Here come the holidays...

The holidays are inherently depressing because nothing you experience in reality will ever measure up to the spice scented, baking cookies, steaming hot chocolate, cheery fire, warmth of kith and kin fantasy being offered up by Hollywood (or to the yearning of our own pathetically ever hopeful hearts). To take this scenario a step further, factor in always seeming to break up with somebody right at the beginning of the holidays and you get to be the token single person at all your married friends holiday parties. This leads to a witches brew of holiday “meh” syndrome. I’m also a person from a very small, somewhat anti-social (and mildly dysfunctional) family, and I tend to be able to feel oddly isolated, uncomfortable and alone in a crowded room full of people (although you’d never know it, as I fake being at ease really well). A scenario like this makes me want to run for the door when I’m forced to make chit-chat with essential strangers about “How come I haven’t remarried after ten years” (answer: I may be a masochist, but I’m not stupid) or “Aren’t you seeing anybody? What ever happened to so and so?” (confession: nobody has ever said “so and so”. Confession #2: I am often tempted to answer this question with the most sincere face I can muster and say: “She died of anal cancer. It was gruesome. Just horrible. She died in complete agony. Just…just…awful. I’ve only, well, just today actually, stopped crying over her and have only recently gotten off of my meds, but talking about her now….it seems…I don’t know…I just….will you excuse me?” and then start uncontrollably sobbing and make a huge scene. Who knows? It’s holiday party time right around the corner…I’ll keep that one in reserve in case I’m truly bored). Point is, the holidays tend to leave me with a big ol’ empty hole in my gut…a total lack of fulfillment. I suspect I’m not alone in this regard (obviously). The upside to having nothing but married friends is they usually throw the above mentioned parties, so I get to have a few weekends of free food and drink. But the hustle and bustle of the family/social lives of others around the holidays makes one (well…me anyways) reflect on their deceased parents (my father passed away twelve years ago, and every Thanksgiving/Christmas I think about how he continually ruined the holidays with his alcoholism…when I’d rather not think about him at all), their own failed relationships, or the seeming pointless consumerism of it all. It seems to me the holidays are a giant bait and switch, except with lots of food, booze and forced smiles. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…um….ennui….”

I too have rednecks in my family tree...

A while back somebody wrote a story about their having attended a semi-professional wrestling match, and their realization of all the white trash glory it represented, and their inescapable conclusion that they were genetically composed of some white trash genes themselves.  This got me reflecting on a childhood experience of mine that allowed me to realize I wasn't so different:

There was an episode of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia that used as its main plot device a semi-pro wrestling match that took place at a low rent rec (veterans?) center. Naturally, watching the show poke fun at the DBO* (*”ditch bank okies”, i.e. rednecks, white trash, etc. I’ve often wondered ((ok, not often…rarely)) if that term is widely used or just a Fresno thing?) crowd in the audience and at the poorly disguised fakery of the amateurish, semi-pro wrestlers, I assumed there was a fair amount of hyperbole and exaggeration on display in the name of getting a few laughs. However, after reading a particular story on the subject, the episode now looks like a documentary. Wow…I can almost smell the stale beer, dirty feet, and the abandonment of dreams (I know…the last one was redundant. Everybody knows the abandonment of ones dreams smells like dirty feet and stale beer…apologies for being pedantic). It was a glimpse into a world I did not suspect actually existed.

Also, being of white trash stock myself, I think I can match the semi-pro wrestling experience with something equally resplendent that I attended with my father when I was 7 or 8 years old: a demolition derby at a county fair. A county fair quality (in the late 70′s no less) demolition derby makes a modern day monster truck show look like the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance. Sitting in the seats was like being lost in a testosterone fog produced by mustachioed, inebriated dock workers (this was San Diego) who were all wearing the same trucker hat (back when the trucker hat was merely called a “hat” because thats what hats looked like back then, before they became cool and ironic 30 years later) and Coors t-shirt. Smoke (in hindsight, probably mostly of the cigarette variety...this was the 70's after all), auto exhaust, the sound of crunching metal, the whoops and hollers of drunk men and yes, the related smell of stale, cheap, spilled beer…was all pretty heady stuff for an 8 year old. And only just now, upon reflection, do I realize that there is a good chance I was one of those unsupervised feral children described in the story I had previously read, and this has allowed me to turn back the pages of time and essentially view my young self through the eyes of an independent 3rd party observer. Consider my mind blown…and somewhat mortified.

