Darkness and Smorgasbord

Overwhelmed.  The only word to describe my current circumstances.  So bear with me as I follow the disjointed chain of thoughts and imagination that currently plagues me.

I got some tech support help.  As you can see at the top, I got the Cardiac Fantasies logo installed, care of Roadchick Technologies, Inc.  Unfortunately for me, and for my tech support, my lack of HTML savvy was responsible for the incorrectly sized picture that is now no longer even with the Title.  Oh well, consider it a work in progress.  You get the General idea, of course.  I thought the picture was pretty cool.  Let me know your thoughts and/or other ideas on what might look better.

 

I’ve identified approximately 13 readers through my statcounter that visit regularly.  If you don’t mind, please let your browser set a cookie on this site.  If you look at the cookie it sets, you’ll see that it only tracks you as a return visitor rather than a unique new visitor each time you show up.  If you do this, it will ID you as a return visitor, and I can better thank you if you are one of my regulars that doesn’t prefer to comment on the post.  Again, view the actual cookie yourself, to confirm that it isn’t actually spyware, malware, or tracking you to all those porn sites you so enjoy.

 

Cardiac Fantasies™, the blog.  One of my regular readers asked how I came up with the name.  This is one of the easier questions that I’ve been asked, and equally one of the most boring answers.  In High School, back in the age of the cassette tape, the Commodore 64, Lionel Ritchie, Parachute Pants, and Miami Vice, I used to do some mixing of my own cassettes so that I had the full hour of specific types of music that I wanted to listen to at one time or another.  Dance music, love songs, cruising music, etc.  I’d used to try and come up with some really catchy names for these cassettes, as if I was recording a new album.  Typically, the names were remotely related to the content, if at all.  But my all time favorite cassette, with almost every one of my favorite songs on it (Frankie Goes to Hollywood – Relax, Phil Collins – In the Air Tonight, Miami Vice Theme Song, Madonna – Crazy for you, Phil Collins – Against All Odds, Chicago – You’re My Inspiration, Toto – Rosanna, etc. ad nauseum) was perhaps my greatest moment in cassette naming.  Yes, you guessed it.  Cardiac Fantasies, complete with its own fractal cover art.  So when you think about it, I guess this particular blog has been about 24 years in the making, or at least the title has been around that long.  Boring enough answer for you?

 

DARKNESS.  I can see the darkness.  Like falling off a ship in the middle of the ocean, on a cloudy night, with absolutely no land in sight.  The water is body temperature, so you can hardly feel it.  You’re just floating, with no visual input at all.  It distorts your other senses, as they try to accommodate the lack of input.  You’re alone.  There is no one there to reach out to, to pull you out of the darkness, to strike a light for you.  Your heart beats faster.  Your breathing increases to manic proportions, maddeningly loud in your ears, with no light to trim or buffer the effect.  You can hear every little noise your body makes, as you panic.  Your body presses you, pushes you, telling you its time to scream.  You want to scream so badly, that you are utterly freaking out.  You no longer maintain any reasonable sense of control over anything.  You can only depend on others to help pull you out, help get you out of this hole, because you are absolutely helpless to do it yourself.  Then you know despair – body, mind, and soul becoming slowly numb, because you fully understand at this moment that you are TRULY alone, that there is no one capable of saving you, most especially yourself, from the overwhelming blackness of darkness.  The Beast chooses this moment to appear, and to come alive.  You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is going to be hell to pay.  There always is, when you finally let the Beast out.  It only happens in the darkness.  I know the darkness.  It’s a friend, and a foe.  It’s the edge of everything, and nothing.  It’s a Cliffside that you grasp a few blades of glass on, trying to stem your fall.  I know the darkness.  I can see the darkness.  Because the darkness is in me……………….

 

Michael

 

Happy Halloween

Happy Halloween Weekend for those attending parties, gatherings, sacrificing goats and young virgins, etc.  Above all, be safe, and make it home in one piece less a couple of bite marks and a couple of pints of blood!

 

Michael

                                                                               

Technical Assistance Required!

Alright all you HTML Programmers.  How do I post a small picture next to the Cardiac Fantasies Logo at the top of every page???  Help!

