Blog My Face

Things that cannot be fixed

2008-11-02T23:55:00.000-08:00

So, i was about to get that final surgery next week. Finally get those implants placed. Take one more step toward biting into that bacon cheeseburger at Hodad's I've been holding out for (I mean seriously, who wants to eat a bacon cheeseburger with a knife and fork?)

As it happens, however... It's not going to happen now. Now is a more serious time. Now is a time not to worry about how to fix me. Now I have to fix everything else. And I don't know if I can.

You see, my dad died this weekend. It was sudden, but perhaps not completely unexpected. It was awful. It is awful. I feel smaller, less engaged, more hallow. I don't know what I'm going to do without him.

My dad was a great man. Sure, he was flawed. Made us angry, pissed us off. But despite the superficial flaws, he was the best person I've ever known. He was the best father you could ask for. He taught, and listened (most of the time). He was my mentor and inspiration. He was my rock, and my best friend.

I've been wandering around for the last couple of days, sort of just going through the day to day stuff. Trying to maintain some sense of normalcy. But it's not normal. It's so incredibly not normal. You think sometimes... "what would I do if xyz happened. How could I make it better". Well, despite all those daydreams, I still don't know how to make it better. Don't know how I can give my mom some sense of peace. I'm worried about her the most. I mean, she had what everyone wants. Another half. I working machine.. .mom & dad, together against the world. They raised us, and made us happy and kept the bad away, even when they had bad all around them. They worked like a well oiled machine. A nagging, cooking, complaining, arguing, loving, caring machine. And everything was OK as long as they were there.

And now that machine is broken. He left... left too early. Left us to live without him. Damn him for leaving us too early. I want to be mad at him. I'm reasonably sure I'm not the only one who feels that way. But I can't be mad. I can't be angry with him. I want to shake my fist at the sky and say "What the fuck man?". In fact, I'm reasonably sure I've done that already. But why? What good is that?

Instead I wonder... who will I call and bitch about sports to? Who will call and ask why Star Trek isn't on? Who will get me the latest interesting piece of baseball trivia? Who will smile and laugh and tell me that story that seems to put things in perspective? Who's going to remind me not to overcook their steak? Who will fix it?

I guess that's the point, right? Life has no fix. We all live broken, and sometimes it's much harder to work around. Instead, I'll fix what I can. I'll treat the symptoms, but know that there's no cure.

No cure for the hole in me. Only sadness. Profound sadness. Fortunately, with little if any regret. I never forgot to tell him I loved him. Never forgot to give him a hug and a kiss. Don't forget that shit people. Seriously, don't ever forget.

You know, as much as part of me died with him, a larger of part of him lives with me. And with the untold people he touched. With my mom, and my sister and the grand kids, and all my friends, and everyone else. Because I didn't have a normal dad. I had a super-dad. Peter was graced with more love to give, and more ways to care and show it then anyone. I'll be more alone without him. But he taught me, perhaps more then anything else, he taught me how to make sure you were never alone. He taught me how much people need each other, and how much we make each others lives better. And even though he left me, he left me rich. Rich in love and caring and friends and family. No inheritance could surpass what he left me with.

Thanks Dad. I will miss you terribly. I love you.

Gums? Yes, I think i'll have some. And a coke.

2008-09-22T00:14:00.000-07:00

OK, and we've now reached... ROUND II. Ding Ding Ding.

Yes, the time has come. Well, a time has come. Apparently I now have insufficient gums to look normal with new teeth, so yes... it's gum draft time. Less severe that what I've had recently, but fun none the less. So as the quarter rounds up, lets add some excitement with a little slice and stitch!

More to come...

No incising, but not bad!

2008-05-13T22:24:00.000-07:00

Well, the day has finally come! Yes, it's true.. I have teeth! WHEEE! Well, not so much "teeth" as "a largish fake plate containing teeth-like facsimiles". And although I remain eager for the permanent replacements, it a fair site better than yesterday. And most importantly - FOOD. Yes friends it's true. Today I indulged myself in a glorious breakfast burrito, and capped off the day with a trip to Phils BBQ. No, I can't actually bite into ribs. As the title suggests, these teeth are not for incising. I remain on the knife and fork diet. But you can't beat bacon, egg, potato & cheese with guacamole after 3 weeks of smoothies and tuna. It does warm the cockles of the heart.