I hate to fly...but sometimes you just got to give yourself over to the universe

The following is a thought I shared with somebody, so I thought I'd post it here as well:

I think, on some level, we all fear flying to some degree. It’s just unnatural. My problems with flying are somewhat tied to my analytical brain…oh, and entropy. The thing is, if you pause for one second to consider the thousands of mechanical and electrical processes that have to work perfectly, and in harmony , to keep an aircraft aloft, and then consider the inescapable 2nd law of thermodynamics, nobody would ever fly again. Things break. They fall apart (right Yeats?). Decay. Crack. Warp, bend, and shatter. Entropy dictates things naturally progress from orderly, structured, harmonious states to disordered and deconstructed states (this is, of course, until they reach a point of equilibrium, which is pretty harmonious if you think about it…but equilibrium means your plane crashed…probably thousands of years ago). Anyways, every time I fly, I just look at it as me giving up and turning myself over to the universe, and essentially gambling that the metal, composites and plastics holding me aloft are, at least on this day, relatively fresh on their entropic journey of falling apart. I’ve never felt the need to gamble (with money), I don’t see the appeal. I figure flying, and gambling with my life, is thrill enough for me.

Life is worth living...

...because my Fresno State Bulldogs won an overtime thriller 52-51.  As I watched the game from the stadium stands, and alternated between bouts of agony and ecstasy, I had to ask myself: Why do I, a grown man, get so emotionally involved in a sporting match?  It's ridiculous.  I'm not a participant, I don't gamble on the games, and I don't know a single soul on the field.  Yes, I'm an alum of the university, and they represent the city I live in...but still.  What is it about sport that puts men on an emotional roller coaster more completely than a coked out, bi-polar girlfriend/spouse ever could?  And it's not just me.  Every where I looked there were grown men of all ages with looks of anguish, happiness, concern, etc.  You'd think they were watching their child being born.  While I'm aware of all the psychological explanations (sports are a 'safe' place for men to experience emotion without looking effeminate, etc and blah blah blah), it's more than that.  We obsess on statistics, injuries, uniform changes, pre game/match analysis, post game/match analysis, and on and on.  We don't pay nearly as much attention to our financial investments as we do to league standings.  And why?  What's in our DNA that makes it so?  Truth is, I don't know...but I suspect it's the same gene responsible for the love of audio/video equipment, beer, sports cars, and steak.    

(Liverpool has yet to lose as well...match with Man U Saturday morning will be first indicator of what we can expect for the season.  Good friend is a Red Devil supporter...I will never hear the end of it if The Reds lose...)

Update to the update...

Well, ulcer still here...along with probable bile reflux.  So, I now have an appointment for my second endoscopy in a year.  W00t.  Also, I've lost 15 lbs...without trying.  It's amazing what a little vomiting and abdominal pain does for your desire to eat...it kills it.  Like "stand your ground in Florida" kills it.  Truth is, I'm a little skinnier than I'd like to be at the moment, and am looking forward to getting this healed and then immediately go on a tacos and cheeseburgers health regimen to put a few pounds back on.

In other news, I think I'm going to paint and reroof my house.  As you can see, my sense of adventure knows no bounds.  Also, my oldest started college, and my youngest is now a high school junior.  If there's a greater indicator you're getting older, I'm not aware of it.  The cliche "they grow up so fast" now makes sense to me, and it is more real than its usual trite usage suggests. (sniff sniff...tears)

Upside?  College football starts in a week, and I have season tickets to my beloved Fresno State Bulldogs.  Another reason why fall is my favorite time of year.  Also, Liverpool started off the 2013-2014 EPL season with a win, and last I heard, Luis Suarez didn't cannibalize anybody in the off season, so perhaps Liverpool can make a run for the top-4, and a Champions League berth (I hear you snickering out there...).  No 'Dogs down and You'll Never Walk Alone!

Update...

So, it wasn't a food allergy.  Turns out, I have an ulcer...which I ignored for almost a month (you would think nightly pain would get me to the doctor...but nope.  That would take a brain cell or two...which I'm apparently lacking).  What did it take to finally get me to the doctor?  Vomiting up bile the color of mint ice cream.  Needless to say, that did the trick.  Anyways, let me tell you...are ulcers painful?  Uh, yeah.  Unbelievably so.  The good news is I can eat want I want again, the bad news is...I can't eat what I want for at least a month.  My tasty diet consists primarily of peanut butter (creamy) and jelly sandwiches, bananas, grapes, 1% milk, apples, blueberries, eggs, rice, plain noodles and oatmeal.  When I'm feeling exotic, I work in a little chicken.  No caffeine, no chocolate, no spices, tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, coffee (I haven't had coffee in days and yes, I'm experiencing withdrawals), citrus, fatty foods (cheese, butter, cream, whole milk...you know, shit I love) or carbonated beverages.  I didn't originally believe this, and cheated a bit.  Well, after 12 hours of agonizing abdominal pain, I saw the light. Anyways, the ulcer safe diet pretty much means any foods that lack actual flavor are the safe foods to eat.  Right now, even something like KETCHUP sounds like exotic, forbidden fruit.  Those of you who may know me, know how much I like spicy food (especially Mexican), so you can appreciate the dietary hell I'm living in right now.  However, I suppose I can take solace in the fact that it won't last forever.