 

Michael

All Honor to the Freaks

First of all, let me say to those in my Blog Circle that have recently shut their doors, temporarily or permanently, or have just taken a seriously long hiatus between posts of late that your contributions to our daily lives are sorely missed.  Rebecca, Deb, and even to some extent Waiter, have reached points in their respective lives that the blogging no longer takes the same priority.  More power to you all, and I truly hope that at some point your inner strength and outside schedule will allow you all to continue enriching all of us.  That being said. . . .

 

Halloween is an especially provocative time to talk about those on the periphery of society, those that see things a little different, or enjoy things that most of us, at the minimum, would flinch at.  The world calls them Freaks.  They enjoy different. . . .  modes of sexual pleasure than the rest of us.  They are, much as homosexual or lesbians used to be, still in the closet, practicing their arts and leading a second life in the shadows.

Each of us has a darker side that comes out on occasion, but to these, their darker side is probably stronger and more demanding than the well conducted and orchestrated face that they put on to go to work every day.  The Internet has allowed them to make contact with others of their persuasion, to a greater extent than before, so the groups have become larger as these individuals find that they are not alone.

I hesitate to call them Freaks.  Why should we so label someone who has the inner fortitude to try something different, and in doing so, find that there are deeper and darker things in life that they can squeeze more pleasure out of, like a ripe orange fresh from the tree? 

I learned something about certain connections at the Renfaire this week.

>>Oh gawd, Hilda, he’s off about the Renissants thing again.  Why duss he keep talkin on and on aboot that thing, do yer know?<<

>Because it is an important part of my life and one of the only things I truly look forward to every year, you old bags!<

Renaissance Faires are crazy things.  You can get away with saying or doing things that would get your face slapped half off your head in everyday life.  When you flirt or pretend to hit on someone there, its seen as all part of the game, and you can get away with sheer murder in the way you act and approach the opposite sex.  Because of that, a lot of the darker side of those we referred to earlier gets to come out and play without fear of repercussion, and with the out that they were just playing along with the joke if someone actually does take offense.

 

Case Study – Jacqui, a 28 year old single female.  Nice body, FANTASTIC eyes, lovely face, short dark hair.  Hanging out at the fair with her sister, who’s taste in . . . .  Dom appears to be darn similar.  I get the impressions that the young lady isn’t nearly so outgoing away from here.  But she and her sister know their stuff.  I get her into the shop and show her to a display, where, lucky as hell, I pull out her favorite color in Flogs.  Its beautiful, green and black, hand woven around a stout handle with a round ball at the time that fits firmly between two fingers when you aren’t using a full grip on the handle.  The tails are handbraided leather.  She and her sister both look the thing over with the eye of a professional, pointing out minor imperfections that even a good leather worker would have a bit of a time seeing.  Jaqui grabs the thing and begins twirling it around like a cheer leader with a baton, a complex pattern of weaving tails and swishing sounds.  Knowing where that flog is intended to be used, and how, sends a minor chill down my spine.  But was that fear, abhorrence, or just a little touch of excitement?  Am I one of them?  Am I one of the shadow people.  My head tells me no, but experience and my heart say. . . . .  you’ve never not tried anything once.

So, All Honor to the Freaks!  May they (we) practice their arts in peace and harmony.

 

Michael

Behind the Checkmarks

Part of this whole tag thing is the fact that you really have to explain some of these check marked boxes. So a good friend of mine wants the explanation behind the Ouija Board check.

 

I was in the Army for seven years.  My first station was a little bird dropping in the middle of the desert called White Sands Missile Range.  My ex-wife and I were throwing a Halloween party.  One of the guys in the platoon was . . . . I guess he was basically a Satan worshipper or something, or else he just tried to do everything he could to promote that sort of evil impression of him because for the most part he was a loner anyway.  But he had a copy of the Book of the Dead.  And claimed that he had some sort of female demon that wanted his soul or something.  I don't remember the exact story.  He pissed her off in some manner.  So we're sitting on a gate on midnight shift in the middle of BFE (Bum Fuck Egypt aka The Middle of Nowhere) talking about it, and the upcoming Halloween party, and he has this book with him, so knowing full well from personal hardcore proof (to me) that God exists, and therefore Satan must exist, and also believing in ghosts and other paranormal manifestations, I get really flaming ignorant and decide with him to read part of the book in the gate shack, and then invite this demon bitch to the party.

