Monday, May 22, 2017

DON'T FORGET CHURCH- 4PM SUNDAY!


FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT TO UNCONSCIOUSNESS

Where was I? Oh yeah, I'd just passed out at the bar. I wasn't drunk. I felt it coming on and warned the bartender that I may go down. What I can piece together from the people who kept  me from sliding to the floor was that when I started to go down they rushed over and propped me back up in my chair. I wasn't out long. Just long enough to call 911.

    First on the scene were two guys from the firehouse right next door. Every bar should have a firehouse close by. They took my pulse and blood pressure as the woman down the bar said it was diabetes or heart attack. She repeated her diagnosis as I sat drenched in sweat and got some water in me. Passing out is not a pleasant experience, but it is interesting. There's a strange calming after effect, like a good clip of coming attractions. The firemen agreed I was OK, but they had already called the Paramedics so they waited around until they showed. And here's where a simple loss of consciousness becomes an economic issue.
    I don't have insurance and felt  since I requested (while conscious) that my unconsciousness be taken in stride, I had not ordered any medical assistance. Now i also understand the bartender not wanting an unconscious man driving away customers. I guess I should have put a time limit on it, or wear a badge "If unconscious for over 5 mins. call 911" or "Do not bill unless called." So after the paramedics in their blue uniforms went through just what the firemen went through out came the paper work. Name? Address? Ph.#? Sign here. I looked at the checked boxes refusing service and was conscious enough to realize that by signing it they could bill me. I refused. They both looked at me like I was crazy.  The guy smiled and repeated, "No. You have to sign." By then I was not only  regaining consciousness, my litigious nature also was returning with my rosy cheeks. "All due respect." I informed my medics "I don't have to sign anything." They both sighed and the bartender signed. I did not go to the hospital.
    Today I got my bill. It came faster than the paramedics. It was for services rendered: $200. No here's the question. Does one have a right to public unconsciousness? Every time I pass out, is it going to cost me $200? I don't want to be an asshole, but neither do I want to set a precedent. This very probably won't be the last time I nod in public. So I wrote a little letter. I told the company that sent out the pulse and blood pressure takers that I appreciated the gesture, but I did not order what they were delivering, and was under no obligation to pay for it. That said, I think it is worth something, so I offered to pay $100 if they would bill me accordingly. Passing out should not cost so much. The woman at the end of the bar told me for my own good one more time. "Diabetes......you may have the diabetes.....or a heart attack."

Friday, May 19, 2017

WSSP- chicken coop/dog house


CULTURAL TREASON

     I apologize for not being the guy you could count on for a little diversion with my regular blogs. It's a combination of many factors: writing FANCESTOR (the title I'm now going with), turkey hunting (not going well), and first and foremostly a sense that I no longer can compete. Case in point is my last week. Samm had to go to Germany which left me again house and animal sitting with Lassie Dog and Monkey Cat, which left Cheeky Monkey all alone back at my house with my roosters Samm, Teddy and Tessa. After my TV blew up, I gave up television. Then my CD player broke. Now my only diversion is two radio stations WJFF and WFMU, both decent but not 100%. So when they suck I have silence. So camping out at Samm's with her Amazon and CNN is a little like getting a good hotel room- with a dog and cat.
    My first indulgence wasting time was watching I LOVE DICK. I'd spent a weekend with the author  of the book the show is based on, Chris Kraus and her husband Silvere in the 90's, with my much younger, much more ambitious stripper/grad student girlfriend. The show is overtly artsy and based in Marfa with Kevin Bacon, sort of Marlboro Man meets Karen Finley. It wasn't bad, but without my curiosity and envy over Chris Kraus getting a TV show, I don't think I would've cared. I remember painfully watching Silvere try to split wood on Long Island as my girlfriend talked feminist polemics with Chris. I also remember his relief as I grabbed the ax and showed how to do it "correctly." He just smiled and told me how good I was doing and to keep it up and opened a bottle of wine. I know the game, but I no longer play it.
   After plowing through "Dick" I turned on CNN. What a week to have CNN!  The turkeys weren't gobbling and I was getting frustrated and worn out from 4:00 am alarm clocks. I had promised to build Samm a chicken coop while she was gone and my only other obligation was to keep abreast of history unfolding. And that is now a full time job. As the thermometer climbed to the 90's I drug my tools and some lumber up Samm's lawn and went to work. In between Comey memos, tweets, and appointments of special prosecutors, the pad for the coop took shape. The coop itself was a dog house with a history. I'd built it with my nephew Isaac in 1998 and when the neighbors saw it on their property it started a war. I told you it had a history. In any case it ended up at GNJohn's. John renovated and insulated for his dog GIRL. Then Pigpen Rothman cut in a nesting box in the side and for a time hens laid eggs there. Now it was coming back to me.I had to tear it apart and cut the roof off just to lighten it enough for two men to move it. Which we did, then.....
    Wait. I'm getting ahead of myself. After the special prosecutor was appointed the Trump gave a commencement speech at the Coast Guard and whined that he was the most unfairly treated President in history. How can you compete with such absolute bullshit? I hadn't eaten all day, came in from the hot sun, had a beer and went down to the Inn to get a burger. The news was on and the bartender waved it off and scowled when I asked what had happened in the five minutes it took for me to get to the bar. She wasn't interested in the least. After I ordered my cheeseburger she told me it was hot dog night. Too late. I had already ordered my burger. So as I sat there with the voice of Trump droning over the TV, bit into my burger, I began to feel lightheaded. "You OK?" the girl behind the bar asked. I nodded took another bite. Then I realized I wasn't OK. I called her over. "If I pass out..." I informed my bartender "don't call 911. I haven't eaten all day." She scowled and told me to eat and not to dare pass out in her bar. That's the last thing I remember.    

Friday, May 5, 2017

DOWN 45 CALICO INDIAN PROTEST CHURCH OF THE LITTLE GREEN MAN- SUNDAY MAY 28 4PM

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