 OK.  Time for (yet another) banana.  

Las Vegas and potential milk allergies

So, I haven't been much of a blogger lately.  Part of it has been an ongoing health issue which has run me down for the last year, seriously fucked with my personal and professional life, jacked up my once solid fitness regimen, and looks like I may have to go out of town for a specialist if I want to get it addressed (Samter's Triad...look it up.  It's a fun little auto immune allergy thing...and Scripps in San Diego has a special protocol to deal with it.  After having asthma, loss of smell, occasional intestinal angioedema ((more painful than I can begin to describe)) and hives off and on for over a year, I think I'm ready to give it a shot).  Another reason is I'm not all that angry or pissed.  It's amazing what fuel rage is for ranting on a site like this, but I've been too run down to really feel the burn...and truth be told, there's not a whole lot of drama right now anyways.  Well, until now...

First of all, I love dairy.  Milk, ice cream, cheese, BUTTER....seriously.  The shit to me is the heroin of the food groups.  To me, it's more addictive than BACON...and that's saying something.   You can take one of my eyes, but don't fuck with my dairy.  Well, check this out.  All of the sudden, for no good goddamn reason, for the last three weeks, every evening, and after most meals, I would get debilitating stomach pain and abdominal distension.  I mean wind up at doctors and get prescription pain killers type pain.  As a result of my last years allergic nonsense, apparently there's a good chance you'll develop other autoimmune allergies.  Naturally, because I love dairy so much, it appears I have developed a milk protein allergy.  While this hasn't been officially diagnosed yet, today I avoided all dairy after doing a research of symptoms last night (first tried a gluten elimination...didn't work), and today I had the first day in weeks where I wasn't rolling around on the carpet in agony at 3:30 in the morning with my gut blown up three times its normal size.  Great.  Take away one of the few things I truly live for.  On top of all that, apparently I'm going to have to turn into one of those alternative foods Nazi's that are a real pain in the ass.  I'm already researching almond/coconut milk dairy substitutes, non-dairy vegan protein powders (since I can no longer enjoy my chocolate milk or chocolate whey protein post workout beverage.  And that's another thing.  Last year my fitness regimen was seriously derailed by this allergy bullshit, and every few months when I start to feel better and get back on a regular exercise/running schedule....BOOM!  Sinus infection!  Boom! Rampant hives outbreak!  And now...BOOM! A possible milk protein allergy!  I haven't exercised in three weeks and I feel like I'm atrophying head to toe...it's like God/Mother Earth/Buddah/Shiva/HAL/fucking whoever, doesn't want me fit anymore, because it feels like I'm constantly being conspired against every time I get back into a routine), breads that aren't made with milk products, etc.  Guess what?  EVERYTHING HAS FUCKING MILK PRODUCTS IN IT!  Seriously.  If it's processed, it's in there in one form or another.  So now, I have to start shopping for particular products at those high end yuppie health food grocery chains where you spend $9 on a loaf of dairy-soy-gluten-GMO free organic bread made by a woman named Chastity and her husband Freedom.  Yea.  Apparently, I'm going to have to turn into THAT PERSON.  God help us all, and please forgive me for what I'm about to become.

OK.  Rant over.  Side note, I took my daughters to Las Vegas (their idea...call me parent of the year) during the week of the 4th of July.  Saw a few shows, ate at some nice restaurants, overheard a large man who looked like Cedric the Entertainer trying to buy cocaine over the phone ("Yo man, we need some motherfuckin' CO-CAINE up in this motherfucker...") and I managed to get through it despite my previously mentioned uncontrolled allergy/GI issues (had a few stressful nights though...was thinking I was going to end up at the Las Vegas ER one night, which would have sucked ballz...although I'm sure it would have made for a helluva story later).  Like I said, made for some long nights, but it was nice taking the girls out of town.  We had a good time, and I got to take them on their first (short) flight (kind of their warm up as my sister is taking them to England in two weeks.  Yes...they're spoiled).  Here's a few pics:

Ahhh...the subtle ambience of The Strip.

Awesome show, and some would say I appear to be a paler long lost cousin of the Blue Men.

Another impressive show, and the theater was jaw dropping amazing.

You know, The Strip just isn't blingy enough...perhaps fireworks is what it needs.  Done.

Seriously, go see this show...it's a blast.