Meaning: a guy like me needs only to leave himself open to ideas -- to the floating frequencies of the collective unconscious, and those signals will eventually materialize. In the past, I just never had the discipline or contentment to keep those receptors up. As well as the diligence to keep my notes in proper order.

With all that synaptic traffic illuminating my days and cluttering my nights, I just wanted a way to stop thinking for a few hours. Remembering all I learned in India. And of how effective meditation can be, I tried to start that back up again. And was plagued by too many distractions.

CUT TO:

A Buddhist Temple in Portland. "I'll do it there!" I think. So I go. And again -- the present floods me with long forgotten memories; Of all the Dharma junkies I've known. And that ALL religions are basically large cults. Hungry vacuums of personality and energy that are, unfortunately, the inevitable result of combining men with genuine epiphanies or ideas.

"I want singularity!" I think to myself, watching these peacocks do their holy struts. "Not religious bullshit and vegan pot-lucks!"

I walk to my car at the end of the mediation session thinking, "Religion is the most alienating force I know."

So when I heard Mr. Rogan talking about his think tank, I thought, "what the hell." It seems like the perfect combination for me: a mixture of mysticism and technology, without all the bullshit ornamentation.

CUT TO:

The Deep Haven. Portland, Oregon.

I show up for my appointment and meet Chris. A pleasant, quiet man who looks like a scientist, or a former member of Tangerine Dream.

He leads me down a narrow staircase and through a long hall decorated with Buddhas and Chakra paintings. "An unfortunate necessity," I think to myself, as Chris opens a door and introduces me to his pride and joy:

He tells me what I need to know. We discuss John C. Lily. Of his research into isolation tanks, dolphin communication, and psychedelic drugs. I'm again reminded of how smart Chris seems to be. He strikes me as the kind of quiet guy who has an enormous mental filing cabinet. The kind of guy who could go into blissful detail about most anything. He is both informative and comforting. I'm exited to get in.

He leaves me with a warm smile and says, "Have a great float."

I quickly shower off. Take a few pictures.

And enter the space capsule.

What was it like?

I can honestly say that it was one of the most profound experiences of my entire life. You have to remember, the tank is pitch black. There is no sound. Because of the salt, you're practically floating above the water. And the water is pretty close to human body temperature. So really, it's like floating in space.

You lie in the tank and let your mind do its circle runs; You feel like you're spinning; Like you're slopping towards a fall. And the most intriquing aspect of the experience, at least for me, was how pitch dark can become... well, darker. And of how darker dark can then become a shimmer of light.

There were moments when I actually felt as if I was floating on the edge of space. Moments when I saw squishy, fractal-like patterns that danced like inkblot poltergeists in the expanse of darkness. Now, keep in mind that what I'm talking about here is the electrical complexities of the brain, of entoptic phenomena such as phosphenes and how the mind goes into evolutionary survival overdrive when put in such sensory deprivation. This is not about dancing merrily with Shirley McClaine on flares of the sun.

My brain then began to spin wild yarns. There was a point when I entertained myself with a fully formed story (which struck me as a mixture of Cube and Total Recall) in which I was rattled out of my floating slumber by Nazi looking, totalitarian robots who pulled my naked body out of the tank as Chris stood shivering in the corner with a bloody nose. The story then got all 1984'ish, with interrogations in a Room 101 like setting. There were good questions within the confines of this fiction. Was this really happening? Was it just part of the float? Or was the house a front for new CIA interrogations. A better way to get information than dressing up like aliens to probe assholes with metal rods.

When the sweet melodies of space music slowly materialized over my head at the 1 1/2 hour mark, I had no idea if I had been in there 5 minutes or 5 hours. The world could have ended and I wouldn't have known. I stayed in the tank for another 30 minutes or so.

I felt a bit dizzy when I got out. As if I had just got off a boat. Or even like Alan Arkin in this forgotten gem:

I took a shower. Got dressed. And crawled out of the depths of the basement like a curious space gopher. Chris greeted me with another warm smile and asked if I'd like some juice. "Hell yes!" I thought. I was parched. After going into my normal manic patterns of detail about the wonders of my experience, I bid farewell.