So, as some of you might have noted I've been acting a bit pissy lately. No, no... it's true. Don't deny it. And although I'm sure there's a tiny foreign import full of issues that I still have to sort through, I have been reminded of some more things lately. More even then the last time.

You see, these last week or so have given occasion for the world to flick my ear and say "Hey fucker... don't be a pissant". People have died. Old friends and old friends of friends. People I know and people who are dear to me are suffering. And not the "oh woo is me, my life is so hallow" crap that I've been spouting. Real suffering, the kind that leaves scars. So I sat again this evening by the water, watching the sun. I sat down on today's rock lamenting that no one would come out and enjoy a ceremonial first meal back with me. But again, as I have learned, vaporous saline and decreasing light slowly pulled it out of me. I realized how fortunate I am, how insanely lucky my life is. I started thinking in aphorisms. As such, I will now give you my first attempt at poetry for over a decade. It will probably suck. But I don't care (Updated 9/08: I removed this lame poem. It was lame)

Like I said, pretty weak. But it was an odd day, so this is what you get. I do want to wish my old yelling friend a peaceful rest in a bigger world. Although I don't think I've seen you in 7 or 8 years, you were as memorable as they come. This world is less bright without you.

And to the rest of you- Happy Day! My lisping is reduced, my smile is almost creepy symetrical, and my beard is..... dundundundundundundundun... not totally coming off, but some is. I've decided to pare it down. keep the lions share, but reduce the grizzly effect (sorry moses). I will now endeavor to clean the bastard up and get a photo. give me a minute...
(time passes)

Today- Burrito. Tomorrow? Some sushi! The next day? THE WORLD! Or maybe some pizza. OK, here it is! Also, for your viewing pleasure... last week's sunset:

Expectation

2008-05-09T18:45:00.000-07:00

Let this be a lesson. Don't get your hopes up. Don't get me wrong, I try very hard to resist the urge to think that hope is dangerous. That's the wrong road to go down. But I was this close.. THIS CLOSE! Alas, all that happened was another impression. I hoped for teeth. Some grilled chicken. Perhaps even (gasp!) a breakfast burrito. Alas, all I got was a metal plate filled with pink molding goo. I can expect some fake teeth this Tuesday. It will, eventually, be very exciting. As it stands I have one last weekend of tuna, soup and some smoothies.

So tonight, I will drink. Not that I wouldn't drink if I had teeth. But if I did fill my mouth gap, I might have a date. Instead, I have the geek squad, some TV and a shot of Jaeger. Life could be worse. I will update you all soon, and perhaps have a shot of my shiny new flipper. Until then, have a fab weekend, and eat something crunchy for me.

I remain... the gapper.

Lucky Old Sun

2008-05-06T00:23:00.000-07:00

I was thinking of making an entire post theme that revolved around song lines and/or titles. However, as it turns out the title of this post is the only one I can think of. And the other line that I had in my head is some inane Jim Morrison poem line from that spoken word album we got into years ago, in the Door's period. Its not unlike Picasso's blue period, but we were younger and smoked more pot. Anyway, the line is "Wow.. I'm sick of doubt..." Of course, the poem rambles on to other more acid filled lunacy. But for me, now.. it's just that one phrase that is stuck in the craw. And it's true. I am sick of doubt. Do you ever feel it? Like somehow, slowly, into you life... doubt has crept and laid eggs? And that these new lives, the maggots of doubt, have bored holes into your mind and kept you somehow mesmerized? Left you wondering if this, or that may or may not be the right thing to do, or say, or think? I mean, it's not that pervasive of course. But they are there sometimes. And I'm sick of them. I seek an exterminator to poison these creatures from my mind. Some use faith, or meditation or the like. Some just drink heavily I suppose. I'm hoping that somewhere in between these options some other method will make itself clear.

And in the meantime, we come back to our topic- the Lucky Old Sun. What I have done recently is to simply begin wandering. I zig zag my way down to the beach, find a nice rock to sit on, and listen to the waves and watch the sun set. As the song says... "That Lucky Old Sun, ain't got nothing to do, but roll, roll around heaven, all day". I imagine that the sun never doubts if it's going to come up tomorrow.

