Noah Coleman was good at his job. He didn't enjoy his job, but he was good at it. There is a very large level of discretion involved in his line of work. Noah is probably one of the hundred smartest people on the planet, and he ended up in this job by chance. When he was much younger, he attended Harvard for four years, followed by another six years at Oxford. It was during his time at Oxford where he met his flatmate, and eventually close friend, Desmond Patterson who would later turn out to be his boss. Noah was probably more intelligent that Desmond, but it was the Patterson name and family history that provided the funding and ability for the men to do the things that they have been able to do.
Noah sipped on his coffee as he watched the second hand tick, tick, tick around the clock in the room. Today was a special day. Today was an eventful day. Most days were pretty boring, aside from the ones when he got to meet with potential clients. On an average day in the office, Noah spent his time reading report after report that his employees assembled for him. These reports were biographies on various millionaires in the world. These are not just any biography, they are extremely detailed lists of every major event in their lives. These major events were the selling points that Noah would use, if he decided any of these people were worth moving to the next level.
But today was an "event day" as they referred to them in the office. A client had already been approached, and an offer had already been made. The client had accepted the offer, and The Centre had already received payment. Noah remembered in the early days, when Desmond used to come down and witness the events. By this time, they had done so many successfully that it no longer interested Desmond, he just wanted the money deposited and didn't want to get up in the middle of the night to deal with things, he valued his sleep too much.
Noah valued his sleep too, but he had no choice. This was his job. Luckily, he had a very large and very comfortable couch in his office and would be taking a long nap in about fifteen minutes. The second hand moved upward and meet the minute hand at the twelve. The hour hand was sitting at the four, and Noah took one last sip of his coffee before he stood up, straightened his tie, picked up a glass of water and left his office. He took the elevator up to the lobby and met today's event: Nick Webber.
Nick Webber was a multimillionaire. Twenty-four hours earlier he was in his ocean-side mansion in Miami, sitting on hi massive deck, overlooking the flowing water in the moonlight. He had three beautiful naked women with him, and large amounts of alcohol and drugs in his system. Nick had been divorced three times, and never really loved any of the women he was married to. He was the heir to a Texas oil company, and never really had to work a day in his life. He had some serious regrets in his life, and by this point realized that he was an epic failure to his parents and grandparents. Nick had decided it was time to change his life, but he wanted one last night of debauchery before he made the life-changing choice that he did.
Noah shook Nick's hand and said, "Mr. Webber, are you ready to change your life?"
Nick nodded his head. Noah took a capsule out of his pocket, and handed it to Nick, along with the glass of water, "I just need you to swallow this for me."
Noah and Nick walked to the elevator, and proceeded back down to the fourth level of the basement. Noah had two offices in this tower that sat at the corner of 39th Street and 7th Avenue. One was on the top floor, where he could easily look down 7th and see the busy lives of thousands of tourists heading in and out of Times Square. His second office was four floors below the streets of New York City.
"I'm still a little confused why we're doing this at four in the morning." Nick stated, almost in a question form.
"Trust me Mr. Webber, we've got our reasons, and we know what we're doing," was the response Noah gave him.
"You've really done this before, right? You're not just pulling my leg? Or trying to rob me, are you?"
Noah was still a little tired, and now a little annoyed. He didn't feel like answering the moronic questions, so he just remained silent. This didn't ease Nick's anxiety, and he began talking more and more, to the ire of Noah. The elevator ride felt three times longer than it should have. The door finally opened, and Noah walked as quickly as he could out into the long hallways, with its bland white walls and bright fluorescent lights. Nick trailed behind him, mumbling to himself.
As annoyed as Noah was, this was not the worst client he had even had, and he prayed that Nick wouldn't end up vomiting all over the nice walls and floor, like Mrs. Dennison had done a few months earlier. Suddenly, Noah only heard one set of footsteps, and he stopped to turn around and see Nick frozen, as if he'd seen a ghost.
"I don't know if I can do this..."
Noah rolled his eyes and walked back towards to his client to give him this word of advice, "Mr. Webber, we already have your money. We've told you it's non-refundable. You made this commitment. You walked into my office and you told me that you felt like your life was waste, and that you had disappointed everyone in your family for not taking an interest in your family business, and instead chose to spend thirty years blowing money on women, booze, and drugs. I remember the look in your eyes when you told me that you wanted me to change your life, and make you something that your family would respect."
Noah paused for a second, and looked Nick in the eyes.
"If you don't come with me, and allow me to do what you've paid me for, then you're just going to go back to the pathetically wasted life that you have. I remember the look of shame in your eyes, and I've got a horrible feeling that if I don't make your life better, you will eventually put a gun to your head and end your self-loathing of this embarrassment of a life that you live."
Another pause, just for more dramatic effect. Noah knew the next punch he was going to take, and it was going to be a whopper. At this point, Noah almost wanted to see if he could make this man cry. Sadly for Noah, he wasn't going to get the chance.
"You're right. Thank you. Let's do this."
The two sets of footsteps were once again going down the hallway, and eventually reached the door to The Chamber. Noah opened the door and ushered Nick in. There were three employees sitting at various computer stations surrounding a circular platform with wires running to three poles that were on various sides of the stand.
One of the employees walked up to Nick and took him by the arm, moving him towards the platform, "Please just stand in the middle and be as still as possible."
"Is there any preparations or anything?" Questioned Nick.
"Sir, we've done all the prep work that was needed, all we need now is for your to stand perfectly still, and open your mind".
The employee, Ridley, ran back over to his computer and started punching away at buttons.
Nick stood on the platform and scanned the rather vapid room. There was nothing aside from the platform, poles, and computers. With every passing second, Nick became more and more scared. Then he heard some type of electric humming sound, and it got louder and louder. Suddenly, hi head began to feel very light, as if his skull was getting bigger and taking any and all pressure off of his brain. He tried to open his eyes, but they had fallen closed and he seemed to have no control over them anymore, it was just darkness as the humming got louder and louder, and then Nick heard a sound so piercingly high-pitched that it honestly felt like his eardrum exploded. At that exact same second, all the darkness Nick was seeing was replaced with an intense white light, so intense that it felt like he was starring directly at the surface of the sun. It felt like his eyes were melting.
And then it was over.
Nick's body collapsed on the platform.
Noah looked at Ridley, who gave him a nod.
Nick was obviously disoriented and confused, "Where am I? Hello? I can't see anything..." Nick repeated these phrases a few times, as he propped himself up, and eventually sat on the platform, waving his right hand around in front of him, and using his left hand to rub his eyes.
When Noah finally got to the platform, he starred down at Nick's confused body. This was the discreet part of his job that he hated the most.
Noah pulled out his 9mm Beretta 92FS from under his jacket and put one single bullet into the skull of Nick Webber.
As the three employees walked over to the body, Noah Coleman headed out of the room, and towards his office. It was time to take a nap before he had to go up to his other office.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Best Sixty-Nine Years
John Brown found himself sitting in his favorite chair, in his living room. He looked around at all the picture frames on the walls, and the digital photograph thing that his kids had gotten them for Christmas a few years earlier. As hundreds of photos transitioned between each other, John found himself lost in a reflective state of mind. Somewhere in the vast time of remembrance, a tear formulated itself and traveled down the grooves of John's face. It was the first of thousands of tears that he was about to begin to lose. Each individual tear carrying another memory with it. While the rest of his family was upstairs, hosting their memorial event, John just wanted to get away and spend some quality alone time with the memory of the woman of his dreams.
It had only been six hours since his wife, Anna, had been placed into the earth.
Six days before that, John had rushed Anna to the hospital in the middle of the night. She was complaining of serve pains in her abdominal area.
It was only two years before that when Anna had to rush John to the hospital, when he collapsed in their back yard while trying to pull weeds from her garden. It was John's third heart attack, and once again he barely made it through.
Earlier that year was a huge milestone for John and Anna, they became great-great grandparents, when their 16-year old great-granddaughter, Amanda, gave birth a child. It came with a lot of controversy, and many in the extended family were very upset with her, and her father - Brandon. But, despite the attitudes and the feelings, everyone came together when he was born, and welcomed another generation into their family. John and Anna felt so old, when they took a family portrait with five generations together.
Two years earlier, John and Anna celebrated their sixtieth wedding anniversary. Despite being such a huge milestone, and the grandness of their previous anniversaries, they decided that they wanted something smaller this time. They rented out a local reception hall, and had the entire family get together. Over the many years, their small mid-western family had expanded to all extremes of the country. One of their sons, James was in San Fransisco. One of their grandchildren was living in Alaska. One of their great-grandchildren was going to school in New York City. Many other members were scattered all across the United States. Some had moved for school, some had moved for jobs, and other had moved for love. All John and Anna wanted was for everyone to come back together to celebrate, and almost everyone made it. The only person who wasn't in attendance was Jackson, James' son, who was in Afghanistan at the time.
Five years earlier was September 11th, and after the attacks, John and Anna were so afraid to find out that Jackson was being sent over to Iraq. The first of three trips that he would eventually take to the Middle East. The Brown family was a life long military family, and Jackson was the fourth generation to serve, but only the second to actually see war firsthand. While John was proud of his grandson, he constantly worried for him. The art of war had evolved significantly since his time, and he was very concerned for Jackson's safety. Because of this, Jackson would write home to his grandfather three times more often than he would write to his own mother. Jackson always looked up to his grandfather, and as a child, he would sit and listen to him tell war stories for hours at a time. These stories had a great influence on him, and Jackson never forgot how important John was to him.
One year earlier had been John's second heart attack, the worst one. Every member of the family feared the phone ringing, for it may carry the horrific news. It took the better part of six months, and lots of rehabilitation, but John eventually seemed to recover completely. During this entire time, Anna was always at his side. But this was really nothing different from every other day of their lives. Since the day they were married, Anna never again had a paid job in her life. Family was her job. She was the model they used for the Stepford Wives. She had breakfast on the table at 6:30am, and dinner was always hot and ready at 5:00pm. The laundry was done twice a week. The kids had brown sack lunches ready every day. Anna always joked about the taxi services she offered. Between the three children, there was Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, basketball practice, soccer practice, volleyball practice, theatre rehearsals, church functions, and time spent working on their uncle's farm. It was a busy life, but it was the life Anna wanted, and making her family as happy as possible was the only thing she ever cared about. Joe knew he was a lucky man, and he never took his wife granted. So, after so many years of back massages, foot rubs, fancy dinners, flowers, and love letters; it was finally Anna's turn to take care of her husband. It humbled John, who always believed it was his job and his responsibility to protect Anna.
Four years before that second heart attack was the fiftieth anniversary of John and Anna's marriage. For this milestone, they finally took their Hawaiian vacation. James, Aaron, and Julie grew up hearing their parents talk about their desire to visit Hawaii. John was a avid military enthusiast, and visited almost every battlefield in North America, including Queenston Heights, Chatham (Ontario), Palo Alto, Resaca de la Palma, Veracruz, Salt River Canyon, Fort Sumter, and Gettysburg, of course. Many summer vacations were spent taking his children on long road trips to various small towns and open fields and giving them history lessons along the way. So, when John and Anna announced that they were finally planning their trip to Hawaii, their children spared no expense to make sure that it was the trip of a lifetime. Pooling their money and resources, the Brown children set their parents up with a ten-day vacation as an anniversary present. The vacation included stops on all four islands, and every possible historical tour that a person could take. Standing in the observation memorial for the USS Arizona was the most surreal experience that John had in years. The moment brought uncontrolled tears to his eyes, as he thought about the three friends he had whose final resting spot was directly below where he was standing. One was a family friend whom he only knew socially, but the other two were boys he grew up in the same neighborhood with, who just happen to be two years older than him, and had enlisted as soon as they graduated high school. John remembered the days before they left for Honolulu, and how excited they were to be serving their country. As a 17-year old senior, John was jealous and couldn't wait for that to be him. He was already registered, an just waiting to turn eighteen and graduate, and then he would be on his way. Less than six months later, two of his childhood friends would be dead.
Four years earlier, John and Anna welcomed their first great-grandchild into the world, when Aaron's oldest son, Brandon and his wife gave birth to their daughter Amanda. The elderly couple had to make a long trip to Richmond, Virginia to visit the newest generation of the Brown Family. As John held Amanda is his arms, Brandon asked, "Grandpa, will you tell her about the wars in this area?" As John began talking about the battle at Proctor's Creek, Brandon got nostalgic and he remembered when he was growing up, and listened to his grandfather talk to him and cousins for hours.
Five years earlier was when Anna was first diagnosed with cancer. It was rough on the entire family, as it took the doctors numerous visits and tons of tests to come up with what they thought was the problem. Science wasn't so advanced at this point, and this particular variety of cancer was a little lesser known, and not so understood. It showed various signs that continued to throw off the doctors, and it took a long time for them to finally narrow down what they thought it was. Sadly, they originally mis-diagnosed her, and it wouldn't be for many more years, with the help of advancements in technology, that doctors would realize their mistake. It's really too bad, because it's most likely that the treatments she was given this year, because the complications that eventually resulted in her body completely shutting down.
Five years before that was one of the most tragic events for the family. During a summer vacation to a lake house in the upper peninsula of Michigan, Julie's middle son, Edward drowned in a lake. Julie and her husband Charlie both worked in the legal system, and were both workaholics. Neither of them had been on a vacation in years. As their children were getting older, they decided that it would be nice to give them a nice, lavish vacation. So, they rented a large lake house at Lac La Belle for two weeks. John and Anna went up for a few days, and then returned home. Happy to get a small vacation in for themselves, and happy to spend quality time with their daughter and grandchildren. It made it that much harder, three days later when they got the phone call. Anna had to give the phone to John because she lost it as soon as she heard the news. Thomas, Edward, and Ashley took the paddle boat out on the water, eventually parking the boat and all getting out to play around. All three of them knew how to swim, and their parents had no worries. After a while, Thomas and Ashley realized that they hadn't seen Edward for a few minutes. The began diving down in the water, and it was Thomas who eventually found Edward, tangled in a tree underwater. The theory is that he somehow hit his head while swimming underwater, because disoriented, and thought he was swimming up, when in reality, he was swimming down under the tree, where he eventually became trapped and drowned. Thomas and Ashley got his body into the boat, and frantically trying to pump the water out of his lungs. Ashley paddle her hardest while Thomas beat on Edwards chest and tried to breath life back into his lungs. Sadly, by the time they reached the house and got their parents, it was a lost cause. Edward was dead. His siblings carried the burden and guilt for many, many years and the family did not take another vacation together until both Thomas and Ashley had graduated high school. It was one of the roughest times for the Brown family. Many family members made the trip home for the funeral, but a number of them were still missing.
Three years earlier, Jackson was born to James. Jackson was their last grandchild.
Four years before that, Martin was born to James. Despite being their oldest child, James was the last one to get married. He two children became the youngest of their generation.
The previous year, Ashley was born to Julie.
Edward was the year before that, Julie's second child.
One year earlier was a double whammy. Aaron gave John and Anna their first grandchild in April. And in June, Julie gave birth to Thomas. Their first two grandchildren came less than three months apart. And in October, James was married to Sarah. It was definitely an eventful year for John and Anna, and the entire Brown family. Lost of traveling was done by many of the family members.
The year before was a milestone for John and Anna. It was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and Anna went all out to plan a great trip to Europe for John. Ever since he returned from the War, John had spoken many times about wanting to go back someday. Anna was never really sure if he meant it. She heard stories of other soldiers returning and not being able to deal with the things that they went through and witnessed. But, after twenty-four years, John legitimately seemed interested in returning, and Anna had always wanted to see Europe, so she made the plans and surprised John a month beforehand. And Anna was right, John truly did want to go back. He was more than patient to wait for the cities to be rebuilt, so that he could enjoy them for what they truly were. He remembered various candies and treats that he used his money to buy while he was in Franc and Germany. He remembered walking through destroyed cities and wondering what they looked like in their prime. He knew his experiences were tainted by the war, and he always wanted to be able to experience these places the ways they were meant to be, by tourists. So, the middle-aged couple spent seventeen wonderful days enjoying France, Germany, Switzerland and Italy. John found numerous locations that he knows he was
One year earlier was Julie's wedding to Charlie. Sadly, James missed this wedding, as he was at the end of his four years in Vietnam. It was a long four years for Anna, more than John. Being a survivor of wartime, John seemed to believe that his son would return without any issue. Anna was constantly frantic, and hated going many months between hearing from her first-born son. It took its toll on their relationship, but John was a constant rock to keep her solid and help her through the rough times. When John finally came home, it was to a large family party, and John was finally introduced to Charlie, whom his sister stared dating not long after he left for Vietnam, and was now married to.