Breathing in the summer air, I felt a bit like an astronaut, taking his first steps in gravity after a long journey away from home.

http://www.thedeephaven.com/

Yours in Service,

Dark Divinities

2009-05-16T08:44:00.000-07:00

Went to another Oregon Friends of Carl Jung lecture last night. The speaker was James Hollis, a Jungian analyst and author from Houston, Texas.

Some might find it odd, attending a psychology lecture in a Christian church. And if the lecture was centered around anyone other than Carl Jung, I'd have to agree with them. But, after all, we are talking about the ultimate mystic of analytical psychology. A man who had a "spirit guide" named Philemon.

As a quick primer, Jung is the man responsible for formulating such concepts as synchronicity and archetypes. A theoretical psychologist who felt that dreams, art, religion, and mythology could be used as inroads to a greater understanding of the psyche. As one of the original members of the psychoanalytical movement, he famously diverged with Freud on such matters as religion, libido, and the collective unconscious. Their "father-son" like relationship slowly degenerated into what Freud saw as, "an unconscious wish to destroy the father."

So no, it wasn't too much of a stretch to have such talk bounce around the gorgeous support beams of the First United Methodist Church of Portland.

Then again, Jung also had a vision of god crapping over a golden cathedral. So go figure!

But back to the lecture.

James Hollis is quite frankly, one of the most intelligent and thought-provoking speakers I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. I'll have to admit, reading the title of the lecture, What Matters Most: Living a Considered Life, set off "self-help" warning bells ringing around my own "collective unconscious." I was relived when Mr. Hollis opened with an explanation for the unintended loftiness of his title.

What followed was an hour and a half of cerebral fireworks. The exact sort of thing I was looking for. The reason for this was two fold:

1. There's a question I wanted to ask (more on that in a moment)

2. There is something about sitting in a room and listening to a lecture that gets my synapses popping. I find that I get some of my best work done in these kinds of environments....

Story problems are solved...

New revelations are discovered...

And Doodlebots help me keep playful track of it all...

A few of the gems heard throughout the night. Some are Jung's words; Some his; Some, who knows! Perhaps his own Philemon:

"When considering important truths, one has to realize that the opposite is also true."

"The most heavily pilgrimaged sites in all of history are not Mecca and Jerusalem, but Atlantic City and Las Vegas." This lead him into a fascinating discussion about the unconscious motivations of such desires.

"One of life's most destructive addictions is: habit."

When asked to go deeper into what he earlier described as Dark Divinity, I was reminded to finish a half written post entitled, "Creative Divinity." Or, "Rock Me Salieri." Or, "How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Accept the Charges of the Collective Call." I'll need to figure that out. But there are not enough hours! There are also books to be read and worlds to discover:

At intermission, I overheard two guys behind me talking about Albert Brooks' movie, Defending Your Life. I've heard about it for years, but have never seen it. As far as I know, it's about Brooks' take on the afterlife. As a Director, he's more "miss" than "hit" for me, so there's been no rush.

When a man stood up and, instead of asking a question, rambled on with an inappropriate bashing of the Bush administration, I was pleased to hear Mr. Hollis call it out for what it was: not really a question but a statement. I guess some people just want to hear themselves talk. Which brings me to my next point.

As someone who spent years as a professional speaker, the older I get, the more that gift seems to have slipped away. Case in point: When it came time for questions, I raised my hand in the crowded hall. In the ten or so minutes while I waited for the microphone, my blood boiled, and my heart beat faster than a drum track at a gay club.

I pulled myself together as much as possible and asked my question:

"How do you direct a patient with moral ambiguity to embrace their shadow? How do you help them navigate such a potentially dangerous road?"

*pause: please do not read too much into this. this is a question for current writing project and not a solicitation for my own evil soul. ;)

It was such a pleasure to discover James Hollis, a man who reminded me a lot of the late Joseph Campbell, the person responsible for shaping much of my theology and spiritual ideology as a young man. This was not a self-help guru big on taglines and low on thought. This was a thought-provoking man of education and experience who seemed free from much of the dogmatic restraints of his own religion (see: psychology) to stretch comfortably into larger, mysterious worlds.