Now, we shall away to the mundane. It's Monday late, and Thursday I shall apparently get some replacement teeth. Temps, to be sure, but fillers none the less. It's terribly exciting. I don't get to "eat" exactly, but my lisp will change form. In the meantime I have to decide what to do with the scruffy mess on my cheeks. After surgery, I decided I wouldn't shave until I had teeth. Now that they are pending, here is the open question to any of y'all still reading. Leave as is? Shave it off again? Whack back to goatee format, as before? Or clean up and leave in it's somewhat full form? The house is accepting comments and questions in this regard, and will consider all perspective and opinion. It's hard to capture, but this is what I can show:

Melancholy and Eggs, scrambled... with cheese!

2008-05-02T00:16:00.001-07:00

OK, it's Thursday night, and it's been far to long since I've added more to this little missive. I'm also a little drunk, so it's likely that this missive will take a more rambling format the usual. When I first conceived of today's topic, I was considerably more morose. As it turns out, the past few days have been an improvement.

This is a second day edit. I have realized that now... on friday, i made a very fundamental error on this post. One might not be able to associate the title with the content. This is one of those "you had to be there" jokes, and I'm afraid the timing is long since shot. So I've waited until I was drunk again, so I could retain the spirit of the post. To Wit:...The whole point is... I can eat EGGS! It's terribly exciting. Normal protein that tastes like normal food. And the best part... I added cheese! At the suggestion of a good friend and at the reminder of my refrigerator, I was able to ingest GOUDA! And I discovered something. Gouda really does make the world a more pleasant place. Bless the Dutch, may their wooden shoes provide them with excellent posture for all of their days. So- Proost! or Skål! or Geluch! You crazy Dutch bastards!

This entire experience has been quite insightful. I expected the physical trauma to be more severe. Not that it isn't, but I really thought I'd be "out of it" for a while longer. As it turns out, it's been more annoying the truly painful, and more inconvenient the actually distasteful. However, the part I was not expecting was how much such trauma and solitude would fuck with my head. As those of you who know me well know... I do tend to be overly emotional. I am prone to irrational bouts of joy and sorrow, and I don't have what one might call a full or keen grasp on my head at all times. Yes, it's true... I'm an anxiety filled, neurotic, bloviating madman. Not as a rule, but certainly, at times, in practice. And I didn't pick the best time to have my implants fail and happen upon reconstructive surgery.

Not that I had a choice. I think that at times the world just plans to have as many annoyances and turmoil heaped upon you as it possibly can. It's not the world's fault. I'm not so self righteous as to think that someone or something "has it out" for me. But alas, April was less then ideal. So, I was melancholy. Bitter. Profoundly sad at times. Just annoyed at others. I prayed for normalcy, for a sense of calm. "Serenity now" if you will. But I know better. I do sometimes believe that peace of mind is reserved for monks, children and the stupid. I do believe at times in the old adage "The world is easier for those of us not cursed with introspection".

But of course most of this isn't true. The truth, I'm betting, is that I do in fact suffer from maddeningly obsessive thoughts, surface level emotional conflict, and an all around piss poor ability to GET THE FUCK A HOLD OF MYSELF. But this is not news. I've realized this for at least 15 years. It's just that this past month has been a particularly notable example. However, the past 48 hours has provided marked improvement. I am reminded of several things that I share with you all now:
-) I can't control what people think or do, and letting these things bother me will only drive me more insane than I am on a day to day basis
-) Time does, in fact, heal all wounds
-) I love the ocean. I might not surf or spend my days on the beach. But when push comes to shove, staring at the waves, smelling the salt air, and watching the sunset over the vast blue-green endlessness of the Pacific will always calm the mind and feed the soul. Seriously, no offense to anyone who grew up landlocked... but damn that would suck. I just have to know that it's there, close by, when I need it.

So I come now to the end of today's aphorisms. They are perhaps a tad rambling and incoherent. So as a mea cupla, I can add one practical item. As of yesterday, I was finally able to see the other wound that was part of my procedure. Remember, this was a bone graft. Meaning they had to get the bone from somewhere. That turned out to be the pointy part of my right hip. Put your hand on your hip, and find that part several inches right and slightly south of your navel where your pelvis is closest to the surface. Below you will find that wound on me. Under it is a missing chunk of bone, perhaps half the width of a craps die, and twice as long. It's kind of cool, you can actually feel the hole! To wit:

First Friday...