Four years earlier was the beginning of the rough times for Anna. It was an emotional goodbye when she was forced to watch John walk through the corridor and get onto the plane that would take him to his company, and only a few days later he would be on another plane heading to the South Pacific. She couldn't even try to strong about it. She didn't sleep for three nights beforehand, and when she made him his favorite breakfast, she cried the entire time he was eating it. She cried the entire time they drove him to the airport. She cried the entire time they were standing in the terminal, and she collapsed on the ground when was out of her sight. But John was there for her, and did his best to be strong enough for both of them. That summer was their twentieth anniversary, and despite the few months time, Anna was still an emotional wreck. So, for their anniversary, John planned a very special trip. Out into the middle of the countryside. And even though he tried to keep it a surprise, Anna was not dumb. When they were still an hour away from their destination, Anna knew exactly where they were going, and what it meant to that day. As they pulled up the winding road, Anna felt the most peace she had in a long, long time. When they finally reached the clearing at the top of the hill, and pulled up to the little white church, Anna cried again. But this time, they were tears of joy and happiness, as she thought back to spending a warm June afternoon in this exact location, twenty years prior. They spent the day walking around the grounds, talking about the events of that day, talking about all of the moments they've had since then, and they ended a perfect afternoon with a picnic. Not one person bothered them the entire day, and it was as if the world stopped just for them to enjoy the afternoon together. While it did provide ease while they were there, it's didn't last too long after she arrived home. Anna just could not stop thinking about her little boy, being in the heart of a war where thousands of people were dying. A few years later, that church would be torn down, and this special day was the last time either of them saw the church where they were married.
The previous fifteen years were filled with young love, and a growing family. Thousands of diapers for their three children. Sporting events for the kids. School dances. Summer camps. The family moved quite a bit in the beginning, but by the time James was set to start high school, John and Anna settled down in the city and house that they would end up living in for the next forty-eight years. The military took them all across the country, and it's probably why and how this family developed such a close-knit and tight family relationship. They always had each other to depend on, and despite what happened down the road, and despite the paths their lives would take, and despite how ever far they moved away from each other, this family always stayed close, because that's how they all knew life. Ever since Julie was born.
Aaron was born the year before.
And James was born two years earlier.
This was one year after John and Anna got married.
Which was two years after John returned from Europe, serving in World War II.
John had spent the previous three years in France and Germany, serving in the United States Army. John was prepared to sign up at age 17, but had to wait until after he graduated high school and turned 18, and on his birthday he signed his papers, and it was merely a few weeks later that he found himself in basic training. Which was a very rough way to start his very young relationship with Anna. He wasn't allowed to call or write her, and then he was only allowed to be home for one week before he was shipped out. He landed on the beach of Normandy only hours after the first wave, and John will never forget the thousand of bodies that he saw on that day. But, even while he was in Europe, he was able to occasionally get letter written and sent to Anna, and in those letters he begged and pleaded with her to wait for him, and to give him a chance to give her a wonderful life. John was madly in love with Anna, even though they had only been dating for a little over one year at this time. And John's letter's reached Anna, and touched her in so many ways, that she knew that she needed to wait for him to come home, and that she wanted a long life with him. She would read every letter he wrote, everyday, and she would lie in bed, staring into the paint patterns on her ceiling, while she day-dreamed of a future with John. She thought about kids, and grand kids, and a perfect life together. John and Anna did not have a perfect life, they had a life full of ups and downs, lots of good and some bad. But, when Anna was getting ready to pass away, and lying on her hospital bed, she looked at the ceiling in that room, and she thought back to being seventeen, eighteen, and even nineteen, and she compared her notes with herself. Marry the man of my dreams? Check. Have children, grandchildren, and a solid family? Check. Die in the arms of the man I'm madly in love with? Check.
One year prior was the first date for John and Anna.
John was a senior and Anna was a junior, and they met each other on the sidelines of a football game. John was a wide receiver for his high school's team, while Anna was a cheerleader. When John caught a ball and was sprinting down the sideline, he was eventually hit by a safety and went flying out of bounds. When he hit the ground, he rolled, and ended up taking out the legs of Anna. She tumbled down on top of him, and as he helped her up - they had their first "shared moment". John instantly thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. It might be going too far to say it was "love at first sight", but when John tracked Anna down the next day to ask her to dinner, it was mostly definitely love at second sight.
John did not have a car of his own, therefore he begged and pleaded and bartered, until his father agreed to allow him to use his 1939 Ford Deluxe Coupe to take out Anna. John took advantage of the car, and for the first hour of their date, they just cruised up and down the main streets of town, while they talked. They eventually ended up getting some Surf 'N Turf for dinner, before heading to the small single-screen movie theatre to watch "Babes on Broadway". It was during the musical number "How About You?" that John leaned over and kissed Anna on the cheek, and when she turned to look at him, they had their first kiss.
Five years later, at their wedding, they would have their first dance to this song.
And sixty-nine years later, while Anna laid in her hospital bed, slipping in and out of consciousness, John would be sitting right next to her with his arms wrapped around her, whispering into her ear...
"I'm so delighted I've ignited the spark within you. Let me continue to make it burn..."
It had only been six hours since his wife, Anna, had been placed into the earth.
Six days before that, John had rushed Anna to the hospital in the middle of the night. She was complaining of serve pains in her abdominal area.
It was only two years before that when Anna had to rush John to the hospital, when he collapsed in their back yard while trying to pull weeds from her garden. It was John's third heart attack, and once again he barely made it through.
Earlier that year was a huge milestone for John and Anna, they became great-great grandparents, when their 16-year old great-granddaughter, Amanda, gave birth a child. It came with a lot of controversy, and many in the extended family were very upset with her, and her father - Brandon. But, despite the attitudes and the feelings, everyone came together when he was born, and welcomed another generation into their family. John and Anna felt so old, when they took a family portrait with five generations together.
Two years earlier, John and Anna celebrated their sixtieth wedding anniversary. Despite being such a huge milestone, and the grandness of their previous anniversaries, they decided that they wanted something smaller this time. They rented out a local reception hall, and had the entire family get together. Over the many years, their small mid-western family had expanded to all extremes of the country. One of their sons, James was in San Fransisco. One of their grandchildren was living in Alaska. One of their great-grandchildren was going to school in New York City. Many other members were scattered all across the United States. Some had moved for school, some had moved for jobs, and other had moved for love. All John and Anna wanted was for everyone to come back together to celebrate, and almost everyone made it. The only person who wasn't in attendance was Jackson, James' son, who was in Afghanistan at the time.
Five years earlier was September 11th, and after the attacks, John and Anna were so afraid to find out that Jackson was being sent over to Iraq. The first of three trips that he would eventually take to the Middle East. The Brown family was a life long military family, and Jackson was the fourth generation to serve, but only the second to actually see war firsthand. While John was proud of his grandson, he constantly worried for him. The art of war had evolved significantly since his time, and he was very concerned for Jackson's safety. Because of this, Jackson would write home to his grandfather three times more often than he would write to his own mother. Jackson always looked up to his grandfather, and as a child, he would sit and listen to him tell war stories for hours at a time. These stories had a great influence on him, and Jackson never forgot how important John was to him.
One year earlier had been John's second heart attack, the worst one. Every member of the family feared the phone ringing, for it may carry the horrific news. It took the better part of six months, and lots of rehabilitation, but John eventually seemed to recover completely. During this entire time, Anna was always at his side. But this was really nothing different from every other day of their lives. Since the day they were married, Anna never again had a paid job in her life. Family was her job. She was the model they used for the Stepford Wives. She had breakfast on the table at 6:30am, and dinner was always hot and ready at 5:00pm. The laundry was done twice a week. The kids had brown sack lunches ready every day. Anna always joked about the taxi services she offered. Between the three children, there was Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, basketball practice, soccer practice, volleyball practice, theatre rehearsals, church functions, and time spent working on their uncle's farm. It was a busy life, but it was the life Anna wanted, and making her family as happy as possible was the only thing she ever cared about. Joe knew he was a lucky man, and he never took his wife granted. So, after so many years of back massages, foot rubs, fancy dinners, flowers, and love letters; it was finally Anna's turn to take care of her husband. It humbled John, who always believed it was his job and his responsibility to protect Anna.
Four years before that second heart attack was the fiftieth anniversary of John and Anna's marriage. For this milestone, they finally took their Hawaiian vacation. James, Aaron, and Julie grew up hearing their parents talk about their desire to visit Hawaii. John was a avid military enthusiast, and visited almost every battlefield in North America, including Queenston Heights, Chatham (Ontario), Palo Alto, Resaca de la Palma, Veracruz, Salt River Canyon, Fort Sumter, and Gettysburg, of course. Many summer vacations were spent taking his children on long road trips to various small towns and open fields and giving them history lessons along the way. So, when John and Anna announced that they were finally planning their trip to Hawaii, their children spared no expense to make sure that it was the trip of a lifetime. Pooling their money and resources, the Brown children set their parents up with a ten-day vacation as an anniversary present. The vacation included stops on all four islands, and every possible historical tour that a person could take. Standing in the observation memorial for the USS Arizona was the most surreal experience that John had in years. The moment brought uncontrolled tears to his eyes, as he thought about the three friends he had whose final resting spot was directly below where he was standing. One was a family friend whom he only knew socially, but the other two were boys he grew up in the same neighborhood with, who just happen to be two years older than him, and had enlisted as soon as they graduated high school. John remembered the days before they left for Honolulu, and how excited they were to be serving their country. As a 17-year old senior, John was jealous and couldn't wait for that to be him. He was already registered, an just waiting to turn eighteen and graduate, and then he would be on his way. Less than six months later, two of his childhood friends would be dead.
Four years earlier, John and Anna welcomed their first great-grandchild into the world, when Aaron's oldest son, Brandon and his wife gave birth to their daughter Amanda. The elderly couple had to make a long trip to Richmond, Virginia to visit the newest generation of the Brown Family. As John held Amanda is his arms, Brandon asked, "Grandpa, will you tell her about the wars in this area?" As John began talking about the battle at Proctor's Creek, Brandon got nostalgic and he remembered when he was growing up, and listened to his grandfather talk to him and cousins for hours.
Five years earlier was when Anna was first diagnosed with cancer. It was rough on the entire family, as it took the doctors numerous visits and tons of tests to come up with what they thought was the problem. Science wasn't so advanced at this point, and this particular variety of cancer was a little lesser known, and not so understood. It showed various signs that continued to throw off the doctors, and it took a long time for them to finally narrow down what they thought it was. Sadly, they originally mis-diagnosed her, and it wouldn't be for many more years, with the help of advancements in technology, that doctors would realize their mistake. It's really too bad, because it's most likely that the treatments she was given this year, because the complications that eventually resulted in her body completely shutting down.
Five years before that was one of the most tragic events for the family. During a summer vacation to a lake house in the upper peninsula of Michigan, Julie's middle son, Edward drowned in a lake. Julie and her husband Charlie both worked in the legal system, and were both workaholics. Neither of them had been on a vacation in years. As their children were getting older, they decided that it would be nice to give them a nice, lavish vacation. So, they rented a large lake house at Lac La Belle for two weeks. John and Anna went up for a few days, and then returned home. Happy to get a small vacation in for themselves, and happy to spend quality time with their daughter and grandchildren. It made it that much harder, three days later when they got the phone call. Anna had to give the phone to John because she lost it as soon as she heard the news. Thomas, Edward, and Ashley took the paddle boat out on the water, eventually parking the boat and all getting out to play around. All three of them knew how to swim, and their parents had no worries. After a while, Thomas and Ashley realized that they hadn't seen Edward for a few minutes. The began diving down in the water, and it was Thomas who eventually found Edward, tangled in a tree underwater. The theory is that he somehow hit his head while swimming underwater, because disoriented, and thought he was swimming up, when in reality, he was swimming down under the tree, where he eventually became trapped and drowned. Thomas and Ashley got his body into the boat, and frantically trying to pump the water out of his lungs. Ashley paddle her hardest while Thomas beat on Edwards chest and tried to breath life back into his lungs. Sadly, by the time they reached the house and got their parents, it was a lost cause. Edward was dead. His siblings carried the burden and guilt for many, many years and the family did not take another vacation together until both Thomas and Ashley had graduated high school. It was one of the roughest times for the Brown family. Many family members made the trip home for the funeral, but a number of them were still missing.
Three years earlier, Jackson was born to James. Jackson was their last grandchild.
Four years before that, Martin was born to James. Despite being their oldest child, James was the last one to get married. He two children became the youngest of their generation.
The previous year, Ashley was born to Julie.
Edward was the year before that, Julie's second child.
One year earlier was a double whammy. Aaron gave John and Anna their first grandchild in April. And in June, Julie gave birth to Thomas. Their first two grandchildren came less than three months apart. And in October, James was married to Sarah. It was definitely an eventful year for John and Anna, and the entire Brown family. Lost of traveling was done by many of the family members.
The year before was a milestone for John and Anna. It was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and Anna went all out to plan a great trip to Europe for John. Ever since he returned from the War, John had spoken many times about wanting to go back someday. Anna was never really sure if he meant it. She heard stories of other soldiers returning and not being able to deal with the things that they went through and witnessed. But, after twenty-four years, John legitimately seemed interested in returning, and Anna had always wanted to see Europe, so she made the plans and surprised John a month beforehand. And Anna was right, John truly did want to go back. He was more than patient to wait for the cities to be rebuilt, so that he could enjoy them for what they truly were. He remembered various candies and treats that he used his money to buy while he was in Franc and Germany. He remembered walking through destroyed cities and wondering what they looked like in their prime. He knew his experiences were tainted by the war, and he always wanted to be able to experience these places the ways they were meant to be, by tourists. So, the middle-aged couple spent seventeen wonderful days enjoying France, Germany, Switzerland and Italy. John found numerous locations that he knows he was
One year earlier was Julie's wedding to Charlie. Sadly, James missed this wedding, as he was at the end of his four years in Vietnam. It was a long four years for Anna, more than John. Being a survivor of wartime, John seemed to believe that his son would return without any issue. Anna was constantly frantic, and hated going many months between hearing from her first-born son. It took its toll on their relationship, but John was a constant rock to keep her solid and help her through the rough times. When John finally came home, it was to a large family party, and John was finally introduced to Charlie, whom his sister stared dating not long after he left for Vietnam, and was now married to.
Four years earlier was the beginning of the rough times for Anna. It was an emotional goodbye when she was forced to watch John walk through the corridor and get onto the plane that would take him to his company, and only a few days later he would be on another plane heading to the South Pacific. She couldn't even try to strong about it. She didn't sleep for three nights beforehand, and when she made him his favorite breakfast, she cried the entire time he was eating it. She cried the entire time they drove him to the airport. She cried the entire time they were standing in the terminal, and she collapsed on the ground when was out of her sight. But John was there for her, and did his best to be strong enough for both of them. That summer was their twentieth anniversary, and despite the few months time, Anna was still an emotional wreck. So, for their anniversary, John planned a very special trip. Out into the middle of the countryside. And even though he tried to keep it a surprise, Anna was not dumb. When they were still an hour away from their destination, Anna knew exactly where they were going, and what it meant to that day. As they pulled up the winding road, Anna felt the most peace she had in a long, long time. When they finally reached the clearing at the top of the hill, and pulled up to the little white church, Anna cried again. But this time, they were tears of joy and happiness, as she thought back to spending a warm June afternoon in this exact location, twenty years prior. They spent the day walking around the grounds, talking about the events of that day, talking about all of the moments they've had since then, and they ended a perfect afternoon with a picnic. Not one person bothered them the entire day, and it was as if the world stopped just for them to enjoy the afternoon together. While it did provide ease while they were there, it's didn't last too long after she arrived home. Anna just could not stop thinking about her little boy, being in the heart of a war where thousands of people were dying. A few years later, that church would be torn down, and this special day was the last time either of them saw the church where they were married.