We ended up laughing it off at the time.  So the party came, and a LOT of people were there, and about 12 of us decided to have a séance.  I pulled out that stupid book and read out loud from it again, then we all joined hands, and just started concentrating on opening a gate.  The details are a little fuzzy, 17 or so years removed, but my Staff Sergeant started tensing up, sort of arched his back, mumbled, and then broke the circle.  I have always wondered to this day whether it was all  a practical joke by these guys, but there were too many people in on it.  And in the three years that I was there, I would have heard something, and this SSG wasn't someone to play like that. 

>>If you are wondering about the Ouija board, it was sort of an anticlimax to everything else that happened, but the rest of the story is, I believe, more entertaining.<<

He said he felt something really weird, like coming from the ceiling of the garage.  People around the circle closest to him claimed to feel the air grow colder, and hear . . . rustlings from the ceiling.  The SSG looked a little white, and a couple of people in that circle had a look of fear behind the bravado.  I was directly opposite of him in the circle, watching everything very closely, but was untouched.  To this day I know that I, at least, was protected.  Don't know how you readers feel about that subject, but at heart I'm a Christian and my faith was certainly stronger than any of those guys in there.  I was protected, and felt nothing. 

We started again.  Only moments later, SSG goes rigid, eyes closed, like he's struggling against something.  I'm talking at this point, telling everyone to hold the circle, no matter what happened, don't break it.  Are you kidding me?  I was pulling that crap out my A$$.  But somehow it felt right.  So about this point, Gatewood pretty much decides that . . .  I think it was Alexandria... has decided to take us up on the invitation.  He speaks out, Who are you.  SSG is now pretty much writhing.  Even in the low light, I can see the clenched hands, and those next to him holding on hard.  Gatewood asks What do you want.  More tense struggling, and then in a fucking voice that could not have possibly come from SSG, he yells "GATEWOOD!".  At this point I'm telling everyone loudly to close whatever door we imagined we opened, and shortly, SSG relaxes, and we break the circle.  There was this sarcastic little prick in there that was always starting shit, basically an adult bully, who thought he was ALL THAT.  He stands up, says I'm OUT, and practically runs out.  It speaks volumes that no one in that room, having finally seen this little prick crack, said a thing.  SSG says he's done for the night, and walks out with his arm trailing along the garage wall for support. 

That bonehead Gatewood decides he's done for the night, too.  Maybe he didn't believe it fully before, but he doesn't look so unconcerned about Alexandria anymore. The rest of us still there look around, try to talk about it, then come to some kind of unwritten consensus that whatever happened was better left without further discussion, and let's all just play it off and tell a scary version of it that no one will believe, anyway. 

After a few drinks, we decided to play with the Ouija board that I had bought for the occasion.  Someone got in contact with some kid named Pio, who told him he was getting some money.  We didn't do much after that.  The Ouija thing seemed like an absurd little joke after what. . . . happened. 

My best friend at the time had a wife who was a white witch.  Yes, for some reason I met two white witches at that single post.  Anyway, she was really pissed off about what went on.  She went out in the garage for a few minutes with some water and dishes and salt and olive oil and "cleared the garage".  That Ouija board was in the garage when she cleared it.  It NEVER worked again.

 

Happy Halloween

Michael      

Tagged with a To Do List

So the ‘chick struck again.  Fill out your list.  Post it on your blog.   Then we can plan on how we are going to fill in those blanks!

 