2008-04-25T18:37:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are at the first full non-puffy bloody weekend, post surgery. I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised. I walking tall, if not quite looking good. And I'm ready to drink! There is little to say on this matter, or in this post. Other than that I look forward to getting drunk with no carbonation, and hoping that mashed potatoes are enough to sate me during this adventure. We shall see. Details to follow...

Soup or Smoothie?

2008-04-23T22:43:00.001-07:00

I'll have both please! And a shake! And some freakin' temporary teeth please! And make it snappy, I'm in a hurry.

Someone asked today what I would eat right now if I could. I posited that a slice of cheese pizza covered in french fries sounded good. At first, I laughed at the sheer absurdity of the whole thing. But upon reflection... no. I would definitely take a bite out of that if presented to me and I was able. And then of course I went to the farmers market (note to self- SD local farmers do NOT grow bananas. How this didn't seem obvious at first is beyond me). So, I can always use some more fruit to cram in my blender. But the longing! tiny tacos! the crepe guy! even the guy who lets you taste all of his cheese and olives! OH MY GOD! It is literally the only true food annoyance I have had yet. And I had only a strawberry raspberry smoothie to drown my sorrow in when I got home.

I would say "Woe is Me". But it's not really. Bitterness is sometimes me. Brooding is sometimes me. Singing in the car is sometimes me. Absurd comments to random people? Also me. But woe... no. That would be overly harsh. I admit that the worst part of this week has been the weird mood swings. I mean, i expected simply straight-forward problems... pain. discomfort. swelling. The 3 horse-people of the maxilla. But insomnia? mood swings? not being able to sleep on my right side? These are not what I was prepared for. So what am I to do? What could possible be the answer???? TELL ME DAMMIT!!!!

OK, so I can't actually hear you. To date, I've tried a few methods:
-) butterscotch pudding (good, but not as successful as I had hoped)
-) whiskey (we're still working on this one. more later)
-) Pynchon (also an experiment in progress. But you have to love the character name "Benny Profane")

Tomorrow is BIG CHECK-UP DAY. the day in which my OMD pokes around, say "hmmm", keeps looking at me asking over and over again if I'm SURE I haven't had a cigarette (I haven't! seriously! A whole week), and almost certainly does something that is going to make me want another pain pill. Nice guy, but damn he can be a pain (rimshot? anyone? please?). I also expect one more "we'll see" and "I'll let you know next week". What's a checkup without them?

And finally, I'm sorry.. there's just not much more to show in picture. I mean, other then the fact that I haven't shaved and seriously think that my mustache hair is growing slower then it was last week, what's to see? So here is my request (at the suggestion of a good friend, you know who you are)- do any of you have gross pictures of dental work that you can share? I will post them here. We'll make it a clearinghouse!Sort of like Getty (Bloody) Images! We can license them and make a mint? Or at least, we'll be able to buy a few mints. Which I'll likely eat before you get your share. Sorry.

Insomnia? Are you kidding me?

2008-04-22T13:37:00.000-07:00

OK, I have a complaint. I'm certainly not overeating. I've quit smoking and usually have been ending the day with a pain pill. But for some reason, for the first time in my life, I seem to be fighting some shitty bout of insomnia! What the fuck? Pain is manageable, so it's not that. In fact, when I was in pain, I got right to sleep. I just had to get up once to deal. But I feel pretty good now. I don't think I'm fixating on anything, at least not consciously. So what gives? Do I need to heat my late night milkshake so it takes the form of "warm milk"? Because seriously.. that's gross. Are my narcotic painkillers playing dirty little tricks on me and having the opposite effect? (I can see them in the corner, huddling... "Timmssess? Oh we hates timssess")

Well, I guess this too is one more little annoyance. Que sera. Don't tell anyone I work with, but I kind of just slept 1-2 hours through my alarm today as a big middle finger to last night. And considering this whole experience isn't really as bad as it might have been, i suppose it's a small price to pay. I once heard it said that "every moment of pleasure is paid for with a moment of pain". Perhaps this is the lesser known cousin "ever moment of not-pain is paid for by a moment of slight annoyance".

Other tiny complaint? I can't seem to smile. It's true. I have these 2 stitches well positioned to effectively prevent me from moving my upper lip into an expression of decent happiness. I will have to suffice with smirking I guess. It's not a bad expression. Better then the morose monkey look (see below). I guess it's all a progression. Maybe I should go play some poker. What better time to play poker then when you are physically incapable of making significant facial expressions?