Yours in Service,

Sunshine

2009-05-15T19:00:00.001-07:00

Shuttle Atlantis

"and not about billions of years ago..."

2009-05-14T12:44:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

*this message brought to you by sex, drugs, and the occult

You dirty Mac!

2009-05-12T13:47:00.000-07:00

Possibly the most disgusting keyboard I have ever come across.

(click to enlarge)

Rather than turn this post into an electro-hygienic service message, I'll close by saying: Ick!

Yours in Service,

You Promised!!

2009-05-09T12:06:00.000-07:00

The Tumor

2009-05-08T16:14:00.001-07:00

Just a quick note on an enjoyable book I picked up at the Stumptown Comics Fest.

The Tumor, by Ben Jelter

Initially attracted by the gorgeous cover art:

I forked over my thirteen bucks to Mr. Jelter (who signed the book with a little tumor of my own) hoping that the story would be more than the allure of its cover. I was pleased to discover an enjoyable short story about loneliness, neoplastic love, and the telephonic shrills of an overbearing mother.

The Tumor centers around Greg, a lonely man trudging quietly through the bleakness of his existence...

A monotony that's somewhat dispelled by the appearance of a tumor.

I think much of the pleasure in reading a story like this is discovering it for yourself. So I'll only add by noting how the book is wonderfully twisted -- but not in a "I'm trying to be twisted" way. The honesty and heartbreak of the prose elevate the story well beyond such idiosyncratic pitfalls.

The Tumor is a worthwhile read for anyone in the mood for stunning artwork, solid characterization, and a peculiar little tale of love and loss.

The book can be purchased on Ben's website:

http://www.thetumor.net/

Yours in Service,

In response...

2009-05-06T16:30:00.000-07:00

Where are you getting this information? When I look at the data supported by the majority of the world's scientists, I see something substantially different:

As evidenced above, your statement that "the global temperature has gone down every year since [sic]2001" is completely false. Furthermore, 2005 was the warmest year on record. *See Nasa:

Secondly, climate model projections summarized in the latest IPCC report indicate that global surface temperature will probably rise a further 1.1 to 6.4 °C (2.0 to 11.5 °F) during the twenty-first century. Perhaps it's the fluctuations that have you confused? Nonetheless, as you can plainly see, temperatures are increasing.

I think you are being duped my friend. Years of well financed lobbying, which we could also refer to as corporate "rebranding," have diluted the facts. That obfuscation is readily apparent when these all-too-obvious orchestrations are considered:

"Cooney, the former oil industry lobbyist, became chief-of-staff at the White House Council on Environmental Quality. Piltz says Cooney edited climate reports in his own hand. In one report, a line that said earth is undergoing rapid change becomes “may be undergoing change.” “Uncertainty” becomes “significant remaining uncertainty.” One line that says energy production contributes to warming was just crossed out."

-source (those pinko CBS bastards!)

I know this has been asked time and time again, but what's really lost if we adopt steps to lessen the impact of climate change and eventually find out we're wrong? Unless you're... say, a petroleum company, what is so infuriating about taking precautions? I'm of the camp that says, "the current data is still too inconclusive to identify the exact cause(s) of climate change." Until then, I don't mind being a little overly cautious. It seems like a healthier alternative to the gut-wrenching "drill baby drill," mantra. But that's not to say that I disagree with the assumption that there are those in the green movement who are nothing but frauds. On the contrary, I think we've gone well past the tipping point where that kind of shenanigans is concerned. The carbon credit "selling of indulgences" pisses me off more than anyone.

I wholeheartedly agree with your take on the more "religious" aspects of the green movement. But I think, like all religious folks, the green movement includes:

A) Individuals guided by genuine motives and concerns, and

B) A hell of a lot of dogmatic fruitcakes fumbling for the supposed salvation of the world. (when in all likelihood, what they really need is a good therapist)

What intrigues me about the majority of these objections is the vitriol behind them.