(x) Smoked a joint
(X) Done cocaine
(X) Been in love
(X) Had a threesome
(x) Been dumped
(X) Shoplifted
(X) Had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back
( ) Been arrested
(X) Made out with a stranger
(X) Gone on a blind date
(X) Had a crush on a teacher
( ) Been to Europe
( ) Been to Canada
(X) Been to Mexico
( ) Seen someone die
(X) Thrown up in a bar
(X) Met a celebrity
(X) Met someone from the internet in person (and hooked up!)
( ) Been moshing at a concert
( ) Gone backstage at a concert
(X) Lain outside in the grass and watched cloud shapes go by
(X) Made a snow angel
(X) Flown a kite
(X) Cheated while playing a game
(X) Been lonely
(X) Fallen asleep at work
(X) Fallen asleep at school
( ) Used a fake ID
(X) Been kicked out of a bar
() Felt an earthquake
(X) Touched a snake
(X) Slept beneath the stars
(X) Been robbed
(X) Won a contest
(X) Run a red light
( ) Been suspended from school
(X) Had braces
(X) Felt like an outcast
( ) Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night
(X) Had deja vu
( ) Totaled a car
( ) Stolen a car
(X) Hated the way you look
(X) Witnessed a crime
(X) Been to a strip club
(X) Been to the opposite side of the world
(X) Swum in the ocean
(X) Felt like dying
(X) Cried yourself to sleep
(X) Sung karaoke
(X) Paid for a meal with only coins
(X) Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t
(X) Made prank phone calls
(X) Caught a snowflake on your tongue
(X) Been kissed under the mistletoe
(X) Had a bonfire on the beach
(X) Crashed a party
() Seen a tornado
(X) Had a wish come true
( ) Gone bungee jumping
(X) Screamed in public
( ) Told a complete stranger you loved them
(X) Had a one night stand
( ) Kissed a mirror
( ) Had a dream that you married someone
(X) Gotten your fingers stuck together with super glue
( ) Been a cheerleader
(X) Sat on a roof top
( ) Talked on the phone for more than 6 hours straight
(X) Stayed up all night
(X) Not taken a shower for three days
(X) Made contact with a ghost while playing a Ouija board
( ) Had more than 30 pairs of shoes at a time
(X ) Gone streaking
(X) Been skinny dipping
(X) Been pushed into a pool/lake with all your clothes on
(X) Had sex in a public or semi-public place
(X) Been kissed by a complete stranger
(X) Broken a bone
(X) Caught a butterfly
(X) Mooned/flashed someone
(X) Had someone moon/flash you
(X) Cheated on a test
(X) Forgotten someone’s name
(X) Slept naked

 

Consider yourself tagged. Good Blogging.  Dream Well.

 

Michael

 

Dream Challenge Results Page

The repetitive banging sound you hear in the background is the sound of my forehead slamming against the headboard, again and again.  So I followed the rules, and, as is par for this course, I didn’t dream or drew a big blank on any memories of it.  So I cheated.  I hit the snooze button, and thought about the thing again as I immediately dozed off.  Lo and behold, it worked!  As I woke again, I told myself, make sure you remember this, so you can post it later.  (More Banging Sounds)  The second snooze alarm obliterated any memory of it, other than the fact that I did manage to succeed.  Or maybe I dreamed that I succeeded.  Hmmm, this might get a little complicated. 

Here’s hoping others had more success, and can enlighten us on specifics.

Well, I’m off to a wet weekend at Renfaire.  We’ll take next week.  Until then,

Dream Well.

 

Michael

 

                                                                               

Reminder - Dream Challenge

Just a little reminder that tonight is tonight.  Let’s see what happens.  For the list of rules (all one or two of them) see the challenge.  Dream Challenge

 

Come on, play along.  You just never know what might happen.

 

Michael                                                                    

Dream Challenge

Babies, blood, and "Been There" - So do you think that we can alter our dreams beforehand? Perhaps we can experiment. I'll post it tomorrow as a new post, so that those with live bookmarks and feeds will see it and have the opportunity to join in the experiment. So here's the parameters. On Thursday night, for those that want to join, in the hours before bed, and as you go to sleep, picture a scene - night time, walking down a dirt road, through the middle of a forest, beginning to mist, and your flashlight goes out. No moon, noises from the underbrush, pretty much a classic Halloween deal. So picture it, and think about it, and try to ponder it as you fall asleep, actually visualize dreaming about it, try to dream about it. Then the next time you're on, post a comment describing anything you might have dreamed about, whether it worked or not. Our control group is the rest of humanity, since they won't be trying. Maybe, given Halloween is coming, we'll make some connection and share the dream.......

Dream Well

Michael

Off to Dreamland

We need to lighten things up a bit around here.  I am still a little wary / tense / fearful / uneasy about the last couple of posts.  After rereading them several times, I still have that “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing” kind of feeling going on, from the old Tums ?? commercial.  It almost feels as if, after going that far, everything else will be anticlimactic.  Where do I take it from here.  I stated earlier that once you post something like that, it basically changes the interplay between the writer and the reader forever.

I don’t want to just stop blogging.  But I need a jumpstart.  I need some motivation from the regular readers.  I’m starving for input to get me going again.

 

So here is an attempt – lame as it might seem at this moment. 

I rarely dream – at least vividly enough to remember anything.  I truly believe, though I have found no medical research to either confirm or deny the connection, that Seratonin levels that are off are either 1) responsible for denying a person a proper “dreamworld” or that 2) The extent to which you can dream effects the efficient and normal Seratonin release in your brain.  No matter what, I have vivid proof within myself that the two seem to be undeniably linked.