And I'm past the cane. It's kind of sad really. I liked the cane. It had a certain cachet'. But alas, it's time to return it to gramma. I think I need to get out more. I don't want the Great Outdoors to devolve back into the Great Indoors. So alas, I think it is time to hobble to a nearby cafe and pretend not to hate my job. I don't actually hate my job, I'm just so not feelin' it this week. And it kind of bugs. like those smile preventing stitches. There you have it in a convoluted syllogism. My job is like smile-preventing stitches.

OK, let's see if we have more pictures to share... Yes! we do. First we have the closest thing I can muster to a smile. You can understand my frustration:Next, you will see what my gums look like as they impersonate a stuffed and tied pork loin. Really, I have to give it my OMD. Here's very neat with the stitching (Yeah, no snarky comments about the fillings You all know I drank too much cola as a child. I've heard it before!):

The Great Outdoors!

2008-04-20T19:12:00.000-07:00

I finally made it out into the world. So terribly exciting. After many days of pent up frustration, I discovered that today was Earth Day and decided to go to the fair. There was walking. And occasionally there was me muttering incoherently to the people in the booths. But mostly there was walking.

And I do so love large fairs full of tree hugging dirt worshipers like myself. SO many interesting a random ways to sew hemp and save the world and reduce my carbon footprint. As it stands, I really only managed to do 2 things. I talked to candidate running against my current congressional representative (the other democrat. a republican will never win in our conveniently gerrymandered district). And I talked to the folks at the House Rabbit Society about how badly they need foster families for bunnies. Once I get all healed, I might have to look into this. I do so love bunnies.

But there was one thing that stuck out. In this bastion of left wing idealists there were the requisite bible-thumpers with their large signs and abortion pictures. Now those were revolting, but not unexpected. However, the thing that really did stick out was the pitiable looking man with a 5 foot sign that read "Give me 5 minutes and I will proved to you that god exists and jesus died for your sins". Seriously. It was like Grecian Formula challenge meets Pascal's Wager. I couldn't believe it. I was SO F*CKING bitter that my mouth isn't really working. I wanted to talk to him SO BADLY I could feel it. Actually, that was the twinge in my hip as I whirled around to read his sign. But STILL! I mean, here is a person who is apparently so unclear on the concept of "faith" that not only is he seeking to prove his beliefs to himself... he wants to prove them to YOU. It never ceases to amaze me how some people (not all mind you, but some) who claim that faith is the most important thing in their lives still seem convinced that faith and "proof" need to co-exist. And damn, i just realized that i missed the Union of Concerned Scientists booth. how ironic.

OK, I am off to tend to my chicken stock. And maybe take a pain pill. But really, I might just be over those. How sad...

An Open Letter to Obsession

2008-04-19T22:20:00.000-07:00

So, as I sit here on Day 2almost3, I have spent some time considering obsession. The thought. The concept. The action. All of it.

It takes many forms, obsession. Don’t think that you’ve seen it in only one guise or as one phenomenon. It is all that we know as addiction, or infatuation, or gut wrenching anxiety or even hope. All of these are obsession in their own way. And don’t think that they are all of one ilk. There is no dark and light in obsession. There is a sea of gray and myriad white lies that it tells us and oh so many fantastic ways it can insinuate itself into our psyches.

Is it addiction? I’ve been addicted to smoking for years. I was/am a smoker. Sometimes proud, sometimes shamed. Sometimes just indifferent. It was my companion. After stress (the one time I was held up, I had a smoke immediately after). After sex (even if I had to sneak one in, I knew it was out there for me, waiting). But also with the mundane. Coffee, and after dinner, and just to get a break in the action. It was there, and could still be. And I know that there is much to blame on the “thing itself”. But I’ve used many addicting substances, both occasionally and exclusively (coffee, anyone)? And I don’t blame Maxwell House. I just love it. And now, when I just can’t do it anymore, I realize that… although I do have a headache, and may find myself irritable, it just doesn’t bother me as it has in the past. My obsession was overcome by my bleeding gums. Obsession is convenience.