And the fact that the loudest detractors are overwhelmingly religious and "conservative." What is it about science that scares you guys so much? Now... I understand you've taken some beatings lately. And, well... it must be pretty damn infuriating to watch this country go to hell in a Socialist's "Muslin" hand-basket:

...And to maybe come to the realization that many of those archaic views will, I won't say become a thing of the past, but maybe... slowly fade into the background:

So maybe, for a lot of conservatives, this is one of the last Great Distractions left. But let's face it -- that team doesn't have the greatest track record disputing scientific fact.

From a Ptolemaic universe:

To a flat Earth:

To this recent gem:

...The majority of religious conservatives have continually repeated the same pattern of disputing sound evidence in favor of obtuse biblical rigidity. Facts be damned!

Maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps religion has nothing to do with this debate. But to be perfectly honest, it sure seems that way.

Another aspect of the green debate that fascinates me is the vilification of Al Gore. Al Gore!!!

The guy's as threatening as a llama!

It was the kiss, wasn't it?

You never got over the awkwardness of that?

It's just so odd, when you consider the fact that you seemed to have no problem with Bush's ties to Saudi oil, Cheney's defense coffers, or a former oil lobbyist becoming chief-of-staff of the White House Council on Environmental Quality. But you go crazy when someone mentions Al Gore's carbon credits! That being said, I find that just as unfortunate. Even if he is giving the money to non-profits (I have not yet taken the time to validate that statement), it's a questionable move that detracts from the earnestness of his overall message.

In summary:

Is there some shakin going on? Certainly looks like it. What's the cause? Beats the hell out of me. What do we do about it? I'm always in favor of erring in the side of caution. Except, of course, where debates are concerned...

Wink!

Post Script:

This clip pretty much encapsulates my feelings on the subject. And hell! I just worked through a stack of paragraphs trying to make my point -- and Penn nails it in just over a minute.

end.

swf test (non-post)

2009-05-03T13:27:00.000-07:00

I'm testing out some new coding. Please disregard.

(a)lpha update

2009-04-25T21:59:00.000-07:00

Book one: 1st draft complete.

Book two: 1st draft 80% complete.

Book three: all over the damn place.

Is it all worth it? Beats the hell out of me...

Yours in Service,

I was standing. You were there. Two worlds collided

2009-04-22T15:37:00.000-07:00

I found this while rummaging through my old files last night:

...my first concert ticket. INXS and P.I.L. at the Orlando Civic Center, 1988.

Oh -- it was a magical year!

These guys were topping the charts:

These guys were making headlines:

Evangelist Jimmy Swaggart returns to TV this week and tells his followers that he would tell them someday about the unspecified sin to which he confessed two weeks earlier. He said that he was eager to tell the whole story, not just what has been given in news reports and that he will do so when the time is right.

Grammy Awards were held this week:

Record of the year - “Graceland” - Paul Simon

Album of the year - “The Joshua Tree” - U2

Best new artist - Jody Watley

Pop/Rock - Female vocal - Whitney Houston - “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.”

Male Pop Vocal - Sting - “Bring on the Night.”

Duo or Group Pop Vocal - Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes, “(I Had) the Time of My Life”

Pop Instrumental - Larry Carlton - “Minute by Minute.”

Rock Vocal (Male or Female) - Bruce Springsteen, “Tunnel of Love

Duo or Group Rock Vocal: U2, “The Joshua Tree”

Rock Instrumental - Frank Zappa, “Jazz From Hell.”

This was on television the night before:

CBS - Candid Camera:The First 40 Years, The 37 th Annual Miss U.S. A Pageant, Diamonds

NBC - Matlock, Hunter, Crime Story, Best of Carson

ABC - Who’s The Boss? Growing Pains, Moonlighting, Thirtysomething, Nightline

PBS - Nova, Soldiers, Frontline

Moonlighting - It’s tension and arguments with Maddie and David this week as they move through a bridal shower, bachelor party and a wedding

These were the week's top movies:

Good Morning Vietnam

Frantic

Shoot To Kill

Moonstruck

Three men and a Baby

Unbearable Lightness

Michael Jackson’s new Pepsi commercial debuted on the Grammy Awards

telecast.