The previous fifteen years were filled with young love, and a growing family. Thousands of diapers for their three children. Sporting events for the kids. School dances. Summer camps. The family moved quite a bit in the beginning, but by the time James was set to start high school, John and Anna settled down in the city and house that they would end up living in for the next forty-eight years. The military took them all across the country, and it's probably why and how this family developed such a close-knit and tight family relationship. They always had each other to depend on, and despite what happened down the road, and despite the paths their lives would take, and despite how ever far they moved away from each other, this family always stayed close, because that's how they all knew life. Ever since Julie was born.
Aaron was born the year before.
And James was born two years earlier.
This was one year after John and Anna got married.
Which was two years after John returned from Europe, serving in World War II.
John had spent the previous three years in France and Germany, serving in the United States Army. John was prepared to sign up at age 17, but had to wait until after he graduated high school and turned 18, and on his birthday he signed his papers, and it was merely a few weeks later that he found himself in basic training. Which was a very rough way to start his very young relationship with Anna. He wasn't allowed to call or write her, and then he was only allowed to be home for one week before he was shipped out. He landed on the beach of Normandy only hours after the first wave, and John will never forget the thousand of bodies that he saw on that day. But, even while he was in Europe, he was able to occasionally get letter written and sent to Anna, and in those letters he begged and pleaded with her to wait for him, and to give him a chance to give her a wonderful life. John was madly in love with Anna, even though they had only been dating for a little over one year at this time. And John's letter's reached Anna, and touched her in so many ways, that she knew that she needed to wait for him to come home, and that she wanted a long life with him. She would read every letter he wrote, everyday, and she would lie in bed, staring into the paint patterns on her ceiling, while she day-dreamed of a future with John. She thought about kids, and grand kids, and a perfect life together. John and Anna did not have a perfect life, they had a life full of ups and downs, lots of good and some bad. But, when Anna was getting ready to pass away, and lying on her hospital bed, she looked at the ceiling in that room, and she thought back to being seventeen, eighteen, and even nineteen, and she compared her notes with herself. Marry the man of my dreams? Check. Have children, grandchildren, and a solid family? Check. Die in the arms of the man I'm madly in love with? Check.
One year prior was the first date for John and Anna.
John was a senior and Anna was a junior, and they met each other on the sidelines of a football game. John was a wide receiver for his high school's team, while Anna was a cheerleader. When John caught a ball and was sprinting down the sideline, he was eventually hit by a safety and went flying out of bounds. When he hit the ground, he rolled, and ended up taking out the legs of Anna. She tumbled down on top of him, and as he helped her up - they had their first "shared moment". John instantly thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. It might be going too far to say it was "love at first sight", but when John tracked Anna down the next day to ask her to dinner, it was mostly definitely love at second sight.
John did not have a car of his own, therefore he begged and pleaded and bartered, until his father agreed to allow him to use his 1939 Ford Deluxe Coupe to take out Anna. John took advantage of the car, and for the first hour of their date, they just cruised up and down the main streets of town, while they talked. They eventually ended up getting some Surf 'N Turf for dinner, before heading to the small single-screen movie theatre to watch "Babes on Broadway". It was during the musical number "How About You?" that John leaned over and kissed Anna on the cheek, and when she turned to look at him, they had their first kiss.
Five years later, at their wedding, they would have their first dance to this song.
And sixty-nine years later, while Anna laid in her hospital bed, slipping in and out of consciousness, John would be sitting right next to her with his arms wrapped around her, whispering into her ear...
"I'm so delighted I've ignited the spark within you. Let me continue to make it burn..."
Monday, March 08, 2010
Self Impossed Solitary
I can feel the cold linoleum on my bare side. It's sending a cold chill all the way down to my toes. I open my eyes to look at the base of the toilet, it appears some of my vomit didn't make it into the bowl, and has dripped down the side. There's a small pool of orange-ish chunky liquid mere centimeters from my face. I feel blood slowly dripping out of my nose, across my upper lip and down the side of my face. It's almost like Chinese water torture, having to feel the slow moving liquid traverse so slowly. If I had more energy, or didn't feel like my head was going to explode, I would actually attempt to wipe it off. Instead, I allow myself this sadistic moment to remind myself that I'm actually alive. I've actually reached the age of 30 years, and one day.
I open my eyes again. How much time has passed? What time is it? What time was it last time? Maybe I'm thirty and two days, and I don't even realize it. Is it possible to sleep through an entire day? Isn't that called a coma? You can go three days without water, right? Can you go an entire day without going to the bathroom? Did I piss myself? I can't even tell. Are my legs missing? Are they so numb that I can't feel them?
I force myself to move, ever so slightly. Okay, I see two legs. That makes me happy. But, my pants do look wet, that doesn't make me happy. I close my eyes again. It was partially in relief, and partially because the light in the bathroom is killing me. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel my eye lids burning with light, and it's not pitch black in my mind's eye, instead it's a deep red color. I see lots of little bright lights swirling around. There's no way they can be real, and I don't know why my mind creates these things, their only purpose seems to be to make me dizzier and more nauseous. I force myself to open my eyes and face the bright lights. I believe that to be the lesser of two evils, when faced with the potential of emptying the rest of the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl. If there's even anything left in my stomach, which its very plausible that there's nothing in there at all, which would explain the pain I'm feeling down there. If that is the case, then I'll gladly take the bright lights of this little bathroom, over dry-heaving into the toilet. My throat is currently dry, so I can only imagine the extreme pain and discomfort that would result in. I'm starting to become aware of the discomfort in my right shoulder. Slowly, but surely, I force myself to roll over onto my back. Well, I started off slowly, but at one point, gravity just took over and there I was, looking straight up at the ceiling.
I should really put up more wall decor in this room. These plain white walls are just so boring. I've never timed my bathroom visits, but I've usually got a copy of Maxim or Sports Illustrated to read. I'm pretty sure I'm just going to give the record to this visit: This is almost definitely the longest I've ever spent in this room. I wonder what other people have thought when they've been sitting in here? Do they grab a magazine off the toilet tank and read it? Or do they sit and stare at the wall, bored? Artwork. I should buy some artwork. But, what kind of artwork do you buy for a bathroom? I'm thirty years old, I should know the answer to this questions. What does my mother have in her bathroom? I can't even remember right now.
Is it possible to sleep with your eyes open? I don't remember closing my eye, but suddenly it seems like time has passed. I mean, I know time has passed, seconds are ticking away, every second. But, it feels like a serious amount of time has passed. Then again, I'm really in no shape to judge anything. That's kind of a double entendre, I really don't have the ability to judge the passing of time, and given my current circumstances, I don't believe I can judge any other drunk human being I ever see.
I remember when I first turned twenty-one. Oh jeez, that was nine years ago. Anyways, I went into a bathroom at a club, and saw a guy down on all fours vomiting into the toilet of a public bathroom. I remember looking at the wet, dirty, disgusting floor and seeing his pant legs soaked in what I can only assume was water, urine, and who knows what else? I remember telling myself that I would never be that guy, I'd never be that pathetic. I'm sure it's somewhat hypocritical, but I still justify to myself that I'm in this position in my bathroom, and not some public place where anyone and everyone can see me and judge me.
This could possibly be the worst hangover that I can remember. There's been some bad ones in the past, and college is really a four year blur. But, when you never sober up enough to remember things, it's really hard to know what kind of headaches you ever had during that period. Wow. Today is also kind of a milestone, now that I think about it. And think is all I've been doing for the past... hour? two hours? Whatever. Today's a milestone. I've officially been an alcoholic for half my life.
It was on my fifteenth birthday, that I went over to Marty Buckner's house, went down into the basement to "play pool", where we actually swiped an open bottle of Smirnoff Vodka. It was really kind of like a military mission. I remember loosening up my belt by one notch, so that bottle was snug against my stomach. Marty went upstairs first, and did the recon, while I stood at the top of the stairwell. The kitchen was clear, the laundry room was clear, and then I heard the code words: "Yo Joe!" That was cue to dart through the kitchen, through the laundry room, and I jump through the open door into the garage. Marty closed the door and we jetted to our bikes, parked in the driveway. It was so exhilarating. I peddled as fast I could, trying to get farther and farther away from the scene of the crime, with each rotation of the wheel, I felt like I was untouchable. We'd just pulled off an amazing heist, and I had the booty resting on my bike seat, buckled in by my belt. We peddled six blocks away, to Owens Park, and scouted things out. There was a giant, three-leveled fort in the center of the park. This was where we usually played, but obviously, there was a bunch of other kids playing there too. On the back side of the park, there were four over-sized tires, half buried in the sand. We made our way over to them, and found them vacant. That afternoon, I took my first sip of alcohol. And my second. And many, many more. The bottle was probably half full when we swiped it, and Marty and I probably drank half of what was in the bottle. That night, when we finally returned the bottle, I remember using the bathroom in the basement to add water back into the bottle, to get the level back to where it was before we took it. To my knowledge, we got away with it. I know neither one of us ever got in trouble for it, and the night we graduated from high school was the only time we ever admitted to any of our friends what we did that afternoon.
From that day on, it's been a blur of fifteen years. Obviously, it wasn't easy to regularly get my hands on liquor, and I often did some shady thing to satisfy my urge. I stole bottles friend's parents, sometime with my friend's knowledge, sometimes not. I dated one girl in high school, and every Friday night we would kill about half a box of Franzia wine that her parents kept in fridge. I remember driving to school every morning, and buying a big bottle of orange juice at the gas station. I'd drink half of it by the time I got to school, at which point I'd pop open the trunk, and pull out a giant bottle of Dark Eyes Vodka, which I'd mix with the OJ, in order to make my school days much more tolerable. I was lucky to have friends with older brothers, who were willing to buy thing for me, as long I financially compensated them for their generosity.
College was easy access. Rushing a fraternity my freshman year meant there would never be a shortage of booze in the house, and there would always be a senior brother to buy me anything I needed. After college, it was game on in the bars and clubs. Granted, that got old and boring after a few years, and then I just found myself to be the guy sitting alone at the corner of the bar, sipping on a Belgian White Beer, and doing shots of Jäger combined with Red Bull.
Then, there's nights like last night. There's those amazing, and often rare nights, where a number of closest and best friends all step away from their perfect lives, and wives, and children, and families, and they just throw caution to the wind, and we remember what it was like to be young, and dumb, and foolish, and over-indulgent. I know that I'm not the happiest person in life, I feel like I've always made the wrong choices at the wrong times, and I've lost a lot of who and what I wanted to be, "when I grew up". But, I have to believe that even my friends who I look at as having "the perfect life", have to sitting in their minds believing that they didn't turn out exactly who they wanted to be. I think the majority of people in this world are living with "settled lives". Lives which they have mentally convinced themselves are good enough, despite all of the things they never accomplished. No matter how they feel, or what they think about at night when they lie bed, it's always a great time when we get together and all decide to let loose. I'm really blessed that I do have the friends that I do.
How long has it been now? Suddenly my head doesn't hurt as bad. Don't get my wrong, it's still pounding, but that sharp pain that felt like a knife stabbing into the front right side of my skull, has gone down to just a numbing pain. Maybe it's time to try to get up?
I do it slowly. I push my body up, and put my shoulders against the wall. I slowly move my shoulders up, until I'm sitting straight up. My body feels like Jell-O. I'm weak. My hands are shaking, and I can't lock my elbows in place. The room gets a little dizzy, but the feeling passes after a few minutes. I take a moment to bury my face in my hands, cheeks feel puffy to the touch. When I pull them away, they are covered in nasty mixture of water, blood, and sweat. I grab a handful of toilet paper to wipe of my hands, and look to my right to throw it into the toilet. Mistake. Obviously, my drunken self never remembered to flush the toilet and I was forced to look at a disgusting lake of orange swamp water, which its main color came from the loads of buffalo wings we gorged ourselves on at dinner. There were little islands of floating peanuts, which I remember grabbing handfuls of from the bowls on the bar top. There was something green in there, possibly a pickle? Maybe a jalapeño? Whatever it is, I don't remember eating that. I'm also not sure why my nose was bleeding, but it was obviously bleeding badly, because there's one area of the lake that looks like an oil spill of red hydrophobic polarization.
I toss in the toilet paper, and thank God that my nose is clogged with snot and other mucus, because I can't imagine what it actually smells like in this room. I listen to the water swirl around in the toilet, before I actually look back at it. Ugh, there's still some remnants in there. I'm going to hate myself later, when I actually clean this up. I put one hand on the toilet bowl, and the other against the wall, as I force myself onto my knees and then finally up to my feet. I'm sure the entire process took less than a minute, but it honestly felt like an hour to me.
Once I finally made it to my feet, I moved myself over in front of the mirror, and got the horror of seeing exactly what I looked like. I'm pretty sure I looked worse than most horror movie monsters from the last 1970s. I had unidentifiable liquids and dried substances caked to my face. I cranked on the hot water at full blast, and the sound cut through my ears and into the deepest area of brain. This caused my knees to buckle, and I had to hold myself up on the counter. I quickly turned the water velocity down to an auditory-approved level. I cup my hands and place them under the water, and spend a good long time washing my face. There's stuff in my hair, but I don't mess with it yet. A shower is my number one priority, as soon as I make it into the master bathroom.
I open the medicine cabinet, and pull out my painkillers. I've still got a couple of prescription drugs from a surgery I had last year. I've been saving them for a special occasion, and I think this qualifies. I pop two of them into my mouth, and almost instantly have a gag reflex. I stop myself, and quickly wash it down with water. I don't think water has ever tasted this good. Does water really taste good? I've never really been a fan, but this is amazing. Maybe I really love water? Whatever the case, it's my favorite right now, and I pour myself another glass. I chug the water like it's an Irish Car Bomb, and as enter my stomach, it's almost as if the water is giving me a recon report, and telling me: "I'm alone in here, your stomach is empty". It's at this point that I think it might be time to eat something. However, as I have that thought, it's juxtaposed with the other half of my brain thinking that if I put anything in my stomach, I'm going to be right back in front of that porcelain bowl.
I stare at myself in the mirror, while my brain argues with itself. Meanwhile, another part of my brain starts attempting to force myself to finally leave this self-imposed prison that I've been keeping myself in for who knows how long. I try to convince myself that I can move, I can walk, I can make it out of this room. I look at my splotchy red cheeks and wonder how long it's going to take those burst capillaries to heal up? I finally feel like I'm ready to go, but one step in, and I find myself holding onto the wall to prevent myself from falling over. My legs don't seem to have the blood flowing to them properly. My second attempt involves baby-steps, while I support myself against the wall. I finally make the short trip from the sink to the door, and when I attempt to free myself from this solitary, I look out into the real world with only one question...
"What happened in my living room?"
This is an entire work of fiction - I don't want to scare my parents! It was an exercise that forced me to write, and I wanted to test myself on my descriptive abilities to paint a visual picture to the reader, from a first person perspective.
I hope to write a couple of more short exercises, and then get back into seriously writing my novel. I pitched the novel to some friends on Saturday night, and was very pleased with the feedback I got from them, so I'm really forcing myself to MAKE the time to write everyday.
I open my eyes again. How much time has passed? What time is it? What time was it last time? Maybe I'm thirty and two days, and I don't even realize it. Is it possible to sleep through an entire day? Isn't that called a coma? You can go three days without water, right? Can you go an entire day without going to the bathroom? Did I piss myself? I can't even tell. Are my legs missing? Are they so numb that I can't feel them?
I force myself to move, ever so slightly. Okay, I see two legs. That makes me happy. But, my pants do look wet, that doesn't make me happy. I close my eyes again. It was partially in relief, and partially because the light in the bathroom is killing me. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel my eye lids burning with light, and it's not pitch black in my mind's eye, instead it's a deep red color. I see lots of little bright lights swirling around. There's no way they can be real, and I don't know why my mind creates these things, their only purpose seems to be to make me dizzier and more nauseous. I force myself to open my eyes and face the bright lights. I believe that to be the lesser of two evils, when faced with the potential of emptying the rest of the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl. If there's even anything left in my stomach, which its very plausible that there's nothing in there at all, which would explain the pain I'm feeling down there. If that is the case, then I'll gladly take the bright lights of this little bathroom, over dry-heaving into the toilet. My throat is currently dry, so I can only imagine the extreme pain and discomfort that would result in. I'm starting to become aware of the discomfort in my right shoulder. Slowly, but surely, I force myself to roll over onto my back. Well, I started off slowly, but at one point, gravity just took over and there I was, looking straight up at the ceiling.