Is it infatuation? Certainly this rears its ugly head time and again in my happy world. I’ve been deeply in love. I’ve been distantly in love. I’ve been spurned and have spurned (mostly, to be fair, I’ve been spurned). I’ve been convinced that my life will never fulfill it’s destiny because of this missed opportunity or that ill-timed advance. But as it happened, the world hasn’t stopped spinning yet. I haven’t become a pauper on the street with no hope of immortality. I’m not alone. But lord had you told me that 2 months ago, or 3 or 4 years ago, or 13 years ago, I would never have believed you. Maybe I have missed something that time will eventually reveal to me. But, as of tonight, it appears to be obsession.

Is it anxiety or even hope? Here, my friends, is the trickiest of questions. Anxiety is my constant companion. My familiar. The creature on my shoulder reminding me to be worried about this, and take heed of that and consider if maybe, just maybe… it was something I did. Or didn’t do. Or could have done differently. It drives me to drink and to smoke and to scream loudly in my car when no one is watching. Or at very least when the only people watching are those I could give a shit about. Is it obsession? With my life? With my concern of lack of life? Am I just obsessed with what, what, what the fuck is wrong with me? And here’s the interlude- what if it’s also hope? Obsession might be the tiny rabbit breading the voices in my head. But maybe it’s also the little hive from where my hopes emerge. You know the ones I’m talking about. Or maybe you don’t. Those little random hopes that walk hand and hand with my anxieties, like two happy children in a playground. One reminding me of what went wrong, and one telling me that – don’t worry boy, it’ll all be OK in time. My most recent obsession was female. She is ultimately irrelevant. Laden with baggage and likely shallower then a tide pool. But for some stupid reason, I adored her. And then of course, my friends from visited. Skipping into my heart and mind they kicked my soul around, laughed and pointed fingers, and then, just as they’re leaving, are sure to remind me that “It might have been something you said. Maybe you’re just really bad in the sack.” But it’s sure to leave with “what is meant to happen will happen. You never know what next month/year, etc will bring”. Like I need some fantasy running around in my head to amuse me. It’s not amusing dammit! Haven’t I made that clear in the past HALF of my life? You know what fantasy I need? That between now and Thursday I win the lottery and they invent some device to beam mature bone into my mouth that automatically spawns new teeth. That’s what I want keeping me up at night. Fucking obsession. Never does pay attention.

I don’t know. Is it just me? Maybe I’m the only one who is confounded by this strange creature. But I doubt it. Is it the spectre of the post-modern? Perhaps I can don my derrida cloak and deconstruct I will find some light at the end of my obsessed tunnel. But that’s hooey, and I think we all know it. Some fantastic notion that, if properly broken down we’ll find some inkling, some shred of the obvious and viewable and epistemological that we’ve missed. Some reason that we feel this way, that we’re owned and controlled and wander off in our heads during the day and are kept up at night. But that’s not it, is it? In the end we’re just victims of ourselves. We’re just obsessed.

Perhaps Obsession, perhaps you’re like a broken bone. We all hate you, and you’re painful as fuck, but invariably you happen to almost everyone once. And we heal with time and patience and some immobility. Or perhaps Obsession… perhaps you are like a bowel movement. Perhaps you a stinking pile of shit. You smell and are disgusting and not typically to be discussed. But you happen to everyone, everywhere in the world every day. And if you stopped happening, we’d all die.

Just because...

2008-04-19T19:01:00.000-07:00

OK, I promised some gory pictures, and now that I'm home I will try to deliver. Further commentary on these will come later, but for now i give you this... one actual gore, one personality gore. Actually, the second one is my Dr Zauis look.

No, no... I know now..

2008-04-18T23:33:00.001-07:00

It's not that I look like a monkey. It's more Planet of the Ape-ish. I'm Dr Zauis! That's it! But less proto-hominid and more just kinda puffy. Also, I'd need my facial hair back to look really Ape-ish.

Anyway, that slight interlude brought to you by percocet, boredom, and the letter's T & Z, and the number 2.

Day 1.5 - Friday is TV purgatory

2008-04-18T21:33:00.001-07:00

So I'm back. Why you ask? Because seriously, what the hell else am I going to do with my time? It's Friday night... and I'm sitting in the room i grew up in at my folks house drowning my sorrows in milkshake #2 for the day. The most interesting thing I found to watch was a Bill Moyers special, and I'm far too emboldened with painkillers to consider opening that Pynchon novel I brought with me. OK, so I could have done some better planning, i admit that now. But hindsight being 20-20 and all that.