And I was still a relatively innocent lad who had not yet entered his experimental phase...

...And was just learning to bodyboard:

In a few short years, my hair styles would begin to continually embarrass my mother:

This stroll down Memory Lane brought to you by: "Where in the hell did I file that?"

Yours in Service,

(clf)notes on Stumptown Comics Fest 2009

2009-04-20T15:46:00.000-07:00

Attended Stumptown Comics Fest this weekend and had a wonderful time.

Went to a few panel discussions...

Took some notes; by way of Doodlebots...

Bought a few graphic novels.

Had to buy this book for the gorgeous artwork. Haven't started reading it yet so time will tell if the legs are as nice as the gown.

Spied on friend Jamie S. Rich doing portfolio reviews. He's been busy finalizing his latest opus, You Have Killed Me, with Joëlle Jones...

All in all it was a fantastic experience. Buying books directly from the writer/artist feels as good as plucking fresh strawberries off the soil they sprouted from.

These are busy days. "I am the octopus."

Yours in Service,

feel better?

2009-04-03T21:06:00.000-07:00

While I can't take credit for the idea of using a barf bag as an iPhone holder (I saw that on engadget), the desire to watch Order of the Phoenix without having to hold the phone in my hand for 2 hours led me to rifle through my gear bag, dig up a clothes pin and zip tie, and come up with this Macgyver-like apparatus.

My biggest concern was thinking I was going to get tackled by the other passengers, and rightly so. Between using my watch to cut a hole in the plastic barf bag and repeatedly trying to get the zip tie through the air vents of the TV monitor -- I looked a bit like a scheming terrorist.

But it all worked out in the end. Except for Harry. Voldemort stirred up trouble. It's cool though. He was saved by a gay wizard named Albus.

Yours in Service,

things that are talking to me: thing 2

2009-03-22T20:29:00.001-07:00

Public restroom coat hangers.

Sure, you might see this:

But I see this:

Yours in Service,

things that are talking to me: thing 1

2009-03-19T15:42:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's just the cerebral mildew of all my high school drug experimentation, but everywhere I go, I see things that look like faces; little anthropomorphic gems in the oddest of places. And not in any Son of Sam kind of way. I am, of course, reporting this with a wink and a nudge.

Thus begins a new plasOblog feature...

Things that are talking to me.

Thing 1:

The Panteen conditioner bottle in our bathtub. It stares at me every time I sit on the toilet!

Sure, this might be what you see:

But this is what I see:
And don't even get me started on the way our sponge is coming on to me!

Yours in Service,

today's meeting.1

2009-03-19T12:05:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

Synecdoche, New York

2009-03-18T14:48:00.000-07:00

"Now, it is waiting, and nobody cares. And when your wait is over, this room will still exist, and it will continue to hold shoes, and dresses, and boxes. And maybe someday, another waiting person. And maybe not. The room doesn't care either.

Walk... What was once before you, an exciting mysterious future is now behind you; lived, understood, disappointing. You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence, and are now slipping silently out of it.

This is everyone's experience, every single one--the specifics hardly matter. Everyone is everyone."

The most heartbreaking and misunderstood movie of 2008. On DVD now.

just foolin...

2009-03-17T22:50:00.001-07:00

(click to enlarge)

floatation device

2009-03-16T23:43:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

New RSS feed (please update)

2009-03-09T22:49:00.000-07:00

By rearranging/redesigning my websites, I broke my subscription links.

Please update your RSS readers with this new address.

For future reference:

website:
http://www.plastorm.com

blog:
http://plastorm.blogspot.com

biz:
http://www.applestarmedia.com

Apologies for the inconvenience.

Yours in Service,
rp

Goodbye.

2009-02-26T08:53:00.000-08:00

It's been 4 days since I put Nuke, my dog of 13 1/2 years to sleep.

