30 July 2007

Take your spells and...

...shove 'em up your satanic butts.
I keep getting spam these days from people flogging various magickal spells and satanic worship, and they all start out the same way: "Have you seen the new movie Wicker Man?"
Well, yes, I have seen Wicker Man. But I saw the original, made back in 1973 with Edward Woodward in the lead role, and it made the current version look like classic Hollywood puke. (You can see comparative reviews here (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0070917/ ) and here (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0450345/) or here (http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/wicker_man/). How they ever got Nick Cage to do so badly, I will never know...)
Remakes are rarely as good as the original, and this was no exception.

Life in a box

I'm off early this morning with Adam, son of my friend Alan, to sort out the last of my East Coast storage locker. (As opposed to my West Coast locker, which I'll get to with my father in a few months.)
I spent a few days earlier this month moving over the contents of my existing locker (a 5x15 space) into my new locker (a 10x15 space), in anticipation of the day when my California crap shows up.
Chris, long-suffering though she is, could barely contain herself while helping me ("What's this? Why do you have this? You have so much useless shit..."), so it's easier to use my friends (Derrick did a yeoman job, hauling immense amounts of heavy stuff so I didn't have to injure myself doing it) and get a different line of inquiry ("What's this? How does it work? It's extremely cool that you have so much interesting stuff...") while doing so.
I do have way too much shit, and I've paid way too much money over the years storing it. But it's my shit, thank you very much, and I enjoy knowing it's around.
Someday, of course, the plan is to have enough house to contain all my shit indoors where I can get at it.
That'll be the day. (John Wayne, in case you didn't recognize the line.)

29 July 2007

Eternal gratitude

Lest anyone thing that, now that I'm "all better" (which I'm not), I can do without the careful ministrations of my love Christine, I can't.
I suppose I could survive without her, but it wouldn't be a lot of fun, nor nearly as pleasant.
I know, I know, she did a lot of things for me (cooking, washing, etc.) before all this happened, but it's just the on-going details of life ("Did you take your pills yet?") that she helps me with that make all the difference.
A good woman, a good friend, and a great comfort to me.
When next you see her, give her a hug from me.
Thanks.

28 July 2007

Too true

In one of those "you had to be there" moments, a friend sent me this URL:

http://fakesteve.blogspot.com/2006/12/regarding-our-iphone.html

The scary part is how much LIKE the real Steve Jobs it sounds. (Hey, known the guy since the late 70s, and worked at Apple in the mid-80s, so I can say I know what he sounds like in person.)

Can I have some more, please?

Oliver Twist, in case you didn't read the book.
But it's my plea for more email (or at least cogent comments on this blog).
I don't get out much (no job, can't drive yet), so this is my pleasurable connection to the wider world.
(And beats the shit out of watching daytime television.)
So send me some email, people.
I need it.

While we're on epitaphs

I ran across this letter that I'd written after the death of my dear friend Li Greiner. I was privileged to be able to read it at a gathering of his friends in San Francisco. Having been a little closer to fulfilling it than I'd like recently, I thought it worth sharing:

I miss Li. The worst part is, I let a long time go by without seeing him, knowing in my heart that he’d surely be there later. And then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t.
We were supposed to have a grand time together as old men, Li and I. With me coming to see him in his palatial and convoluted digs, whether the apartment in San Francisco or the country estate in far-off Bisbee, where he’d be surrounded by passageways and rooms jammed with books [more books than in most bookstores I frequent], lined with shelves laden with arcane and hermetic bric-√†-brac, and strewn with Oriental rugs. I would bring a bottle of ancient port or single-malt whisky, and, while Li lit up one of his pestiferous little cigars, we would pour out copious quantities into cut-glass containers. Then Li would regale me with long hours of intricate and learned discourse on any and all of a thousand topics, ranging from the proper use of firearms while boarding either a four-masted barkentine or the Number 44 bus to the use of labial fricatives in either Zulu or oral sex.
For that is what Li always was to me, the epitome of the learned sybarite. He surrounded himself with interesting and diverse things, books, and people. [I count myself honored to have been one of them.] He’d actually read every book he owned, and probably a thousand more along the way. He knew a great deal about a lot of things, and a lot about a great deal of things, and what he didn’t know about he was usually interested in. Yet he was never a bore [or a boor] about anything of interest to him, and was ever the perfect gentleman [both as a gentilhomme, a nobleman, and as a gentle man], in public and private. Though it would have been a mistake, and often was, to dismiss Li as some sort of fop. He had a lovely example of Samuel Colt’s handiwork [blued and .45 caliber] that he kept in his nightstand, and stood ready and capable of using it in the protection of himself and those he loved. His sartorial preferences, while occasionally outr√© by conventional standards, always had a delightful internal consistency. Li, in fact, showed me the rightness of dressing just like Wyatt Earp, down to the impeccably placed diamond stickpin, yet he would’ve been equally at home as an Edwardian dandy with top hat and cane, or an Elizabethan boulevardier with breeches and sword.
I envied him his abilities, his style, his knowledge, his savoir-faire. I always enjoyed his company, his speech, his view of the world. I was so very angry that he went without telling me he was going, without giving me a chance to tell him how much I loved him; but I soon had to forgive him, for what Li feared, I think, was our inability to show him the dignity he deserved, in life and in death.
I miss Li. I always will, on this side. As his friend, it is my hope to enjoy a good glass of port with him, someday.