Yeah, don't remind me. A cold beer and a shot, and a steaming, relaxing drag off the world's longest cigarette are what i need right now. But that's not gonna happen, so I'm left considering some things. I did hope that much of these weeks would be spent in illuminating self-analysis and provide several moments of enlightenment. I'm not sure that this has happened yet, but it's still early, so we'll reserve judgment.

However, so far I have learned a few more lessons:
-) No matter how much you've prepared, you can't possibly be ready for two things: How boring recovery's really are, and how incredibly unprepared you will invariably be for living with your parents again, even if for only a couple of days. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents dearly. They're wonderful, fantastic people. But if my mom suggests for the 8th time that I just "have a piece of that cheesecake, without the crust of course", I might seriously go postal and fling the damned cheesecake across the kitchen

-) In the realm of emotional stability- never underestimate how swelling, pain and excessive physical discomfort can sooth the troubled emotional mind. I had this fucked up month or two, which was spent regularly trying to check my head (apologies to ad-rock) and focus. Now, even if I reach out to think about those things/people that were buggin', the best reaction i can muster is... "eh!". So there's some healing right there. Amen! Hallelujah! and all that jazz.

I wish I had a cool cane now. Like one of those with the duck head handles, or something that turns into a sword. Damn, I could really make a new fashion statement. Monkey face, brash bold cane play. I'd be like Errol Flynn, but uglier, slower and less amusing to watch on film.

Day 1- The aftermath begins

2008-04-18T12:24:00.000-07:00

OK, technically this is day 2. unless you consider surgery day 0. Which is a terribly Mayan thing to do. So I will. And considering it was a lost day, with little to show for it except an iced coffee, 2 milkshakes and 2 hours of surgery, we're going to stick with the original nomenclature and call this day 1. Oh and like 5 percocet. Damn do I love percocet.

Well, I'm disoriented, bored of daytime TV and I look not unlike a monkey. And it's been like 26 hours. That doesn't bode well, does it? And in addition to the standard pain I expect I now have a non-trivial headache. I blame the lack of smokes! Fucking cigarettes. Once again I'm reminded of how insidious the damn things are. All the shit I have to feel now, and they plug me with a nicotine withdrawal, as a final middle finger to my otherwise glorious day! fuckers. How glorious you ask? Oh so fucking glorious. I've had a banana and peanut butter shake. and water. and I'm considering how fantastic a bowl of tomato soup will be. In all seriousness- I really like tomato soup. The canned kind. It's the only way to fly. If all goes well, I plan to end the day with mashed potatoes. It's a culinary wonder here in east county.

On the bright side, i have no laptop. no work cell. my entire company could have burned to the ground today and I'd never know the difference. Although in fairness that would be like 20 different offices around the globe burning on the same say. Perhaps that's too fortunate to hope for.

Non-sequiter: An earthquake? In Illinois? Are you kidding me? I've heard of trying to emulate a better place, but that's a bit over to top, don't you think?

So, lessons learned so far? First off, remember that the obvious thing isn't always the most important. I had a large swath of my mouth cut into, drilled and sewed up. But after all is said and done, it's the one inch hole in my hip that they harvested bone from that is the REAL bastard in this story. Seriously... ouch. That fucking hurts. I can't bend over. I can't get up and down from a seated position without wincing. I'm walking around with my gramma's left over cane. It's really remarkable. Lesson two - never underestimate the power of a cane. Lesson 3- in a competition between a 22 inning baseball game and narcotic painkillers, the narcotics will win every time. OK, that's all for now. I'm going to try posting 2 pic's here. One of monkey tim, and one showing the star of our adventure, my mouth ...

Day -1: really seriously the last cigarette....

2008-04-16T22:07:00.000-07:00

OK, so it's 10pm the night before. Dishes are clean, trash is out, and I' m enjoying one last beer.

Alright, i get it. That's overly dramatic. it's not like I can't have beer. In fact, I'm sure that not a week will pass before I have a beer again. And maybe some Jaeger. Don't laugh, it's an aperitif. I'm sure I'll need it to settle my smoothie laden stomach.