I don't want to be that guy who endlessly and sorrily plucks the fiddle strings of his heart, so please forgive me for taking one last moment to solidify my thoughts.

We think Nuke had some form of nasal cancer. He showed all the signs, slowly. Then got worse quite quickly. It got to the point where he didn't even have the energy to make it outside. The vomiting, dozens of times a day, quickly combined with the inability to breathe or hold his bladder. After a horrible night of vomiting, wheezing, and pacing, Nuke laid his head on the side of our bed at about 4:30 A.M., and looked up at me with exhausted, watery eyes. As much as I wanted to ignore it, I knew it was time.

I coaxed him to slowly make his way to our basement garage, while Aaron followed with towels to clean all the piss and vomit. I will never forget the last twinkle in Nuke's eye was when I opened the trunk to my car and said, "you wanna go for a ride?" He exploded with a momentary surge of energy and jumped into the back. It was the last time I would ever see Nuke smile.

After arriving at Dove Lewis, the local animal hospital, they lifted Nuke out of the car and onto a stretcher, escorted us into a private entrance, showed us to a private room, and wheeled Nuke away. Once sedated, he was brought into our room to give us time to say goodbye. After asking for 10 minutes, it only took a few to realize it was all too unbearable. I asked for the Vet to come back as soon as possible. She came back after a few more minutes and made sure that I wanted to be there for his passing (I did. As hard as it was, I wanted Nuke to go not with strangers but those that he loved). She delicately explained that the shot she was about to administer would stop his heart, and warned that his eyes would remain open.

Trying our best not to choke on the tears, we kissed Nuke goodbye and I gave the Vet the go ahead. She squeezed the syringe. His worried eyes and labored breathing continued. The crazy part of my brain thought, for a moment, that maybe he'd live through it. This was quickly dispelled when she said, "It's going in now." And with that, Nuke took a final gasp, and fell silent. He was gone. My body arched with the weight of all the grief, I slowly made my way back to Nuke's side and pushed his eyes closed. I pet his warm body one last time, and asked if we could go. We slowly made our way out of the private entrance, got into the car, and I exploded with the most horrible, guttural cry a grown man could ever let out.

For those who don't already know, this is the first time I have lost someone or something close to me. Significant only for the fact that while I knew Nuke's death was going to be profound, I didn't know how exactly I'd process the myriad of emotions.

What I realize at this point is that it's not so much what you've lost -- but how much experience and emotion is tied into what's gone. Be it animal or human -- it makes no difference. I also understand why people need religion. Something, anything to make the unbearable -- bearable. While I could never adopt such euphemisms for myself, I understand, now more than ever, how such beliefs cushion life's blows.

As the days have gone on, I'm constantly reminded of just how much Nuke was inexorably threaded into my life. Into every single day of my life. He was given to me as a gift just after I returned from living in Europe. I was just a boy. He was the only constant in a life of so many changes; with me through all the twist and turns, highs and lows. Never frowned when I had to squeeze him into the car to make the drive from Oregon to Florida and back again -- 5 different times! He was happy enough just to be close to his owner.

Here's a quick clip from one of those trips (White Sands, NM). Never has a dog been so excited to be out of the car! And man, look how young he was...

While I get better every day, it's the little things that still get me. Nuke loved to chew ice, so I get flooded with sadness if a cube drops from the freezer. The same happens when I do a thousand different things in the course of the day. Little things that seem so big, now that they're gone. The hardest part of the day is going to bed, as Nuke would always sleep at my side. Or walking in the door, as he was always there to greet us. He would always peek in half closed doors. Or bark incessantly when someone knocked. But I guess what's missing most, is all of Nuke's nervous energy and love.

So I guess the only thing left to do is look back on the time I had with this amazing friend with fondness and awe. I will never forget him. He will never be replaced, even when we're one day ready to get a new dog. He was with me when I had nothing, and with me when life was firing on all cylinders.

Nuke:

Thank you for being so much more than a dog.

So much more than my best friend.

You were like a son.

Goodbye.