I should really put up more wall decor in this room. These plain white walls are just so boring. I've never timed my bathroom visits, but I've usually got a copy of Maxim or Sports Illustrated to read. I'm pretty sure I'm just going to give the record to this visit: This is almost definitely the longest I've ever spent in this room. I wonder what other people have thought when they've been sitting in here? Do they grab a magazine off the toilet tank and read it? Or do they sit and stare at the wall, bored? Artwork. I should buy some artwork. But, what kind of artwork do you buy for a bathroom? I'm thirty years old, I should know the answer to this questions. What does my mother have in her bathroom? I can't even remember right now.
Is it possible to sleep with your eyes open? I don't remember closing my eye, but suddenly it seems like time has passed. I mean, I know time has passed, seconds are ticking away, every second. But, it feels like a serious amount of time has passed. Then again, I'm really in no shape to judge anything. That's kind of a double entendre, I really don't have the ability to judge the passing of time, and given my current circumstances, I don't believe I can judge any other drunk human being I ever see.
I remember when I first turned twenty-one. Oh jeez, that was nine years ago. Anyways, I went into a bathroom at a club, and saw a guy down on all fours vomiting into the toilet of a public bathroom. I remember looking at the wet, dirty, disgusting floor and seeing his pant legs soaked in what I can only assume was water, urine, and who knows what else? I remember telling myself that I would never be that guy, I'd never be that pathetic. I'm sure it's somewhat hypocritical, but I still justify to myself that I'm in this position in my bathroom, and not some public place where anyone and everyone can see me and judge me.
This could possibly be the worst hangover that I can remember. There's been some bad ones in the past, and college is really a four year blur. But, when you never sober up enough to remember things, it's really hard to know what kind of headaches you ever had during that period. Wow. Today is also kind of a milestone, now that I think about it. And think is all I've been doing for the past... hour? two hours? Whatever. Today's a milestone. I've officially been an alcoholic for half my life.
It was on my fifteenth birthday, that I went over to Marty Buckner's house, went down into the basement to "play pool", where we actually swiped an open bottle of Smirnoff Vodka. It was really kind of like a military mission. I remember loosening up my belt by one notch, so that bottle was snug against my stomach. Marty went upstairs first, and did the recon, while I stood at the top of the stairwell. The kitchen was clear, the laundry room was clear, and then I heard the code words: "Yo Joe!" That was cue to dart through the kitchen, through the laundry room, and I jump through the open door into the garage. Marty closed the door and we jetted to our bikes, parked in the driveway. It was so exhilarating. I peddled as fast I could, trying to get farther and farther away from the scene of the crime, with each rotation of the wheel, I felt like I was untouchable. We'd just pulled off an amazing heist, and I had the booty resting on my bike seat, buckled in by my belt. We peddled six blocks away, to Owens Park, and scouted things out. There was a giant, three-leveled fort in the center of the park. This was where we usually played, but obviously, there was a bunch of other kids playing there too. On the back side of the park, there were four over-sized tires, half buried in the sand. We made our way over to them, and found them vacant. That afternoon, I took my first sip of alcohol. And my second. And many, many more. The bottle was probably half full when we swiped it, and Marty and I probably drank half of what was in the bottle. That night, when we finally returned the bottle, I remember using the bathroom in the basement to add water back into the bottle, to get the level back to where it was before we took it. To my knowledge, we got away with it. I know neither one of us ever got in trouble for it, and the night we graduated from high school was the only time we ever admitted to any of our friends what we did that afternoon.
From that day on, it's been a blur of fifteen years. Obviously, it wasn't easy to regularly get my hands on liquor, and I often did some shady thing to satisfy my urge. I stole bottles friend's parents, sometime with my friend's knowledge, sometimes not. I dated one girl in high school, and every Friday night we would kill about half a box of Franzia wine that her parents kept in fridge. I remember driving to school every morning, and buying a big bottle of orange juice at the gas station. I'd drink half of it by the time I got to school, at which point I'd pop open the trunk, and pull out a giant bottle of Dark Eyes Vodka, which I'd mix with the OJ, in order to make my school days much more tolerable. I was lucky to have friends with older brothers, who were willing to buy thing for me, as long I financially compensated them for their generosity.
College was easy access. Rushing a fraternity my freshman year meant there would never be a shortage of booze in the house, and there would always be a senior brother to buy me anything I needed. After college, it was game on in the bars and clubs. Granted, that got old and boring after a few years, and then I just found myself to be the guy sitting alone at the corner of the bar, sipping on a Belgian White Beer, and doing shots of Jäger combined with Red Bull.
Then, there's nights like last night. There's those amazing, and often rare nights, where a number of closest and best friends all step away from their perfect lives, and wives, and children, and families, and they just throw caution to the wind, and we remember what it was like to be young, and dumb, and foolish, and over-indulgent. I know that I'm not the happiest person in life, I feel like I've always made the wrong choices at the wrong times, and I've lost a lot of who and what I wanted to be, "when I grew up". But, I have to believe that even my friends who I look at as having "the perfect life", have to sitting in their minds believing that they didn't turn out exactly who they wanted to be. I think the majority of people in this world are living with "settled lives". Lives which they have mentally convinced themselves are good enough, despite all of the things they never accomplished. No matter how they feel, or what they think about at night when they lie bed, it's always a great time when we get together and all decide to let loose. I'm really blessed that I do have the friends that I do.
How long has it been now? Suddenly my head doesn't hurt as bad. Don't get my wrong, it's still pounding, but that sharp pain that felt like a knife stabbing into the front right side of my skull, has gone down to just a numbing pain. Maybe it's time to try to get up?
I do it slowly. I push my body up, and put my shoulders against the wall. I slowly move my shoulders up, until I'm sitting straight up. My body feels like Jell-O. I'm weak. My hands are shaking, and I can't lock my elbows in place. The room gets a little dizzy, but the feeling passes after a few minutes. I take a moment to bury my face in my hands, cheeks feel puffy to the touch. When I pull them away, they are covered in nasty mixture of water, blood, and sweat. I grab a handful of toilet paper to wipe of my hands, and look to my right to throw it into the toilet. Mistake. Obviously, my drunken self never remembered to flush the toilet and I was forced to look at a disgusting lake of orange swamp water, which its main color came from the loads of buffalo wings we gorged ourselves on at dinner. There were little islands of floating peanuts, which I remember grabbing handfuls of from the bowls on the bar top. There was something green in there, possibly a pickle? Maybe a jalapeño? Whatever it is, I don't remember eating that. I'm also not sure why my nose was bleeding, but it was obviously bleeding badly, because there's one area of the lake that looks like an oil spill of red hydrophobic polarization.
I toss in the toilet paper, and thank God that my nose is clogged with snot and other mucus, because I can't imagine what it actually smells like in this room. I listen to the water swirl around in the toilet, before I actually look back at it. Ugh, there's still some remnants in there. I'm going to hate myself later, when I actually clean this up. I put one hand on the toilet bowl, and the other against the wall, as I force myself onto my knees and then finally up to my feet. I'm sure the entire process took less than a minute, but it honestly felt like an hour to me.
Once I finally made it to my feet, I moved myself over in front of the mirror, and got the horror of seeing exactly what I looked like. I'm pretty sure I looked worse than most horror movie monsters from the last 1970s. I had unidentifiable liquids and dried substances caked to my face. I cranked on the hot water at full blast, and the sound cut through my ears and into the deepest area of brain. This caused my knees to buckle, and I had to hold myself up on the counter. I quickly turned the water velocity down to an auditory-approved level. I cup my hands and place them under the water, and spend a good long time washing my face. There's stuff in my hair, but I don't mess with it yet. A shower is my number one priority, as soon as I make it into the master bathroom.
I open the medicine cabinet, and pull out my painkillers. I've still got a couple of prescription drugs from a surgery I had last year. I've been saving them for a special occasion, and I think this qualifies. I pop two of them into my mouth, and almost instantly have a gag reflex. I stop myself, and quickly wash it down with water. I don't think water has ever tasted this good. Does water really taste good? I've never really been a fan, but this is amazing. Maybe I really love water? Whatever the case, it's my favorite right now, and I pour myself another glass. I chug the water like it's an Irish Car Bomb, and as enter my stomach, it's almost as if the water is giving me a recon report, and telling me: "I'm alone in here, your stomach is empty". It's at this point that I think it might be time to eat something. However, as I have that thought, it's juxtaposed with the other half of my brain thinking that if I put anything in my stomach, I'm going to be right back in front of that porcelain bowl.
I stare at myself in the mirror, while my brain argues with itself. Meanwhile, another part of my brain starts attempting to force myself to finally leave this self-imposed prison that I've been keeping myself in for who knows how long. I try to convince myself that I can move, I can walk, I can make it out of this room. I look at my splotchy red cheeks and wonder how long it's going to take those burst capillaries to heal up? I finally feel like I'm ready to go, but one step in, and I find myself holding onto the wall to prevent myself from falling over. My legs don't seem to have the blood flowing to them properly. My second attempt involves baby-steps, while I support myself against the wall. I finally make the short trip from the sink to the door, and when I attempt to free myself from this solitary, I look out into the real world with only one question...
"What happened in my living room?"
This is an entire work of fiction - I don't want to scare my parents! It was an exercise that forced me to write, and I wanted to test myself on my descriptive abilities to paint a visual picture to the reader, from a first person perspective.
I hope to write a couple of more short exercises, and then get back into seriously writing my novel. I pitched the novel to some friends on Saturday night, and was very pleased with the feedback I got from them, so I'm really forcing myself to MAKE the time to write everyday.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Top Ten Films of The 2000s
Top Ten Films of the 2000s.
From the records I’ve kept, between January 1st, 2000 and right this minute, I’ve seen 859 films in the theatre. That’s an average of 85 a year, but this number is very badly top-loaded, as in the early 2000s, I saw many, many, many films that I regret, because I was working in the theatre business, and was willing to watch pretty much anything and everything – most often with Jason L. Maier. I remember the early years when we competed to break 100 films, and even the years that I did, Jason always saw more than me. In the most recent years, I’m lucky to break 40 films in the theatre. I just stopped being willing to watch anything and everything, and am much more selective in what I waste my time with. Now, for the record, this number does not include any films that I’ve seen on DVD or Made-For-TV. Which, most likely adds another couple hundred to the number of films I’ve seen over the past ten years.
I’ve been working on this list for the month. Because, once I narrowed down the films on my theatrical list, I started going through all the films I’ve seen on DVD, from memory. I went through my five-star rated films on Netflix, and through my DVD collection. It’s been a long process, but I think I’ve finally gotten it narrowed down to the films I’ve willing to label as “Shane’s Top Ten Films of the 2000s”.
10. “The Damned United” (2009)
“We grew up just a few streets apart in Middlesbrough... Close to Ayresome Park. He'll have known my street: Valley Road. Probably bought sweets from Garnett's factory where me dad worked.”
Ego and pride are perfectly captured in this well written, non-linear film. As it opens with a very arrogant and egotistical Brian Clough, and then flashes back to show you his progression, and the little events, conversations, and matches that transformed him and made him become overly obsessed with being a better football club manager than his rival. And, to increase his troubles is the fact that his “rival” doesn’t even acknowledge him. His emotions, and determination, are so perfectly displayed and acted, I think Martin Sheen was phenomenal. Colm Meaney was also perfect in his role. I really enjoyed watching Clough’s arrogance getting the best of him, and driving him, and causing him to do some pretty outrageous things.
9. “Primer” (2004)
“What happens if it actually works?”
By FAR, the BEST time-travel film ever made. Hands-down. Nothing compares to how this film handles time-travel. The best part of the film, is the minute that it is over, right after the “pay off”, it’s okay to start it over again and watch it a second time to see everything you missed. Since the film is only 78-ish minutes long, and it flies by, you will be longing to watch it again and see any mistakes. But, there are none. It’s perfect. Everything is set up from the opening dialogue of the film, and it plays out perfectly. As the device is used and tested over and over again, the concept of time, time travel, linear time, and changing the constant future are represented, and even debated in some amazing dialogue. On a budget of $7,000 to buy film the stock, I think this is one of the most original, well-written, well-planned, well-conceived films I’ve ever seen. It’s so interesting and intriguing, and the best three hours you could spend thinking about time travel and it’s abilities.
8. “The Prestige” (2006)
“You never understood, why we did this. The audience knows the truth: the world is simple. It's miserable, solid all the way through. But if you could fool them, even for a second, then you can make them wonder, and then you... then you got to see something really special... you really don't know?... it was... it was the look on their faces...”
Again, much like “The Damned United”, I enjoy the concept of obsession over being the best. Where this film is different from the previous one, is the fact that the two characters are actually competing against each other, and their continued attempts to do better than the other drive this great plot. It’s enjoyable to watch the transformation of the two characters, who begin as good friends, and then develop a continually growing hatred towards each other, in their solo attempts at becoming the best possible illusionist.
Christopher Nolan does an amazing job with the non-linear story-telling, through the reading of the journal. As the story is told, and unfolds, and you learn the lengths that they each went to, in their quests, as it unfolds. Finally, the emotional ending to this film, as the “pay off” is revealed during the final confrontation, and you learn exactly how much each man hand to give up in his life, over their feud, really puts everything into perspective.
7. “You Can Count on Me” (2000)
“I don't want to believe something or not believe it because I might feel bad. I want to believe it because I think it's true or not... I'd like to think that my life is important... Or that it's connected to something important...”
Mark Ruffalo and Laura Linney are amazing. Two siblings, both with years and years of baggage, both trying to do their best to live their lives. It’s nice to see two flawed characters work together so perfectly. As a troubled drifter, Ruffalo’s character comes in mysterious and it takes us a long time to find out why he hates his hometown so much, on the other extreme, you’ve got Linney’s character who feels like she doesn’t deserve better, and is forcing herself to stay, without ever chasing her dreams or aspirations. Their sibling feuds, and how Linney’s son looks up to Ruffalo is amazing. Rory Culkin’s performance is amazing, and I’m a huge fan of the “hammering” scene. I think it’s nice to see imperfection represented so well. They don’t come off as losers, they don’t come off as idiots. They simply come off as two people, trying to do their best, and their own insecurities stand in the way. Watching them play off each other works so well.
6. “Life as a House” (2001)
“You know the great thing, though, is that change can be so constant you don't even feel the difference until there is one. It can be so slow that you don't even notice that your life is better or worse, until it is. Or it can just blow you away, make you something different in an instant. It happened to me.”
This was a difficult one for me to put on this list, despite how amazing I think the film is. I saw this film in November of 2001, because I was really looking forward to seeing our future Anakin Skywalker. I remember walking into the Greenwood theatre, David Lichty got me signed on, as I went on my first date with Kristen. That year, for Christmas, I gave her a framed poster of the film, something that was in all of our domiciles together. Luckily, I had a second poster to keep for myself.
As far as the film goes, I think it’s one of the things that helped me with my own father issues. As all of my friends know, things were rough growing up, and being a “black sheep” in my family, didn’t make things easy with my military father. It’s a disappointment that it was so late in my life that I saw a film like this. Something that made me realize, life can change in any instant, and nothing in guaranteed. Luckily, I’ve never actually been stuck in a moment where I thought I was going to lose my father, but this film opened up my mind and my eyes to the possibility and knowledge that I need to do better in relationships with my family.
Kevin Kline is amazing. As a care-free man, who decides that he wants to reconcile things with his family, after many troubling years with his son. It’s really just an amazing dramatic film, with some good humor in it, that shows a wonderful transition in characters, as Hayden Christensen is forced to spend the summer helping his father rebuild his lakeside house. Honestly, it’s fairly basic, it’s somewhat basic formula, but for some reason – it works, and works well.
5. “Love Actually” (2003)
“Even better! Sam, you've got nothin' to lose, and you'll always regret it if you don't! I never told your mom enough. I should have told her everyday because she was perfect everyday. You've seen the films, kiddo. It ain't over 'til its over.”