Epitaph, until I think of a better one

Edward James Olmos in Blade Runner said of a android: “Too bad she won’t live. But, then, who does.”
Having been all too close to it myself of late, too bad indeed.
But we press on, regardless.

27 July 2007

Bashing my head against the wall

This brain injury thing is turning out to be even less fun than I thought, and I'll be just as happy when it's over.
That's pretty funny, as there's little hope I'm going to wake up tomorrow (or any other day) and be "all better".
But I've realized that the only thing to do is press on, regardless.
I try and compensate as best I can, but there are definitely holes in the process.
How can you help? Glad you asked.
Email me (as often as you can stand to, anyway) at mseymour@proofmark.com
It helps to relieve the boredom of trying to navigate life with blinders on.
Or you can just leave comments here on the blog, of course.
Or both.
Thanks.

25 July 2007

Lest anyone think...

...that I'm all better now, let me reassure (if that's the word) everyone that I'm still operating under some significant deficits.
We'll leave aside the sexual issues (the proprieties must be observed) and just talk about the obvious stuff:
I still see double, and crooked.
I still have serious balance issues. (I fall over far too readily in the turns.)
I still fall asleep far too easily and often.
I still have things which hurt (like my shoulders) that shouldn't.
I still weigh more than I should (though far less than when this all started).
All in all, I am better, far better, than when I was in the healthcare system.
But I ain't anything like what I was, or intend to be again.
I'll keep you posted as things, hopefully, improve.
Good thoughts can't hurt. Thanks.

He's back, and boy is he pissed...

I just finished the incredible saga documented by my love Christine (see the blog if you need details), and am overwhelmed by all the work she put into it, all the love and energy in the comments by my friends, and what a long strange trip it's been...
Now I just have to do some amazing things to justify all that love and attention (not even mentioning the million or so bucks the poor insurance company got to spend on me in the process).
Feel free to continue to comment on this blog, as you did on the illness blog.
I'm tempted to post my publisher's email here, so you can all bombard him with demands that he publish my new novel (Skeleton Cay; look for it at your local bookstore as soon as I can convince him to buy it), but I'm resisting the temptation.
Thank you, one and all, for your prayers and attention over the past few months.
We all (especially me) owe Christine for all her hard work (which she continues even today).
As for all the rest of my friends, thank you, thank you, thank you. It's inadequate, but it's the best I've got.
Stop by some time. Love to see you.

Back to 'normal', sort of

Slept late after our run up from Virginia yesterday.
Got up around 8.30, and just finished a real Chris breakfast (eggs with cheese, bacon, English muffins).
Life ain't so bad.
Both of us have this terrible sensation that we should be packing the car, however. That'll take awhile to pass, I suspect.
We're off later to inspect my storage space in Aston. Lord knows what kind of shape it's in now, after my Dad got through with it. But eventually I'll want to bring out my excess crap from my storage space in California, so we need to rearrange this one (maybe in a larger unit) for that eventuality.
As noted elsewhere, I've been reading the blog so lovingly crafted for me by Chris, with all the comments by my friends. Very moving. My thanks to all who contributed. I'm barely out of the 2006 posts, however, so if yours was this year I'll be awhile yet. My intention is to send thank-you notes to all who posted. (I know, how 20th century of me...)
There'll be more here as I get back into being home and doing things, so check back.
Comments welcomed here, too, of course.

24 July 2007

Well, I'm back...

...he said.
Sam Gamgee's words from the end of Lord of the Rings never rang so true as my return this afternoon from six weeks plus in Florida.
I finished up Rehab at Jefferson on Friday the 15th. Early on Saturday the 16th, we were on the road and headed south. Chris, my beloved, did all the hard work of packing and driving. I was along to eat, sleep, and swim. All of which I did for more than six weeks.
The weather, this being summer in Florida, was hot and usually muggy, but there was almost always a breeze on the beach and air conditioning indoors.
All in all, some of the best days of my life.
I have to thank my lady Chris most of all, but my cousin Dickie loaned us his house for a month, and numerous friends along the way helped out. I even got to return the favor and visit my old friend Dave Kitterman in the hospital on the way home. (He's doing well, I'm happy to report.)
I haven't dared weigh myself, lest I confirm my fears about everything I ate on the trip, but I feel fine and am thankful we were able to make the trip.
My thanks to those we saw, and my apologies to those we weren't able to see this trip.
There will be more, I hope.
 

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