Normal Dreams are your minds clearing house and organizational assistant to clear out random trash and organize all of the input that the human mind receives.  People that dream seem to be more happy and more – call it stable, or adjusted.  I can identify, all the way back in high school, the general area of time that I stopped dreaming, and it coincides so closely to the point where I can identify that depression due to “off” Seratonin levels first entered my life. 

For the most part, any memorable dreaming I do any more has to be induced by complete bodily exhaustion, or chemical use.  I mean, if you don’t dream much, go buy a box of nicotine patches and throw one on before bedtime.  I guarantee your mind will have a vivid party that night.  But it isn’t natural, and therefore doesn’t serve the function that it was intended to – cleaning up the mess.

One recurrent dream theme that I do remember from twenty six years ago was the paralyzed thing.  I had repetitive dreams where I was needed desperately to do something, to help someone, and before I could get there, my dream body would suffer like total paralysis.  I could remember trying to reach out, trying to stop from flat out falling on my face, because I couldn’t move a muscle.  I would hit the ground and lie there, watching the scene I was supposed to have been in play out.  Helpless, paralyzed, unable to do a thing but watch.  I woke often with tears of frustration in my eyes, knowing that I could not change a thing.

 

So help me out.  Jumpstart me.  Give me some input.  Tell me about your recurrent dreams.  We really need to lighten things up around here, and it seems that I can’t do that by myself, right now.

 

Michael

 

                                                                               

I Almost Pulled It

Yes, I almost pulled that last post.  I could have lived with 8 or 9 people reading that.  What is it about this blogging thing that makes it okay to spill your guts to total strangers about material and events that you’ve never even told to your closest friends?  Is it because they don’t have a history with you, which would color their responses?  Is it because, with them being total strangers, that you aren’t at risk of losing anything if they react badly, unlike people you actually know and have to deal with? 

Better yet, what is it about reading someone’s deepest secrets that brings us back for more.  What keeps us reading those blogs that make us wait breathlessly to see how an ongoing situation turns out, like we don’t have any life of our own and are living vicariously through another person that has what we deem to be a more exciting life?

I nearly pulled that post because once your readers have gotten through something like that, nothing will ever be quite the same for them, or for you, again.  It’s moments like that which can change the direction or nature of a blog for good.

I didn’t pull it, because I’m that fatalistic type at times where, once said, I see no bother to retract something, for good or evil.  I did it, it’s done, and now we go from there.  For those that wish to continue the Journey, join me as we move forward.  For those that don’t, I wish you the best in life.

October of 1985 was truly The Straw That Broke The Camel’s Back.  But it also opened a door of understanding into some of the things that were driving my life, and gave me some explanations to some questions I thought would always remain unanswered.  In the end, it was actually a good thing.  It’s just hard to see that when you’re standing in a dark room, with only the faint outline of a door in front of you.  Touching that knob can be the most grueling process on an entire lifetime.

Dream Well

 

Michael

 

 

The Straw That Broke The Camel's Back

This particular entry is dark and somewhat – well – you might want to skip this one if you’re squeamish or have a weak stomach.

 

This time of year is Fantastic, Busy, Packed, Happy, Sad, Haunted, Threatening, and Hopeful, all rolled into one for me.  Work always gets busy at this time of year.  Construction projects start about now so they can place the concrete in bad weather but won’t have the risk of so much bad weather when they get to the finishes inside the buildings.  Playtime gets really busy this time of year, too.  For the next 7 weekends (and this past weekend) the Texas Renaissance Faire runs, and that means I get to dress up every weekend, exit my normal life entirely, and become a simple Renaissance Shopkeeper at one of the largest fairs in the United States.  So basically, I am working seven days a week for eight weeks straight without a day off.  Add four total hours of travel time to and from the fair, and my life gets pretty packed in short order. When I’m not doing that, it’s football season.  Those are things that I look forward to in life.  Simple things, actually.  I’m pretty much easy to please. 

Cut to the Month of October, 1985. Sophomore in College.  Honors Student that basically tested out of my entire Freshmen Year before I ever sat foot on a college campus.  Fall of 1985 – The stress of classes that I truly wasn’t ready for, and skipping classes, and problems with women still handcuffing me emotionally, and I was starting a increasingly steep and uncontrollable slide straight to hell.  Do not pass go, do not collect $200.00.  Toss some drugs in the mix in October.  