As far as romance goes, this film is perfect. The cast is perfect. Set in London, always a bonus. The things that work best in this film, is how it captures each and every possible nuance of every possible type of love. It shows you the love that a sister has for her brother. It shows the fleeting and flirtatious misplaced lust that a secretary has for her boss, and shows the mental anguish it put him through while considering her an option, while also showing you the fallout with his marriage. It shows you the true feelings between two porn-stand-ins, who have no problem being physically naked in front of each other, but find it awkward to be naked with their feelings towards one another. It shows you the failings of a young man, who decides to look for love across the pond. It shows you the budding romance between a powerful single man, and the woman he spends the most time with, while she’s organizing his life. It shows you the young budding romance of a little boy, who falls for his first girl. It shows you the hardship of losing love. It shows you the pain of watching the one you love, with your friend instead. It shows you the fact that true love and cross language barriers.
In all aspects of inter-twining story-telling, this film nails it. Perfectly. It’s not all about This boy loves that girl, while that girl longs for this boy. Instead, it just shows you everyday people, in different walks of intersecting lives, and how they love those people in their lives. It gets bonus points for being a Christmas film, but even if it wasn’t, it would be on this list.
4. “Untitled” (2000 – “Almost Famous”)
“That's because we're uncool. And while women will always be a problem for us, most of the great art in the world is about that very same problem. Good-looking people don't have any spine. Their art never lasts. They get the girls, but we're smarter.”
I remember standing in the booth at the Lafayette Square III, IV, V Cinema, hanging out with Jason, when he mentioned a screening of “Almost Famous” that was happening in Greenwood that night. Within minutes, he made the call to get me on the list, and I was flying at top speed down to the south side to watch the film, by one of my favorite directors.
The film is one of the best coming of age stories I’ve ever seen, and probably because it’s a fictionalized version of some true events in Cameron Crowe’s life. Toss in the fact that the 70s are a time period that I would die to live in, and experience the music and the love of the time, when everything was free and not corrupted like this modern world, this film is true escapism for me. It’s a really chance to attempt to enjoy the life on the road, touring with a band, listening and discussing great music, and just socializing with lots of great minds. Sure, there is some drama, and sure William Miller has an article to write, but those characters that eventually take form his in interview, and the characters of observation that make the film so enjoyable. With a supporting cast that’s just as wonderful as the main cast, it’s really a lot of fun to watch – and also the first time I feel in love with Zooey Deschnel. The unrequited love shown through the triangle of William-Penny-Jeff work so perfectly well.
While I really loved “Almost Famous”, the directors cut which was released on DVD is a hundred times better. “Untitled” includes another 40-ish minutes that expand the film, and actually shift the narrative from William Miller to Penny Lane. The majority of the added footage expands on her relationship with Jeff, and makes her seems a lot less “crazy” or “delusional” as she might come off in the theatrical cut. When you actually see some of the conversations that they have together, and how he actually leads her on, and treats her, it makes it a lot more understanding with how she views him, and develops feelings for him. It’s just a wonderful film about friendship and love, and true friendship.
3. “Hooligans” (2005 – “Green Street Hooligans”)
“You know the best part? It isn't knowing that your friends have your back. It's knowing that you have your friends' back.”
Great film that covers a lot of good things. First, getting screwed over by a “friend”. Second, going far away, in an attempt to discover yourself. Third, hiding who you really are, because of your fear of acceptance. Fourth, making some of the best friends of your life. And fifth, learning how to handle it all when everything comes out in the open.
It’s just an amazing film about friendship. Luckily, Lexi Alexander had the good mind to leave a long story out of the film, because it just didn’t belong. The one small love-side-story that is present is such a small part of the story, but is still so important, that it works perfectly. The violence isn’t even the best part of the film, the journey taken to gain the acceptance of the others is the best part. Watching our main character develop from a small Harvard student who gets walked all over, and mistreated, as he develops into one of the main influences in a hooligan gang, is a wonderful character study.
The most upsetting part of the film is the misconception that it’s about “soccer”. While football does play a massive plot driver, there is only two scenes in the entire film that involve football being played. The majority of the film takes place in pubs, and revolves around the social aspects of the clubs, and how their fights are really more about respect than violence. The best scene in the film is when Claire Forlani arrives at the hospital and has an emotional outburst towards Charlie Hunnam. Very, very emotional scene.
2. “Memento” (2001)
“Memory can change the shape of a room; it can change the color of a car. And memories can be distorted. They're just an interpretation, they're not a record, and they're irrelevant if you have the facts.”
Christopher Nolan’s second film on my list, and it deserves to be this high up. Because it took non-linear story-telling to an entirely new level. It wasn’t just flashing back in time through the film, it was cutting between two story-lines that were moving in opposite directions, until they met in the middle. The film is often misrepresented as being told “in reverse”, when this is incorrect. Only half of the film is told in reverse, the other half of the film is told in order, until they converge.
What makes this film even better is the DVD release, which allows you to watch the entire film in chronological order. Which basically makes it a completely different emotional monster. Instead of watching everything unfold into the big “pay off” between Leonard and Teddy, in the end of the original cut, while watching the film in chronological order, it completely changes the emotional lay-out of the film, and allows you to see how manipulated Leonard was by Teddy. In other words, “Memento” is so good of a film, that it’s actually TWO amazing films in one, and I love watching it both ways.
The characters are so well done. The concept is so interesting. It’s really awkward to admit that I enjoy watching the manipulations that happen to Leonard, by everyone he comes into contact with. Watching the things that Leonard does to attempt to help himself, are just really cool and very interesting to see how they play out.
1. “Mulholland Dr.” (2001)
“It'll be just like in the movies. Pretending to be somebody else.”
I’ve been obsessed with “Lost Highway” since the first time I saw it, and I’ve always enjoyed “Twin Peaks”. So, when I was given the chance to view this film at an early screening, I was in utopia.
This film was given Number One on my list for one simple reason, after my third viewing, I wrote a ten-page thesis on the meaning and plot of the film. It was later amended and edited by David Lichty. Any film that causes me to think that much, and process everything under such a microscope, is enjoyable to me. The dissection of the different storylines, and characters, and potential events that lead to various potential outcomes, makes me so involved that I enjoy everything about it. I enjoy the mystery, I enjoy the sexuality, I enjoy the bizarre. I enjoy it because it’s not cookie-cutter, because it’s not the typical brain-dead crap that Hollywood pumps out each and every week.
I have always been interested in seeing exactly where Lynch was planning on going with the story, if it would have been greenlit as a TV series. When you look back at “Twin Peaks” and the potential for “Mulholland Dr.” and compare it modern shows of “Lost” or “Flashforward”, it makes me believe that Lynch was just that far ahead of the curve, and Hollywood wasn’t ready.
I realize that I’ve done more in breaking down the concept of “Mulholland Dr.” than I have talking about the acting, or the story. The acting is what it is, and the characters are well portrayed. But the story, it’s not worth discussing with anyone who hasn’t seen the flick, because I don’t want to give anything away. Granted, even if I did, most people would still be pretty lost, which is another reason I love the film so much, because I believe it’s like a nice little club to be a part of, when the film is not too complex for you to understand. Or, to think you have an understanding of a potential interpretation of the film.
There it is. My top ten films in the last ten years.
I do have some honorable mentions:
“Adventureland”, “Serenity”, “Thank You for Smoking”, “The Fountain”, “Reign Over Me”, “Match Point”, “In the Land of Women”, “ The Last Kiss”, “Dirty Pretty Things”, “Hard Candy”, “Lilo & Stitch”
Finally, the ONE FILM that I regret I haven't seen yet, from the 2000s:
"My Life Without Me"
Netflix has it as unavailable. I'm going to have to find a copy to buy online.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Thank You, Paris M. Goodrum
Please visit the Thank You, Paris Goodrum Blog, started by Angie Engelhardt-Wittenberg, to read more stories and to submit you own Thank You to Angie.
Raise curtain.
Lights up.
Begin scene.
I was a fourteen year old freshman in high school, when I walked into third period in Paris Goodrum’s classroom on my first day of high school. I remember the stage at the back of the room, and I remember the black and white photos that adorned the walls.
That was fifteen years ago, which means that I have known this man for over half my life. But, the true reality of it, is that because I let my life get in the way, I’ve only had a few good years with him. Luckily for me, even when we were not in contact, the impression he left on my mind and soul have always been present, and have helped shape me into the person I am today.
It was November of 1994, when I was the only freshman male cast in “You Can’t Take it With You”, when I stood on stage and after each performance got to hear one of my senior cast mates give a “Thank You” speech to Mr. Goodrum, and how much he meant to them. It was at this moment, in my infancy of theatre experience, that I vowed to myself that I would be in all eight productions throughout high school, and in February of 1998 – that would be ME.
In a sad twist of fate, the Greater Power decided that wasn’t going to happen. It was fourteen months later, when Mr. Goodrum was forced to leave during production of “I Remember Mama” and it was in May of that year when it became official that Mr. Goodrum was going to have to retire from teaching. And with that decision, I was forced to forever give up that moment, in front of an auditorium of people, to publicly give thanks and adoration for the man who shaped me, taught me, and mentored me. It’s now, at this time, over ten years after my original planned time, that I take the time to open up my thoughts, feelings, and emotions to say “Thank You” to a man who I never got the chance before.
Henry David Thoreau. If Mr. Goodrum hadn’t have picked “The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail” for our Winter Play in February of 1995, I’d never have had my mind opened up to the transcendentalist philosophies of life. It would take eleven years, and numerous readings of “Walden” and “Civil Disobedience” before I made it to Concord, Massachusetts to visit Walden Pond, and see the history I had read about.
It was in November of 1995, during the production of “My Sister Eileen”, when I finally got Mr. Goodrum to allow me to read “Dear, High School” – the play that Mr. Goodrum had written, and performed at least once during his time at Lawrence Central. Mr. Goodrum said that his plan was to make this his final play, the year he decided to retire from teaching. I can’t lie when I admit, that in my perfect world, that would have been my senior year. More importantly, my senior year would have been mr. Goodrum’s 30th year of teaching, and I often told him, “Thirty years would be a good time to quit”. Sadly, he only made it to twenty-eight, and more sad is that life took us both in different directions. Those who know me, know that I have OCD tendencies, and when something important in my life changes, I do not adjust well to those changes. Instead of going into my junior year with aspirations of continuing my theatre career, I went in as wayward student who no longer knew where or what he wanted to do. This arrogant and egotistical person that I turned into, rebelled against the new regime of the theatre department, and quickly found myself an exile from it, at which point I walked away for good.
I can’t remember if it was 1998 or 1999, but I remember Mr. Goodrum contacting me to let me know that there was a showing of his play “Quanita and Beula vs. the Killer Squirrel”. It was in the basement of a Seniors Center, if I remember correctly. I’m going to have to go to my Parent’s house and dig through some old boxes to try and find the program, which I hope I still have. I remember sitting next to Mr. Goodrum during the production.
In 2000, Jason L. Maier and I went over to Mr. Goodrum’s house numerous times with copies of the script for our first film, “Consternate”. Mr. Goodrum read our various drafts, and did a lot of work with us on character development, among other things. I learned a lot about the revision and development processes from those long afternoons sitting in his kitchen, and going page by page through the script, and figuring out what worked, what didn’t, what could be cut, and what needed to be explained better. It was the last time I saw Mr. Goodrum was in January of 2001, right before I moved to Los Angeles, when I stopped by his house to drop off a DVD copy of “Consternate”. Once I got settled in L.A., we continued to keep in touch via snail mail, and I know somewhere I have a few letters written to me from Mr. Goodrum.
Upon returning from California, I made the mistake of allowing my life to get in the way. Girlfriend, wife, job, film-making, etc… etc… They were all excuses, and none of them are good ones. I failed. Not in a life-threatening way, but in a “I failed to keep in contact with someone I should have way”. But, those ripples continued across the water of my life. I re-read “Walden”, I continued to write, I tried to act in a few of our films. All of these things are leaves, which grew from the branches that I am, from the tree trunk that was Mr. Goodrum. Please let me assure you that this is a HUGE tree trunk, with hundreds of branches growing from it, each branch with many leaves to show the accomplishments of the trunk.
It was October 15th, of 2009 when I was contacted by Angie Engelhardt-Wittenberg, who was in all four of the productions that I was in. She had found a blog I wrote about the time I went to Walden Pond, where I made mention to Mr. Goodrum’s influence on that part of my life. Angie informed me that she wanted to start a blog, where all of Mr. Goodrum’s former students could come and say “Thank You” to the man who mentored so many of us. That brings us to today. And two hours ago, I was sitting in Mr. Goodrum’s living room, talking to him, catching up with him, reminiscing about high school and other times we’d spent together. He said the added weight looked good on me (I disagreed with him), he liked the film strip tattoo, but really liked the profile comedy and tragedy masks tattoo. He made comments about the blonde spiked hair, and told me that despite the changes, he could still see the student he remembered. We talked about the various projects I’ve done over the past eight years, and I was surprised when he asked if he could read any of them. I talked to him about my transition from film into my current project writing a novel. He admitted that his mind is too far-gone to help with any revisions, but he would still love to read whatever I will let him – and I will let him read it all. While he claims he couldn’t do revisions, I still feel like I could sit and have discussions with him, that will involve his insight – which would be just as good to me.
“There is a part in each one of us that never gets over high school.” This is a quote from Paris M. Goodrum today. I told him that I agreed 100%. I fell in love for the first time in high school, with someone I still randomly hear from to this day. Two of the best men in my wedding were my friends from freshman year to graduation, to this very evening. I was exposed to theatre and to the artists lifestyle in high school. It was a care-free and enjoyable time of my life, and I agree that a very large part of me has never moved on, or gotten over what my life was at that point. Mr. Goodrum and I were talking about my novel, and I was giving him the basics of it, and how it revolved around the death of friend, and a group of friends thinking back over the ten years that brought all of them to where they are now, the lies, the secrets, the things we do to keep our friendships as solid as we can. It was at this time that I asked if I could once again borrow “Dear, High School” so that I could re-read it, and see what kind of creative juices could get flowing from reading his play.
I made a decision today, that I want to keep Mr. Goodrum a part of my life for as long as I can. Last year, I lost two grandparents, and only have one left, who lives in Iowa, and I don’t get to see as often as I would like. I want to make sure he knows what he has meant to me, and I want to help him as much as I can. Seeing him in a deteriorating physical condition really hit me in a way that made me sad. I have offered to come over anytime he will let me, and told him that I want to see him as much as I can, talk to him, and hear the things he has to say about my writing.
And, the biggest thing on my mind right now is taking Angie’s idea one step farther. The idea of attempting to put together a documentary on Mr. Goodrum is brewing in my brain. Trying to hunt down as much documentation and pictures as I can from his time at Lawrence Central. Trying to hunt down students and getting their thoughts and feelings on film. Interviewing teachers who taught with him, and others in the performing arts department. I’d love to sit and do interviews with Mr. Goodrum about his many years of teaching, about his many productions and his favorites. I’ve love to pick his brain, and hear all of the stories that he wants to share. I believe it’s an idea I’m going to bring up to Mr. Goodrum at some point, because while I could do it without his involvement, I have to believe that it would be increasingly better with his support.
Mr. Goodrum is directly responsible for my passion and love of the arts, which is still present in my to this day. I entered his classroom as a wide-eyed naïve freshman, who didn’t know what he was getting involved with. Through him, and his student directors, I was able to be molded into someone who fell deeply in love with performing, with art, with storytelling, with physical arrangement, and with emotional connection to an audience. There’s a large number of people and events that have shaped my life, and Mr. Goodrum is one of the most important, because we met at a time when my mind needed to be molded, and he was the sculptor who took on the task. And now it is up to me, to make sure everyone sees his positive molding in all of my works.
Lights fade.
Spotlight on Mr. Goodrum.
Applause.
Raise curtain.
Lights up.
Begin scene.
I was a fourteen year old freshman in high school, when I walked into third period in Paris Goodrum’s classroom on my first day of high school. I remember the stage at the back of the room, and I remember the black and white photos that adorned the walls.