I'm totally trying to do 5 things at once. I'm afraid that if I sit and watch TV and relax, that somehow I'm wasting precious time. But it's not like I'm joining a monastery tomorrow. I mean, a few days of discomfort, controlled substance pain killers and a blender. What's not to love? except the blood. and the puffiness. and the lack of teeth. OK, so there's plenty not to love. but still, i'm trying to remain optimistic here. Stop harshing my buzz.

Anyway, this one will be short. I have added pre-picture too... clean-shaven me, to be used for comparison after tomorrow's event. I will try my damnedest to get a day of picture taken. I will also try to use mom's diamond head drill to make tiny toy soldiers from my old teeth.

Teeth soldiers. That would be awesome. And I could make them French legionnaires, because they surrendered their position in my mouth. butt fucking quitters.

To the Hurt!

And so it begins....

2008-04-15T21:42:00.000-07:00

I'm about to embark on what is probably a relatively benign experience, in the grand scheme of things. I mean, my jaws not being wired shut. I don't have to take IV nutrition. In the final analysis, I'm sure this is all just another month in wacky world of oral surgery.

So, some background. Years ago my father fought in the clone wars. No wait, that's not the story. Some years back, i fucked up my mouth. knocked out some teeth, had some new ones screwed in. A little extra gum here, and little root canal there, Viola! Normal mouth. Oh I knew that eventually, maybe in my 30's (GASP) I might have to have the whole thing corrected. But hell, what did I care? I was 18, 20 years old. I have a shiny new apartment off campus. Plenty of friends to get wasted and play pinball with. Life was good.

Life, in fact, still is good. For the most part. But hey, nothing's perfect, and I'm content with this. But that day has come. All the bionic teeth are finally taking a dive. And alas, it's bone grafting for me. So in two days time (technically 1.5), it's time to slice into the ol' face and cram some new bone up there. Fortunately (or so I am told), my very own bone. Borrowed from my very own hip. I've got plenty of hip to work with, so I'm sure I can sacrifice it (side note: I want very much to make a quip about how hip, or unhip or tragically hip I am. But for the sake of anyone, anywhere, reading this, I will resist that urge. Such a tired line)

Still, I'm a little nervous. I think I have the right to be. It's gonna be a pretty messed up process. 4 teeth coming out (two are already fake, 2 more are my own. Perhaps my mom can make me a necklace out of them). I will not have any replacements for about 2 weeks. And I can't chew food for a month! That's right, no mastication whatsoever! (no, you pervs... that's not what I said. I can totally do that. When's the last time you used your mouth for that?). And then, after months of healing, they go right back in there and screw some more shiny new teeth in. At least, that's the plan. Although not traditionally a planner, I'm really rooting for it this time.

Of course, there are some bright sides. Silver filings if you will. First off, I have to quite smoking. Like... really. For good. No kidding honest to god can't have a freakin' smoke at all. I'm hoping that severe pain will help alleviate the headache I expect to have in a few days. Secondly, I really hope to lose some weight. I'm going all soups and shakes and smoothies. Whey proteins, and flax seed oil and yogurt. The whole gamut. I mean, sure... there will be Campbell's Tomato and mashed potatoes in there. I'm not some friggin' health monk. But I think I can do it. As it stands I believe I'm currently the largest member of my family and extended family known to exist. Ever. 245 at least. I could gladly leave 20 lbs or so wrapped up in a bag next to my garbage teeth. It would rock. I have some pants I need to get into again. Shit, what's happened... 2 days before surgery and I'm becoming androgynous. Finally, I hope to use the time to heal mentally, emotionally and physically. To round out my tortured soul and troubled mind. Somewhere a voice whispers "ease his pain". Sadly, I cannot build baseball field in my 1 bdrm apt. But I can watch baseball. And write about it. And read poetic dissertations about it. But still.. somewhere there is a ghost of a damned spirit that will guide me through my angst, and allow me to ease my pain. Of course, it is entirely likely that when i hear that voice, it'll be the percocet talking. Either way, I'll be in the right frame of mind to listen.

And finally, based on the suggestion of a dear woman, to blog. To pour monastic seclusion into words. To amuse myself with prose. And maybe to amuse you. If you're actually there. How could I know? I mean, if a blog is written in the ether and no one reads it, is it really a blog? So I begin now, in earnest, to blog my face.

Next step, the before pictures....