Watch from above, like an eagle, as I pop two percodan to prep for the pain.  Watch me lean toward my roommate, hand him an envelope, and tell him to make sure that they don’t get that later.  Look down in judgment as I climb into my car, drive 10 miles into the eerily moonlit desert.  Watch me get out, sit down on the edge of the dirt road.  Wait, don’t go yet.  Watch the moonlight highlight the razor as I pull it out. 

No, don’t go yet. Don’t miss the tip of the razor blade entering the top of the wrist.  This is better than Halloween.  More Gory than Freddie and his glove.  Look close as I rip that razor back towards my elbow.  Oh no, no weak ass carving a notch across the top of the wrist here.  Fuck no! Watch as the skin tension in the forearm suddenly yanks the open edges of my forearm skin back all the way to the bone on either side.  Watch me as I look down in shock, and beginning panic, as I move my hand, and like the old Terminator movies, I see every ligament, tendon, and remaining muscle in my arm sliding back and forth.

I was lucky that night. Had my arm simply bled out, with little pain, I would have been dead that fateful evening.  But when I looked down and saw crap moving in my wrist, I totally freaked out.  I headed for the hospital, already disoriented from blood loss. 
October was never a good month for me for a long, long time after that.

It’s a threatening time because Christmas is on us, and you’re already worried about enough money for the kids present, and the Sigo’s.  It’s hopeful, because the New Year is coming, and no matter how jaded, cynical, and sarcastic I may become in life, the New Year will always symbolize at least a hope for a better beginning, for a step up the food chain, for something really fantastic to come along to make up for your suffering. 

Just like I commented in regard to this post – Just Don’t Hold Your Breath While You Wait, or You Will Be The Little Blue Man in the Corner.. . . .

 

Michael

 

PS:  A great Huzzah goes out to my repeat readers in Australia, India, Netherlands, Israel, and Canada.  I care for anyone that takes the time to read this, but seeing the links to the general area that come to read my blog just awes me when there are little dots from all over the world.

 

 

                                                                               

Tag! I'm IT

At Mon Oct 02, 11:24:48 AM CDT, Roadchick tagged Michael with:

The Rules of this tag game are:
1. Grab the book nearest to you...no cheating!
2. Open to page 123.
3. Scroll down to the fifth sentence.
4. Post text of next 3 sentences on to your blog.

Consider yourself tagged! 

Sooooo…

     Strictly speaking, it should have been Maia at the ledger and her assistant doing the hauling. But Tisbe had whined about having to do work suited for “lugars and men.” She couldn’t get the gliding winch to work.      

 

The Book – Glory Season

The Author – David Brin

I’m off to tag someone else now. . .

If you are reading this and DON’T have your own blog – consider yourself tagged and post the answer as a comment to this entry.  It should be really interesting what people are reading.

 

Michael

 

Techie Side Notes

Just a little bit of info for those that may not know.

For those that know this – it’s easy and comes natural, or else someone walked you through it and you couldn’t repeat the process again if you wanted to.

Either way, this short post isn’t really for you.  It’s for those that would like an easier way to do things.

I have a really decent counter and stat tracker on this site.  So I notice some patterns in the traffic. First off, almost 100% of ;my initial traffic comes from Debra at Barmaid Blog.  I truly think that she has a perverted side, as she did my the Huge service of posting my link on her site.  So related to that, I also notice that there are some readers out there, and you know who you are, you guilty little fiends, that make a once or twice daily run through the blog world, checking for new entries.  Yesssssssss, we know where you live, too.  >>Evil Grin<<  Big Brother also noted that this curiously seems to happen with greater frequency during normal work hours.  Shame on you!

There are other repeat readers who check my site three to four times a day, presumably waiting breathlessly for my next self whipping.  (yes, you people are sick, enjoying it as I inflict literary pain on my own inadequacies.  LMAO).

For those that prefer not to have to check that much every day, I have included the links for the RSS feed.  If you homepage allows you to add content or add rss feeds, you simply have to edit or add that, and then type in http://www.cardiacfantasies.blogspot.com/XXXX

If your site uses straight rss, replace the four XXXX with rss.xml

If your site uses atom feeds, replace the four XXXX with atom.xml

This will show you the title “Cardiac Fantasies” on your web page, along with the latest three to five entries in the blog, and when they were posted.  That way, unless something shows up there, you know there is nothing new but perhaps some comments.