That was fifteen years ago, which means that I have known this man for over half my life. But, the true reality of it, is that because I let my life get in the way, I’ve only had a few good years with him. Luckily for me, even when we were not in contact, the impression he left on my mind and soul have always been present, and have helped shape me into the person I am today.
It was November of 1994, when I was the only freshman male cast in “You Can’t Take it With You”, when I stood on stage and after each performance got to hear one of my senior cast mates give a “Thank You” speech to Mr. Goodrum, and how much he meant to them. It was at this moment, in my infancy of theatre experience, that I vowed to myself that I would be in all eight productions throughout high school, and in February of 1998 – that would be ME.
In a sad twist of fate, the Greater Power decided that wasn’t going to happen. It was fourteen months later, when Mr. Goodrum was forced to leave during production of “I Remember Mama” and it was in May of that year when it became official that Mr. Goodrum was going to have to retire from teaching. And with that decision, I was forced to forever give up that moment, in front of an auditorium of people, to publicly give thanks and adoration for the man who shaped me, taught me, and mentored me. It’s now, at this time, over ten years after my original planned time, that I take the time to open up my thoughts, feelings, and emotions to say “Thank You” to a man who I never got the chance before.
Henry David Thoreau. If Mr. Goodrum hadn’t have picked “The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail” for our Winter Play in February of 1995, I’d never have had my mind opened up to the transcendentalist philosophies of life. It would take eleven years, and numerous readings of “Walden” and “Civil Disobedience” before I made it to Concord, Massachusetts to visit Walden Pond, and see the history I had read about.
It was in November of 1995, during the production of “My Sister Eileen”, when I finally got Mr. Goodrum to allow me to read “Dear, High School” – the play that Mr. Goodrum had written, and performed at least once during his time at Lawrence Central. Mr. Goodrum said that his plan was to make this his final play, the year he decided to retire from teaching. I can’t lie when I admit, that in my perfect world, that would have been my senior year. More importantly, my senior year would have been mr. Goodrum’s 30th year of teaching, and I often told him, “Thirty years would be a good time to quit”. Sadly, he only made it to twenty-eight, and more sad is that life took us both in different directions. Those who know me, know that I have OCD tendencies, and when something important in my life changes, I do not adjust well to those changes. Instead of going into my junior year with aspirations of continuing my theatre career, I went in as wayward student who no longer knew where or what he wanted to do. This arrogant and egotistical person that I turned into, rebelled against the new regime of the theatre department, and quickly found myself an exile from it, at which point I walked away for good.
I can’t remember if it was 1998 or 1999, but I remember Mr. Goodrum contacting me to let me know that there was a showing of his play “Quanita and Beula vs. the Killer Squirrel”. It was in the basement of a Seniors Center, if I remember correctly. I’m going to have to go to my Parent’s house and dig through some old boxes to try and find the program, which I hope I still have. I remember sitting next to Mr. Goodrum during the production.
In 2000, Jason L. Maier and I went over to Mr. Goodrum’s house numerous times with copies of the script for our first film, “Consternate”. Mr. Goodrum read our various drafts, and did a lot of work with us on character development, among other things. I learned a lot about the revision and development processes from those long afternoons sitting in his kitchen, and going page by page through the script, and figuring out what worked, what didn’t, what could be cut, and what needed to be explained better. It was the last time I saw Mr. Goodrum was in January of 2001, right before I moved to Los Angeles, when I stopped by his house to drop off a DVD copy of “Consternate”. Once I got settled in L.A., we continued to keep in touch via snail mail, and I know somewhere I have a few letters written to me from Mr. Goodrum.
Upon returning from California, I made the mistake of allowing my life to get in the way. Girlfriend, wife, job, film-making, etc… etc… They were all excuses, and none of them are good ones. I failed. Not in a life-threatening way, but in a “I failed to keep in contact with someone I should have way”. But, those ripples continued across the water of my life. I re-read “Walden”, I continued to write, I tried to act in a few of our films. All of these things are leaves, which grew from the branches that I am, from the tree trunk that was Mr. Goodrum. Please let me assure you that this is a HUGE tree trunk, with hundreds of branches growing from it, each branch with many leaves to show the accomplishments of the trunk.
It was October 15th, of 2009 when I was contacted by Angie Engelhardt-Wittenberg, who was in all four of the productions that I was in. She had found a blog I wrote about the time I went to Walden Pond, where I made mention to Mr. Goodrum’s influence on that part of my life. Angie informed me that she wanted to start a blog, where all of Mr. Goodrum’s former students could come and say “Thank You” to the man who mentored so many of us. That brings us to today. And two hours ago, I was sitting in Mr. Goodrum’s living room, talking to him, catching up with him, reminiscing about high school and other times we’d spent together. He said the added weight looked good on me (I disagreed with him), he liked the film strip tattoo, but really liked the profile comedy and tragedy masks tattoo. He made comments about the blonde spiked hair, and told me that despite the changes, he could still see the student he remembered. We talked about the various projects I’ve done over the past eight years, and I was surprised when he asked if he could read any of them. I talked to him about my transition from film into my current project writing a novel. He admitted that his mind is too far-gone to help with any revisions, but he would still love to read whatever I will let him – and I will let him read it all. While he claims he couldn’t do revisions, I still feel like I could sit and have discussions with him, that will involve his insight – which would be just as good to me.
“There is a part in each one of us that never gets over high school.” This is a quote from Paris M. Goodrum today. I told him that I agreed 100%. I fell in love for the first time in high school, with someone I still randomly hear from to this day. Two of the best men in my wedding were my friends from freshman year to graduation, to this very evening. I was exposed to theatre and to the artists lifestyle in high school. It was a care-free and enjoyable time of my life, and I agree that a very large part of me has never moved on, or gotten over what my life was at that point. Mr. Goodrum and I were talking about my novel, and I was giving him the basics of it, and how it revolved around the death of friend, and a group of friends thinking back over the ten years that brought all of them to where they are now, the lies, the secrets, the things we do to keep our friendships as solid as we can. It was at this time that I asked if I could once again borrow “Dear, High School” so that I could re-read it, and see what kind of creative juices could get flowing from reading his play.
I made a decision today, that I want to keep Mr. Goodrum a part of my life for as long as I can. Last year, I lost two grandparents, and only have one left, who lives in Iowa, and I don’t get to see as often as I would like. I want to make sure he knows what he has meant to me, and I want to help him as much as I can. Seeing him in a deteriorating physical condition really hit me in a way that made me sad. I have offered to come over anytime he will let me, and told him that I want to see him as much as I can, talk to him, and hear the things he has to say about my writing.
And, the biggest thing on my mind right now is taking Angie’s idea one step farther. The idea of attempting to put together a documentary on Mr. Goodrum is brewing in my brain. Trying to hunt down as much documentation and pictures as I can from his time at Lawrence Central. Trying to hunt down students and getting their thoughts and feelings on film. Interviewing teachers who taught with him, and others in the performing arts department. I’d love to sit and do interviews with Mr. Goodrum about his many years of teaching, about his many productions and his favorites. I’ve love to pick his brain, and hear all of the stories that he wants to share. I believe it’s an idea I’m going to bring up to Mr. Goodrum at some point, because while I could do it without his involvement, I have to believe that it would be increasingly better with his support.
Mr. Goodrum is directly responsible for my passion and love of the arts, which is still present in my to this day. I entered his classroom as a wide-eyed naïve freshman, who didn’t know what he was getting involved with. Through him, and his student directors, I was able to be molded into someone who fell deeply in love with performing, with art, with storytelling, with physical arrangement, and with emotional connection to an audience. There’s a large number of people and events that have shaped my life, and Mr. Goodrum is one of the most important, because we met at a time when my mind needed to be molded, and he was the sculptor who took on the task. And now it is up to me, to make sure everyone sees his positive molding in all of my works.
Lights fade.
Spotlight on Mr. Goodrum.
Applause.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Shane's Answers to a Successful Circle of Blog Postings
So, Troy has started something pretty cool.
It's one of those things that proves the power of the internet - and I think it's one of the great things about blogging. Troy has come up with something that seems to be spreading through our blog circle, and I would have gladly done this sooner, if I would spend more time on the computer at home. But, I'm sitting here now, and I am going to make the time to do this.
So, it started with Troy's blog about his one year anniversary.
The first to answer was John Peddie.
Jason contributed his answers on Friday.
Mike kept it going on Saturday.
And now tonight, I'm going to give my simple answers.
What is the first film you ever saw?
"Return of the Jedi".
And the strangest part was, I didn't even remember it until I was in first grade. We had the picture book movie adaptation to the movie in my classroom. I was looking at it one day, and the first picture in the book was C-3P0 and R2-D2 walking up to Jabba's Palace. I remembered that image, but didn't know why. So I took the book home from class and asked my parents about it. They then told me they did take me to the movies to see it.
What is your favorite film of all time?
"Abre los Ojos".
The character development is amazing. The story is really strong, and confusing - but as you learn more and it explains itself, it gets even better. Being forced to choose between life, friends, and love is a really crazy scene on the roof. And finally, when you learn how far one person was willing to go, because of their insecurities, the final shot of the film is wicked awesome.
What is your favorite line in a film?
"You know the best part? It isn't knowing that your friends have your back. It's knowing that you have your friends' back."
-Green Street Hooligans
What film made you realize that film was an art?
"Memento".
While "Pulp Fiction" was my first experience with non-linear storytelling, it wasn't until Christopher Nolan showed me how you can start at the end, tell me how it's going to end, and then still keep me interested, as I watch backwards and see how everyone was manipulating Leonard. The best, is actually watching the film in linear order, and seeing how it's a completely different film, and watching the manipulation play out is so dramatic.
What movie do you consider your guilty pleasure?
"Coyote Ugly".
Yes, it's a cheesy movie.
Yes, there is Leann Rhimes' music is in the film (but so is EMF!).
But, lots of beautiful women, dancing, and liquor - does it get better?
Who is your favorite movie character of all time?
Sam. Liam Neeson's stepson in "Love Actually".
The innocence of youth's outlook on love - perfect.
What is your favorite movie snack food?
Red Vines.
Thanks to Dione for introducing me to them many, many moons ago. I still eat them to this day.
Who is your favorite director of all time?
Cameron Crowe.
I really enjoy directors who write and direct their own work.
I like stories that are personal and emotional, and actually have meaning.
I think Crowe writes some really good scenes, has a very good knowledge of comedic timing and dramatic pacing. I like his looks at characters, and his accentuation of character flaws. No one is perfect in Crowe films, and I enjoy his exploration of how our flaws are what truly make us who we are.
I'm also a huge fan of he music he chooses for his films. I really enjoy the use of specific songs to compliment the visuals and dramatic situations.
Who is the most impressive filmmaker working today?
J.J. Abrams.
Aside from directing the Pilot episode of "Lost" and being one of the masterminds behind that show, as well as "Fringe" and the film "Cloverfield" - I think his two films are very well done. And I look forward to anything that has his name on it, especially if he's the director.
While "Mission: Impossible III" is not a good part of the "Mission: Impossible" franchise - it is a really, really good action film. Once again, starting with the nonlinear storytelling method of revealing "the end" (or close to the end) at the beginning of the film, really makes it enjoyable to watch the progression to get back to that point where you know you will eventually get to.
And, the more recent re-boot of "Star Trek" was so perfect, on so many levels. I find that Abrams is wonderful at casting, and getting perfect performances from his talent.
What quality do the best directors share?
Emotional connection.
A movie can be good, but if I don't emotionally connect with one of the characters, and really feel a true sense of their purpose, devotion, and feelings - the film is just good. For me to really love a film, I need character exploration and a vested interest in their personal journey.
Who is your favorite actor/actress of all time?
Jimmy Stewart.
"It's a Wonderful Life", "Rear Window", "Vertigo" and "Harvey" are all pimp.
Who is your favorite actor/actress working today?
Liam Neeson.
"Love Actually", "Taken", "Batman Begins", "Gangs of New York", "Schindler's List", "Michael Collins".
Who would you cast in a film about your life?
Charlie Hunnam.
Although, I don't know if he can do an American accent???
I've sen him with a shaved head and with long hair - I'm not sure how he would look with a faux-hawk.
Finish these sentences:
If you could remake one movie...
"Along Came a Spider".
The novel by James Patterson is SO AMAZING, and they ruined it in the film. Most importantly - the killing of Gary Soneji. A villain who goes on to torment Alex Cross for the next five books - most often in a roundabout way - not as the direct bad guy, until later, when he becomes hell-bent on killing Alex's entire family. The also completely changed the storyline about the kidnapping of the children, and horribly changed the first plot twist, when you find out who else was involved in the kidnappings. The 10 chapters of the book between Cross and Soneji while he's holding a McDonald's hostage is amazing - and needs to be included in the film. Soneji's year of confinement, while they still can't find the girl is also very important to the overall story and character development of the "bad guys". Also, the entire opening of the film was a waste, and not in the book - Cross never had a female partner that was killed like that. Neither of the current films address Alex's wife's murder - which is something that I would want to include in my telling of the story, as I think it's important to Alex's character development and explanation for many of his actions.
I never wanna watch a movie with...
...the name Uwe Boll attached to it.
The perfect movie is...
...Emotion Invoking.
Thanks to Troy for making this group of questions, and getting so many people to participate.
It's one of those things that proves the power of the internet - and I think it's one of the great things about blogging. Troy has come up with something that seems to be spreading through our blog circle, and I would have gladly done this sooner, if I would spend more time on the computer at home. But, I'm sitting here now, and I am going to make the time to do this.
So, it started with Troy's blog about his one year anniversary.
The first to answer was John Peddie.
Jason contributed his answers on Friday.
Mike kept it going on Saturday.
And now tonight, I'm going to give my simple answers.
What is the first film you ever saw?
"Return of the Jedi".
And the strangest part was, I didn't even remember it until I was in first grade. We had the picture book movie adaptation to the movie in my classroom. I was looking at it one day, and the first picture in the book was C-3P0 and R2-D2 walking up to Jabba's Palace. I remembered that image, but didn't know why. So I took the book home from class and asked my parents about it. They then told me they did take me to the movies to see it.
What is your favorite film of all time?
"Abre los Ojos".
The character development is amazing. The story is really strong, and confusing - but as you learn more and it explains itself, it gets even better. Being forced to choose between life, friends, and love is a really crazy scene on the roof. And finally, when you learn how far one person was willing to go, because of their insecurities, the final shot of the film is wicked awesome.
What is your favorite line in a film?
"You know the best part? It isn't knowing that your friends have your back. It's knowing that you have your friends' back."
-Green Street Hooligans
What film made you realize that film was an art?
"Memento".
While "Pulp Fiction" was my first experience with non-linear storytelling, it wasn't until Christopher Nolan showed me how you can start at the end, tell me how it's going to end, and then still keep me interested, as I watch backwards and see how everyone was manipulating Leonard. The best, is actually watching the film in linear order, and seeing how it's a completely different film, and watching the manipulation play out is so dramatic.
What movie do you consider your guilty pleasure?
"Coyote Ugly".
Yes, it's a cheesy movie.
Yes, there is Leann Rhimes' music is in the film (but so is EMF!).
But, lots of beautiful women, dancing, and liquor - does it get better?
Who is your favorite movie character of all time?
Sam. Liam Neeson's stepson in "Love Actually".
The innocence of youth's outlook on love - perfect.
What is your favorite movie snack food?
Red Vines.
Thanks to Dione for introducing me to them many, many moons ago. I still eat them to this day.
Who is your favorite director of all time?
Cameron Crowe.
I really enjoy directors who write and direct their own work.
I like stories that are personal and emotional, and actually have meaning.
I think Crowe writes some really good scenes, has a very good knowledge of comedic timing and dramatic pacing. I like his looks at characters, and his accentuation of character flaws. No one is perfect in Crowe films, and I enjoy his exploration of how our flaws are what truly make us who we are.
I'm also a huge fan of he music he chooses for his films. I really enjoy the use of specific songs to compliment the visuals and dramatic situations.
Who is the most impressive filmmaker working today?
J.J. Abrams.
Aside from directing the Pilot episode of "Lost" and being one of the masterminds behind that show, as well as "Fringe" and the film "Cloverfield" - I think his two films are very well done. And I look forward to anything that has his name on it, especially if he's the director.
While "Mission: Impossible III" is not a good part of the "Mission: Impossible" franchise - it is a really, really good action film. Once again, starting with the nonlinear storytelling method of revealing "the end" (or close to the end) at the beginning of the film, really makes it enjoyable to watch the progression to get back to that point where you know you will eventually get to.
And, the more recent re-boot of "Star Trek" was so perfect, on so many levels. I find that Abrams is wonderful at casting, and getting perfect performances from his talent.
What quality do the best directors share?
Emotional connection.
A movie can be good, but if I don't emotionally connect with one of the characters, and really feel a true sense of their purpose, devotion, and feelings - the film is just good. For me to really love a film, I need character exploration and a vested interest in their personal journey.
Who is your favorite actor/actress of all time?
Jimmy Stewart.
"It's a Wonderful Life", "Rear Window", "Vertigo" and "Harvey" are all pimp.
Who is your favorite actor/actress working today?
Liam Neeson.
"Love Actually", "Taken", "Batman Begins", "Gangs of New York", "Schindler's List", "Michael Collins".
Who would you cast in a film about your life?
Charlie Hunnam.
Although, I don't know if he can do an American accent???
I've sen him with a shaved head and with long hair - I'm not sure how he would look with a faux-hawk.
Finish these sentences:
If you could remake one movie...
"Along Came a Spider".
The novel by James Patterson is SO AMAZING, and they ruined it in the film. Most importantly - the killing of Gary Soneji. A villain who goes on to torment Alex Cross for the next five books - most often in a roundabout way - not as the direct bad guy, until later, when he becomes hell-bent on killing Alex's entire family. The also completely changed the storyline about the kidnapping of the children, and horribly changed the first plot twist, when you find out who else was involved in the kidnappings. The 10 chapters of the book between Cross and Soneji while he's holding a McDonald's hostage is amazing - and needs to be included in the film. Soneji's year of confinement, while they still can't find the girl is also very important to the overall story and character development of the "bad guys". Also, the entire opening of the film was a waste, and not in the book - Cross never had a female partner that was killed like that. Neither of the current films address Alex's wife's murder - which is something that I would want to include in my telling of the story, as I think it's important to Alex's character development and explanation for many of his actions.
I never wanna watch a movie with...
...the name Uwe Boll attached to it.
The perfect movie is...
...Emotion Invoking.
Thanks to Troy for making this group of questions, and getting so many people to participate.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
I Didn't Even Get To Count Backwards
Nurse: "Hey there, how are you feeling?"
Me: "I didn't even get to count backwards..."
That's the first thing I remember after waking up from the anesthesia. And I'm not lying, I at that point, I was really bummed that they never asked me to count backwards. But it didn't matter for long, because I began to come to and realized that my surgery was over, and I was on my way to physically returning to "normal".
But, that's the end of the story. We've got a lot to cover before that.
This story goes all the way back to 2004.
In February of 2004 - FIVE years ago - I become involved with a group of guys who started an inline hockey league here in Indianapolis. I hadn't played serious hockey in years, and I was happy about getting back into shape, and playing a sport that I loved. We played for six months, all the way into August. We cleaned out a ice rink on the southside of Indianapolis, and played on the concrete under a real rink. We had boards and benches, and it all worked out perfectly.
Sometime during those six months, the pain began.
It was just something minor, on my left side, lower abdomen. Just a little pinch. Nothing serious, and it didn't happen all the time. It was most painful right after playing hockey, and would normally go away after a few hours. Randomly, it would flare up here and there, but nothing common.
Post hockey, the pain seemed to go away. I eventually just assumed it was to be attributed to me being out of shape, and it was my old body telling me that I needed to work out more.
The first physical sign was in late 2004. I was still working at Kerasotes, and I remember going to the bathroom, when I noticed that there was some kind of bulge in my groin area. Nothing big, and it didn't really hurt, but it was only on one side, and it was kind of awkward. In my personal denial, I once again chalked it up to being out of shape, and convinced myself that I needed to exercise more and it would "melt" away - like the fat in my stomach I was trying to get rid of.
2004 and was the last year that I was physically "active" at my job. Once I left Kerasotes and went to Republic Theatres - I was basically in a desk job, which required very little standing. Aside from getting change for my employees, or the occasional shift time on Box Office, I didn't do much standing. Even when I ran the booth, we had a chair upstairs, so I had plenty of time to sit down. After the hockey incident, and the pain, I had kind of given up any physical activities for a while.
2005 went by with just the occasional flare-up of pain, but nothing serious or noteworthy.
The came 2006. The year when everything changed for the worse in my life.
It was March of 2006, and I remember waking up in bed one morning with a serious pain in my groin. I reached my hand down and felt myself, but didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. Then, I stood up to go to the bathroom, and gravity took over the insides of my body, and I felt "something" inside of my "move" - OR - "slide" downward through my groin area. I freaked out. It obviously was NOT normal, and it hurt badly. After going to the bathroom, I laid back down, and could once again feel my insides (which I have since learned were my intestines...) "slide" back around inside of me, and upon my personal examination, I seemed to be back to normal.
The odd thing, after the first time, it didn't happen every time. I don't know if things got "mixed up" inside of me, and gravity couldn't always pull it down, or what, but sometimes I would be "normal" and other times I would have a large bulging mass in my groin. It was not a fun time.
To top matters off, things with Kristen were well on their road to demise. We hadn't been having sex for some time, so it wasn't something she ever knew about, saw, or felt. Sadly, that's definitely a bad thing - because with her personality, she would have forced me to go to the doctor - despite my hatred/fear of them. And I probably would have had this fixed in March of 2006.
Instead, I kept it all to myself, and ultimately screwed myself over.
While married, I was on Kristen's insurance, and she worked for an insurance company - so from what I remember her benefits rocked, or so I was told. Kristen and I split up in April of 2006, and by June of 2006, I could tell that something was seriously wrong with the inside of my body. Despite Kristen and I's hatred towards each other at the time - I reached out with a small amount of hope. I sent her a text message in June that said, "By any chance, am I still on your insurance? If so, I need help." She was kind enough to respond, but her response was "No, I took you off a while ago." Fair enough. Once she knew she was going to file the divorce paperwork, why would she leave her soon to be ex-husband on her insurance plan? I don't blame her for it, it was all just some seriously bad timing in life. Had Kristen and I not been so unhappy together, and fighting so often, and been devoid of all sexual contact - then it's probable to assume that this would have been resolved in 2006, and would have been paid for by insurance.
But, that's not how the cards of my life played out. Instead, I was in a bad marriage and it ended in a way that prevented me from getting it fixed at that time. So, I was forced to move on in life, and live with the pain. I call 2006, "The Year of Naproxin Sodium". It was the painkiller of choice at that time. Despite the pain, after my divorce, I was attempting to get healthier and back in shape, so in April, May and June, Jason and I were going out and playing a lot of basketball (until his move out of the state). Yes, it hurt, but somewhere in the denial of my own mind, I thought that maybe if I lost weight, this whole thing would go away. I was dumb, and I can admit it. To make matters worse, I decided to begin using a weight-loss pill, and I bought a lot of them. It was around this time - July/August of 2006, that I noticed the bulge was growing in size and getting more painful. One day, when I was taking the weight-loss pills, I decided to read the box, at which point it informed me - the reader - not to use the product if there was a family history of hernias (among other things). At this point, I had no idea if there was any hernia history in my family - but I began doing my own personal research into hernias, along with Sports Hernias, which is how this whole thing began. Sports hernias are very common amongst hockey players, so there's no real telling when this whole thing was set into motion. It could have been many, many years ago in high school - who knows? I immediately discontinued using the pills. 2006 went on, and so did the pain.
2007 was "The Year of Advil". After so many months of using Naproxin Sodium, I was up well over 10,00mgs a day. They basically became candy to me, and I needed that many for my body to even function daily. So, I finally switched over to Advil, which I could get by with roughly six Extra Strength Advil a day. Over the course of the year, that number got larger and larger.
February 15th of 2007 was the first day I made any public knowledge of my situation.
I believe I finally broke down and told my parents a day or two beforehand, and then finally blogged about it on the 15th - almost two years ago. I remember that day vividly, as I was working at Fazetron-STTV, and standing in the lobby of my store, while talking to Jason on the phone. He had read my blog, and called me, and I broke down crying on the phone to him. He was the first friend I opened up to about the situation. A number of other friends asked about it, but I told them I didn't want to talk about it until after it was resolved. In some ways, I've been writing this blog since that day - in my head. I honestly never planned on it taking this long to get myself fixed. I was wrong.
The biggest issue was the fact that in my research, I learned that Insurance Companies consider hernias a "pre-existing" condition, therefore they won't cover it if it was present before my insurance coverage started - this is why being on Kristen's Insurance, while the bulge was small, was my only hope of getting any insurance company to pay for it. I remember in late 2007, my friend Matt had hernia surgery, and it was a fiasco with him, because our insurance company for the movie theatre tried to claim it was "pre-existing" and they didn't want to pay it. I remember him telling me about the battle that it took to get them to pay. This scared me, and made me realize that I really had no chance of getting anyone else to pay for it.
2008 became known as "The Year of Acetaminophen". 500mg tablets of Extra Strength Tylenol became my best friends. I'd take six in the morning, six in the afternoon, and six in the evening by the end of the year. That's 9,000mgs of acetaminophen each day.
Yes, I can admit that I have a problem. I have been addicted to painkillers for a long, long time. They make the pain go away, and that's all I wanted and needed. That's going to be the next phase of my life, is trying to make sure I can get myself off painkillers, and convince myself that I don't need them anymore. But, that's a different battle for a different day - and I'm getting off on a tangent again.
January to September of 2008 were life as "normal" - still at the theatre, still without insurance, still in pain - but I was still at my sit behind a desk job, walk around whenever I felt the need to. It helped keep the pain to a minimal, and I was able to survive. Then came the wonderful news that I was being let go from my job, which ultimately led me to employment at The Spot. And while I love my job so much, it's a complete change from what I used to do. This job requires me to stand for long periods of time, and be constantly moving. Within just the first few months of working there, I noticed that the bulge in my groin was getting larger and larger and more and more painful.
New Year's Eve of 2009 was the day that forced everything to change. I went to work at 6pm, and didn't get home until 6:30am. I take a nap, and then when I woke up I climbed into a nice, hot bath. I was sore. I was in pain. An insanely intense and unbearable amount of pain. I could barely walk, but not because of my feet - because of my groin. It was a very dark time in my life, one of the darkest I can remember. I laid in the bathtub, crying, wondering why this had to happen to me. As pathetic as it makes me sound, I laid in that bathtub, on New Year's Day, and wished that I could end my life. I was in so much pain, and was so tired of suffering, that I wished for the easy way out. Like I said, it was the darkest part of my life in many, many years. Many "bad" thoughts flooded through my brain. All the failures of my life piled up. My failed marriage, losing my job, relying on my parents for financial help, etc... I felt like there was nothing good left in my life. It was dark inside my head that day. I was sad. I was depressed. I was in pain. I hated my life. I loathed my life. I spent a good amount of time trying to figure out the easiest way to actually take my life. It was a dark day.
The good news was that eventually I grew up. I cried my eyes out. I stopped feeling sorry for myself. And I decided that I needed to do something intelligent and stop thinking all of these moronic and horrible thoughts. It was a Cowardly Hour of my life, that I'm ashamed to admit happened. Luckily, I never came anywhere near actually attempting anything. It was all foolish thoughts in my head, and eventually common sense kicked me in the butt and told me I was being an idiot.
For the first time that I can ever remember, I actually fulfilled my New Year's Resolution. Because sitting in that warm water on New Year's Day, I told myself that I would get this situation resolved in 2009.
I think it was a couple of days into 2009 that I talked to my parents about everything, and we began discussing options. A few days later, I made my appointment with St. Vincent's - which wasn't going to be until March 9th. After more talking with my parents, we decided that instead of going somewhere that was based on income, we should look into somewhere that specialized in this type of surgery, so that we knew what we were getting into. Instead of getting a "cheap" doctor who is working for small amount of money, we decided to find someone who did this regularly and knew exactly what they were doing.
We settled on the Hernia Center Plus.
We made my first doctor's appointment for January 28th. A LOT sooner than St. Vincent's. Then, January 28th came, and Indianapolis was hit with a wonderful BLIZZARD. My car was trapped at work from the night before - which was okay since my parents were picking me up, but when I called the office - they said that there was no guarantee that the Doctor was going to make it in that day. So, we rescheduled. The schedule was full the following Tuesday, which made my appointment on February 11th. Then, my surgery should have been on the 17th - however, the doctor was going to be out of town, so we had to wait an extra week. That brings us to Today.
Today.
Amazingly, I slept well last night.
I fell asleep around 2:00am - which was a bummer, since I missed some texts, specifically the one from Brittany. I woke up at 9:00am, which began a long three hour wait in my apartment, until my parents picked me up. Then, the LONGEST day of my life began. It seemed like all I did was wait. The surgery was scheduled for 12:45pm. I got there before 12:30pm, and waited in the waiting room until almost 1:00pm, when they finally took me to the first room. I got naked and then sat around for what seemed like a half hour (it was probably 10 minutes), before I was taken to another room, where I laid in a bed, got some shots, and then had an IV stuck into my hand. Yes, the back of my hand! It felt like a sword being shoved under my skin - it was painful. Whatever nice fluids were pumped into my body pretty much numbed the right side of me, which was weird, because I could freely move my left arm, but my right arm didn't want to co-operate very well. After lying there forever, and I seriously mean forever, I had a number of nurses come and introduce themselves to me, and tell me I was okay - I think everyone knew how nervous I was.
I laid in that bed for a while. Bored. Lots of thoughts rushing through my head. Thinking about lots of the things and people in my life right now. Anything positive that would keep my mind off of the fact that I was going to be cut open and messed with. Finally, the Doc showed up. We talked for a minute, and then he was gone. Then I finally started moving - I watched the ceiling tiles one by one, while I felt my heart rate begin to go back up - I tried to divert my thoughts back to happier things, but then we entered the surgical room. and despite my contacts being out - I could clearly see the large table with huge lights hanging above it.
I remember being lifted from the moving bed, onto the surgery table.
I remember looking up at the lights.
I remember someone telling me they were going to put something in my nose to help me breath.
Nurse: "Hey there, how are you feeling?"
Me: "I didn't even get to count backwards..."
I don't remember the anesthesia at all. I don't know when it happened. My last surgery in 2001 - they put the ask over my face and asked me to count backwards from 20. I remember saying 19, and that's it. This time - BAM. Wake up. No counting.
Nurse: "We don't really do that here."
Me: "Really? That sucks, I really wanted to count backwards."
Nurse: "I'm sorry..."
And then I dropped it. It was no more. It was over. Probably because I really needed to get up and go to the bathroom. Amazingly, I was awake and alert when I got up. I felt good, I felt fine. I made it to the bathroom - no problems. I got dressed - no problems. I could not get my contacts in, so I just waited until I got home and put in two brand new ones.
I honestly felt good most of the night. I wasn't in too much pain, at first. Over time, it became obvious to me that whatever wonderful numbing stuff they used on my groin - it faded away over time. As the night went on, it hurt more and more to move. Luckily, I get the pleasure of taking Vicodin! Yippy! They seem to help, and I'm sticking to the 2 pills per four hours requirement, even though near the end of the third hour, I'm in pretty significant pain.
I had done some DVD work for Jason McNear, so he swung by after he got off work, and talked to me while I finished it up and made him a second copy. McNear had previously had this surgery, so we got to talk about it a lot, and he told me what his recovery was like.
Later on, my Parents came back over. They bought me a thermometer, because I'm supposed to call the doctor if I ever get a temperature over 100 degrees. Luckily, I feel fine, although my last temp was 97.0 - which is a little low. Oh well, I feel just fine. My parents hung out for a little while, and we had a good talk.
Some friends had texts waiting for me when I got home.
Some new I would be home around 5pm, so I got texts from them almost right at 5pm.