For you Firefox users, it is so incredibly easier and more efficient.  Simply click your bookmarks, click manage bookmarks, click file, and “Add New Live Bookmark”.  You can name it, then put in www.cardiacfantasies.blogspot.com .  It will then give you a bookmark on your bookmark toolbar.  When you click that bookmark, it will give you a menu showing ALL of the entries in my blog.  If the one at the top is new, then there is a new post, and if not, then there isn’t.  This is much more efficient because Firefox checks the site much more often than your homepages web trawler, and so you know sooner that something new is up.

Lastly, for those of you that browse the blog ring (hitting multiple same blogs each day, keep it up.  I do the same and it’s fun. You really don’t need the shortcut because you hit all of them Everyday.

Note, the rss and atom feeds will work on any of the Blogspot sites.

Live Journal has a slightly different format, but still similar.

 

So, Ladies and Gentlemen, Thanks for flying Cardiac Airlines.  Please fasten your seatbelts, and enjoy the ride!

And PLEASE, if you have a comment, spit it out.  Even if you hate this place, we’d (myself and I) would love to hear from you.

 

Michael

 

 

 

Of Geeks and Goddesses, Part II

When we last left our ailing hero, he had just crashed and burned from his first crush ever.  Our hero is young, bright, and bounces back quickly.  He is also hopelessly naïve and inexperienced.  He’s a buck toothed kid that’s relatively small for his age.  Not stunted, just small.  He has no muscle mass to speak of.  He sports a relatively hardcore case of acne that, while its not total pizza face, it is bad enough to illicit comment.  The partial Italian blood in him has given his slightly dark complexion an oily skin, which, while giving him good even tans and turning sunburn to brown overnight, has also contributed greatly to the zit issue.  Still mostly confident at this time in his life, he asks a few discreet questions, plays fly on the wall to the conversations of some of the more popular, older folks in the choir, and slowly gathers in the lingo.  You ask the girl you like to “Go with you.”  That was the terminology.  That meant you were boyfriend/girlfriend.

He’s now found one that has caught his eye.  She’s hot.  She’s blond.  She’s a part of the top in crowd, the elite.  He knows that he’s the butt of jokes from the in crowd at times.  But again, so Naïve.  He isn’t even truly aware of the invisible barrier that will forever keep geeks like him from hanging with the Goddesses of Olympos.  Even once he becomes aware, he will not understand it for a long, long time.  It’s just so far beyond the ken of his upbringing and his world view.  He’s insecure anyway.  I think that at some level, he believes that having a girlfriend, though the interest is new to him, will make that insecurity go away.  I think that at some level, being the empathetic person he is, that he has already committed the grave error of establishing a yawning black hole in his heart that only a female can fill.

So she’s hot.  She’s the ultimate in popularity.  She’ll eventually go on to become a cheerleader in college.  Yeah, she’s that good.

The setting is a Church Hayride.  He goes up to her on the bus, having never had much of a conversation with her ever before.  He pops the question.  She has the infinite grace not to laugh in his face.  She even has enough compassion for the little dumbass that she actually explains that she doesn’t really like him that way, and gently sends him away.  He’s in shock.  He’s crushed.  He’s an emotional person as it is.  For three hours, while everyone is enjoying the hayride and the picnic, he’s off by himself, bawling his eyes out.  He didn’t have a jock dad to tell him that it was unmanly to cry.  His dad never cried, but never told him it was wrong.  He’s devastated because he doesn’t understand. He has no concept of the invisible barrier.  He has no clue as to why he’s not good enough.  So he’s displaying emotion the only way he knows how. 

He’s also now succeeded in establishing a rep as a crybaby.  Little Bucky, the crybaby.  After a time, it will be one of the reasons that he doesn’t sing in the choir anymore, though his voice was good enough to make the ensemble, the small group of the choir that does the special shows. 

Our hero has taken a sword to his gut.  It will literally be years before he fully recovers from this wound. He doesn’t hop up and bounce back from this one, either.  It was a sword of fire. And as it struck him, it burned him horribly with truth.  The Truth that he DOESN’T, and CANNOT belong.

 

I have a feeling that there may be a part three to this.  I don’t know that I am ready yet to share it.  But stay tuned.