Around 6pm, I sent out a mass text to my friends, letting them know that I was alive and well. I got a lot of responses from people, and some of my closer friends and I carried on some longer conversations. Zach called me and we talked for a while. He's thinking about stopping by tomorrow night after work. Sarah and I had a couple of long texts, she's been really helpful and supportive over the past few days. Jim called and said that he and Jae are planning on bringing over some pizza tomorrow night. Mike and I had a lot of conversations, and he kept offering to bring various food items over to me, but I told him to just go out and enjoy Tuesday Night at The Fox - where we all typically hang out on Tuesday nights. I think Mike might stop by at some point tomorrow too.
Troy, Dave, and Justin all left nice supportive messages on my blog. And Jason called me last night.
I'm blessed. I really am. I've got amazing Parents who have helped me through all of this. I've got some great Friends who have been super supportive, and are all willing to do a number of nice things for me, while I'll immobile. I'm blessed.
And now I'm on my road to recovery. In 2004, I weight 170lbs. Today I weighed in at 205lbs. I don't know if the hernia is entirely to blame - but I know it's prevented me from working out on a regular basis. It's made almost all physical activities painful. Hopefully, in six weeks, I can begin to start exercising and working out again - and with any luck, drop my weight back down to 170. I wasn't happy at 170 when I was there, but I will be happier there than where I am at.
Today is the start of a new life for me. Less pain. Better positive mental attitude.
My Five Year Long Ordeal of Pain is coming to a close. The finish line is in sight, and I can't wait to get there. Life is beginning to look up again. And after some of the texts I exchanged today - I think I have a lot to look forward to in the future.
Me: "I didn't even get to count backwards..."
That's the first thing I remember after waking up from the anesthesia. And I'm not lying, I at that point, I was really bummed that they never asked me to count backwards. But it didn't matter for long, because I began to come to and realized that my surgery was over, and I was on my way to physically returning to "normal".
But, that's the end of the story. We've got a lot to cover before that.
This story goes all the way back to 2004.
In February of 2004 - FIVE years ago - I become involved with a group of guys who started an inline hockey league here in Indianapolis. I hadn't played serious hockey in years, and I was happy about gettin
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Sometime during those six months, the pain began.
It was just something minor, on my left side, lower abdomen. Just a little pinch. Nothing serious, and it didn't happen all the time. It was most painful right after playing hockey, and would normally go away after a few hours. Randomly, it would flare up here and there, but nothing common.
Post hockey, the pain seemed to go away. I eventually just assumed it was to be attributed to me being out of shape, and it was my old body telling me that I needed to work out more.
The first physical sign was in late 2004. I was still working at Kerasotes, and I remember going to the bathroom, when I noticed that there was some kind of bulge in my groin area. Nothing big, and it didn't really hurt, but it was only on one side, and it was kind of awkward. In my personal denial, I once again chalked it up to being out of shape, and convinced myself that I needed to exercise more and it would "melt" away - like the fat in my stomach I was trying to get rid of.
2004 and was the last year that I was physically "active" at my job. Once I left Kerasotes and went to Republic Theatres - I was basically in a desk job, which required very little standing. Aside from getting change for my employees, or the occasional shift time on Box Office, I didn't do much standing. Even when I ran the booth, we had a chair upstairs, so I had plenty of time to sit down. After the hockey incident, and the pain, I had kind of given up any physical activities for a while.
2005 went by with just the occasional flare-up of pain, but nothing serious or noteworthy.
The came 2006. The year when everything changed for the worse in my life.
It was March of 2006, and I remember waking up in bed one morning with a serious pain in my groin. I reached my hand down and felt myself, but didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. Then, I stood up to go to the bathroom, and gravity took over the insides of my body, and I felt "something" inside of my "move" - OR - "slide" downward through my groin area. I freaked out. It obviously was NOT normal, and it hurt badly. After going to the bathroom, I laid back down, and could once again feel my insides (which I have since learned were my intestines...) "slide" back around inside of me, and upon my personal examination, I seemed to be back to normal.
The odd thing, after the first time, it didn't happen every time. I don't know if things got "mixed up" inside of me, and gravity couldn't always pull it down, or what, but sometimes I would be "normal" and other times I would have a large bulging mass in my groin. It was not a fun time.
To top matters off, things with Kristen were well on their road to demise. We hadn't been having sex for some time, so it wasn't something she ever knew about, saw, or felt. Sadly, that's definitely a bad thing - because with her personality, she would have forced me to go to the doctor - despite my hatred/fear of them. And I probably would have had this fixed in March of 2006.
Instead, I kept it all to myself, and ultimately screwed myself over.
While married, I was on Kristen's insurance, and she worked for an insurance company - so from what I remember her benefits rocked, or so I was told. Kristen and I split up in April of 2006, and by June of 2006, I could tell that something was seriously wrong with the inside of my body. Despite Kristen and I's hatred towards each other at the time - I reached out with a small amount of hope. I sent her a text message in June that said, "By any chance, am I still on your insurance? If so, I need help." She was kind enough to respond, but her response was "No, I took you off a while ago." Fair enough. Once she knew she was going to file the divorce paperwork, why would she leave her soon to be ex-husband on her insurance plan? I don't blame her for it, it was all just some seriously bad timing in life. Had Kristen and I not been so unhappy together, and fighting so often, and been devoid of all sexual contact - then it's probable to assume that this would have been resolved in 2006, and would have been paid for by insurance.
But, that's not how the cards of my life played out. Instead, I was in a bad marriage and it ended in a way that prevented me from getting it fixed at that time. So, I was forced to move on in life, and live with the pain. I call 2006, "The Year of Naproxin Sodium". It was the painkiller of choice at that time. Despite the pain, after my divorce, I was attempting to get healthier and back in shape, so in April, May and June, Jason and I were going out and playing a lot of basketball (until his move out of the state). Yes, it hurt, but somewhere in the denial of my own mind, I thought that maybe if I lost weight, this whole thing would go away. I was dumb, and I can admit it. To make matters worse, I decided to begin using a weight-loss pill, and I bought a lot of them. It was around this time - July/August of 2006, that I noticed the bulge was growing in size and getting more painful. One day, when I was taking the weight-loss pills, I decided to read the box, at which point it informed me - the reader - not to use the product if there was a family history of hernias (among other things). At this point, I had no idea if there was any hernia history in my family - but I began doing my own personal research into hernias, along with Sports Hernias, which is how this whole thing began. Sports hernias are very common amongst hockey players, so there's no real telling when this whole thing was set into motion. It could have been many, many years ago in high school - who knows? I immediately discontinued using the pills. 2006 went on, and so did the pain.
2007 was "The Year of Advil". After so many months of using Naproxin Sodium, I was up well over 10,00mgs a day. They basically became candy to me, and I needed that many for my body to even function daily. So, I finally switched over to Advil, which I could get by with roughly six Extra Strength Advil a day. Over the course of the year, that number got larger and larger.
February 15th of 2007 was the first day I made any public knowledge of my situation.
I believe I finally broke down and told my parents a day or two beforehand, and then finally blogged about it on the 15th - almost two years ago. I remember that day vividly, as I was working at Fazetron-STTV, and standing in the lobby of my store, while talking to Jason on the phone. He had read my blog, and called me, and I broke down crying on the phone to him. He was the first friend I opened up to about the situation. A number of other friends asked about it, but I told them I didn't want to talk about it until after it was resolved. In some ways, I've been writing this blog since that day - in my head. I honestly never planned on it taking this long to get myself fixed. I was wrong.
The biggest issue was the fact that in my research, I learned that Insurance Companies consider hernias a "pre-existing" condition, therefore they won't cover it if it was present before my insurance coverage started - this is why being on Kristen's Insurance, while the bulge was small, was my only hope of getting any insurance company to pay for it. I remember in late 2007, my friend Matt had hernia surgery, and it was a fiasco with him, because our insurance company for the movie theatre tried to claim it was "pre-existing" and they didn't want to pay it. I remember him telling me about the battle that it took to get them to pay. This scared me, and made me realize that I really had no chance of getting anyone else to pay for it.
2008 became known as "The Year of Acetaminophen". 500mg tablets of Extra Strength Tylenol became my best friends. I'd take six in the morning, six in the afternoon, and six in the evening by the end of the year. That's 9,000mgs of acetaminophen each day.
Yes, I can admit that I have a problem. I have been addicted to painkillers for a long, long time. They make the pain go away, and that's all I wanted and needed. That's going to be the next phase of my life, is trying to make sure I can get myself off painkillers, and convince myself that I don't need them anymore. But, that's a different battle for a different day - and I'm getting off on a tangent again.
January to September of 2008 were life as "normal" - still at the theatre, still without insurance, still in pain - but I was still at my sit behind a desk job, walk around whenever I felt the need to. It helped keep the pain to a minimal, and I was able to survive. Then came the wonderful news that I was being let go from my job, which ultimately led me to employment at The Spot. And while I love my job so much, it's a complete change from what I used to do. This job requires me to stand for long periods of time, and be constantly moving. Within just the first few months of working there, I noticed that the bulge in my groin was getting larger and larger and more and more painful.
New Year's Eve of 2009 was the day that forced everything to change. I went to work at 6pm, and didn't get home until 6:30am. I take a nap, and then when I woke up I climbed into a nice, hot bath. I was sore. I was in pain. An insanely intense and unbearable amount of pain. I could barely walk, but not because of my feet - because of my groin. It was a very dark time in my life, one of the darkest I can remember. I laid in the bathtub, crying, wondering why this had to happen to me. As pathetic as it makes me sound, I laid in that bathtub, on New Year's Day, and wished that I could end my life. I was in so much pain, and was so tired of suffering, that I wished for the easy way out. Like I said, it was the darkest part of my life in many, many years. Many "bad" thoughts flooded through my brain. All the failures of my life piled up. My failed marriage, losing my job, relying on my parents for financial help, etc... I felt like there was nothing good left in my life. It was dark inside my head that day. I was sad. I was depressed. I was in pain. I hated my life. I loathed my life. I spent a good amount of time trying to figure out the easiest way to actually take my life. It was a dark day.
The good news was that eventually I grew up. I cried my eyes out. I stopped feeling sorry for myself. And I decided that I needed to do something intelligent and stop thinking all of these moronic and horrible thoughts. It was a Cowardly Hour of my life, that I'm ashamed to admit happened. Luckily, I never came anywhere near actually attempting anything. It was all foolish thoughts in my head, and eventually common sense kicked me in the butt and told me I was being an idiot.
For the first time that I can ever remember, I actually fulfilled my New Year's Resolution. Because sitting in that warm water on New Year's Day, I told myself that I would get this situation resolved in 2009.
I think it was a couple of days into 2009 that I talked to my parents about everything, and we began discussing options. A few days later, I made my appointment with St. Vincent's - which wasn't going to be until March 9th. After more talking with my parents, we decided that instead of going somewhere that was based on income, we should look into somewhere that specialized in this type of surgery, so that we knew what we were getting into. Instead of getting a "cheap" doctor who is working for small amount of money, we decided to find someone who did this regularly and knew exactly what they were doing.
We settled on the Hernia Center Plus.
We made my first doctor's appointment for January 28th. A LOT sooner than St. Vincent's. Then, January 28th came, and Indianapolis was hit with a wonderful BLIZZARD. My car was trapped at work from the night before - which was okay since my parents were picking me up, but when I called the office - they said that there was no guarantee that the Doctor was going to make it in that day. So, we rescheduled. The schedule was full the following Tuesday, which made my appointment on February 11th. Then, my surgery should have been on the 17th - however, the doctor was going to be out of town, so we had to wait an extra week. That brings us to Today.
Today.
Amazingly, I slept well last night.
I fell asleep around 2:00am - which was a bummer, since I missed some texts, specifically the one from Brittany. I woke up at 9:00am, which began a long three hour wait in my apartment, until my parents picked me up. Then, the LONGEST day of my life began. It seemed like all I did was wait. The surgery was scheduled for 12:45pm. I got there before 12:30pm, and waited in the waiting room until almost 1:00pm, when they finally took me to the first room. I got naked and then sat around for what seemed like a half hour (it was probably 10 minutes), before I was taken to another room, where I laid in a bed, got some shots, and then had an IV stuck into my hand. Yes, the back of my hand! It felt like a sword being shoved under my skin - it was painful. Whatever nice fluids were pumped into my body pretty much numbed the right side of me, which was weird, because I could freely move my left arm, but my right arm didn't want to co-operate very well. After lying there forever, and I seriously mean forever, I had a number of nurses come and introduce themselves to me, and tell me I was okay - I think everyone knew how nervous I was.
I laid in that bed for a while. Bored. Lots of thoughts rushing through my head. Thinking about lots of the things and people in my life right now. Anything positive that would keep my mind off of the fact that I was going to be cut open and messed with. Finally, the Doc showed up. We talked for a minute, and then he was gone. Then I finally started moving - I watched the ceiling tiles one by one, while I felt my heart rate begin to go back up - I tried to divert my thoughts back to happier things, but then we entered the surgical room. and despite my contacts being out - I could clearly see the large table with huge lights hanging above it.
I remember being lifted from the moving bed, onto the surgery table.
I remember looking up at the lights.
I remember someone telling me they were going to put something in my nose to help me breath.
Nurse: "Hey there, how are you feeling?"
Me: "I didn't even get to count backwards..."
I don't remember the anesthesia at all. I don't know when it happened. My last surgery in 2001 - they put the ask over my face and asked me to count backwards from 20. I remember saying 19, and that's it. This time - BAM. Wake up. No counting.
Nurse: "We don't really do that here."
Me: "Really? That sucks, I really wanted to count backwards."
Nurse: "I'm sorry..."
And then I dropped it. It was no more. It was over. Probably because I really needed to get up and go to the bathroom. Amazingly, I was awake and alert when I got up. I felt good, I felt fine. I made it to the bathroom - no problems. I got dressed - no problems. I could not get my contacts in, so I just waited until I got home and put in two brand new ones.
I honestly felt good most of the night. I wasn't in too much pain, at first. Over time, it became obvious to me that whatever wonderful numbing stuff they used on my groin - it faded away over time. As the night went on, it hurt more and more to move. Luckily, I get the pleasure of taking Vicodin! Yippy! They seem to help, and I'm sticking to the 2 pills per four hours requirement, even though near the end of the third hour, I'm in pretty significant pain.
I had done some DVD work for Jason McNear, so he swung by after he got off work, and talked to me while I finished it up and made him a second copy. McNear had previously had this surgery, so we got to talk about it a lot, and he told me what his recovery was like.
Later on, my Parents came back over. They bought me a thermometer, because I'm supposed to call the doctor if I ever get a temperature over 100 degrees. Luckily, I feel fine, although my last temp was 97.0 - which is a little low. Oh well, I feel just fine. My parents hung out for a little while, and we had a good talk.
Some friends had texts waiting for me when I got home.
Some new I would be home around 5pm, so I got texts from them almost right at 5pm.
Around 6pm, I sent out a mass text to my friends, letting them know that I was alive and well. I got a lot of responses from people, and some of my closer friends and I carried on some longer conversations. Zach called me and we talked for a while. He's thinking about stopping by tomorrow night after work. Sarah and I had a couple of long texts, she's been really helpful and supportive over the past few days. Jim called and said that he and Jae are planning on bringing over some pizza tomorrow night. Mike and I had a lot of conversations, and he kept offering to bring various food items over to me, but I told him to just go out and enjoy Tuesday Night at The Fox - where we all typically hang out on Tuesday nights. I think Mike might stop by at some point tomorrow too.
Troy, Dave, and Justin all left nice supportive messages on my blog. And Jason called me last night.
I'm blessed. I really am. I've got amazing Parents who have helped me through all of this. I've got some great Friends who have been super supportive, and are all willing to do a number of nice things for me, while I'll immobile. I'm blessed.
And now I'm on my road to recovery. In 2004, I weight 170lbs. Today I weighed in at 205lbs. I don't know if the hernia is entirely to blame - but I know it's prevented me from working out on a regular basis. It's made almost all physical activities painful. Hopefully, in six weeks, I can begin to start exercising and working out again - and with any luck, drop my weight back down to 170. I wasn't happy at 170 when I was there, but I will be happier there than where I am at.
Today is the start of a new life for me. Less pain. Better positive mental attitude.
My Five Year Long Ordeal of Pain is coming to a close. The finish line is in sight, and I can't wait to get there. Life is beginning to look up again. And after some of the texts I exchanged today - I think I have a lot to look forward to in the future.
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