 

Michael

 

Upon Geeks and Goddesses Part I

Being 14 and discovering the opposite sex was really tough.  I was undersize, completely insecure, a bookwork and pretty much a model child.  I went to a middle school where I was a little white kid in a tough Hispanic area.  We were decently well off as I grew up, meaning we always had enough, but we lived on a developing side of town, so while my neighborhood was really nice, it was at the far outside edge of the school district, and the core of the school district was in… a much tougher neighborhood.  I looked the wrong way at the wrong kid my very first year, and the school bully tagged me out as a target on that day and gave me very little rest in that year or the two years that followed it.  So when I got to grade 7, I had ZERO knowledge of the opposite sex, girls – women – or otherwise.

I was emotionally immature and entirely unready.  My old man, bless his heart, had done very good at instilling discipline, great homework habits, a really good work ethic, and had really helped develop my “gifted student” brain.  He wasn’t real good on the birds and the bees thing, though.  My last year of grade school, someone said the “ F “ word at school, and when I asked him what it meant, he went on about two dogs fighting or some nonsense.  When I pressed the issue, he got me this little book with paper cut outs, like grade school.  He told me to read it and ask him if I had any questions.  What was I gonna ask?  The darn thing didn’t even show the male or female sex organs, I can’t remember it even using the word “Sex”, and the closest thing it showed to the real deal was a  top view of a paper cut out man on top of a paper cut out girl, on a paper cut out bed.  Like, WTF??  Dad knows I read everything, so he figured that 100%, this was his way out.  Now I am even more confused and unprepared for that facet of life.  So here I am, and when I actually notice a female for the first time as something other than a thing to tease or ignore, I totally get an insane puppy crush, can’t stop staring, can’t stop smiling at her, (she’s in the same Church Choir), and after probably two weeks, I actually get the nerve up to go talk to her and by now she is so exasperated and amused at this little buck tooth puppy crush child in front of her (she’s only a grade or so ahead), that she asks me in a very scornful tone to leave her alone, and quit staring at her.

Picture the WWII bombers in the night sky over Germany, the flak shells exploding around them.  In the background, you always see one take a major hit, the sparks, the smoke roiling out into the strobe lighting gray sky.  Then the pitch, the roll over, and the flaming dive as it disappears from the screen, headed to the ground in an agonizing explosion of fiery fury.

Yup, that was me.

It set the tone for five or six years of HELL.  But I was young.  I bounced back quickly.  I bounced back right into the next devastating failure that would haunt me for years and set the path of my life with respect to relationships so far askew that it’s a wonder that I even recovered.

After the Circus

The anniversary of 9/11 was used for many, many different reasons on Monday.  Most of them were geared towards making money, using it as a political step stool, or sensationalizing and dramatizing the event.  Very little of the hooplah was actually geared towards the memory of this event and how to avoid it happening again.  I could sit here and rant and rave about how sick it makes me to see people using it to further their own agendas, but I won’t.  When it comes down to it, that’s who we’ve become in this country, and that’s one of the ways we have evolved.  It’s capitalism at its ugliest, and finest, and it doesn’t play favorites.

So instead I’ll offer today a few insights that most may not have heard, as my colorful past has taken me through two careers that have a special bearing on the events.  I grew up in construction, and I was in the military.  Between military training and reading books that you can find on the open market today, I got a different read on events as they happened, and in study afterward.

I watched both towers burn on TV.  I saw the first fall.  One of the “traps” that you have to be aware of as a responder to a terrorist attack is the double whammy.  That’s my term.  Essentially, you have one attack at the site of the incident, and then secondary attacks around the outside area of the incident after the police, firefighters, and the lookie loo crowd gather to watch.  The second attack nets as much damage, or more, than the first.  This isn’t a secret, people.  There’s a couple hundred novels out there describing it.  I’d be more worried if the terrorists spent time in our libraries.  Some of the authors in this country have a much more vivid and calculating imagination than your simple terrorist.  So when the tower fell, my first thought was that someone had rigged a secondary.  While it turned out to be incorrect, it might as well have been.  The majority of the casualties to the Fire Response and Police response were taken when that first tower fell.  At least they were aware that it might happen on the second.

Now for the construction background info.  If you’re an engineer, this may not be 100% accurate.  Fine, leave a comment and correct me.  This is for the non engineers.  The tower went down when the floor that the main fire damage was on collapsed.  They’ve got tapes of Osama and lieutenants discussing what happened. They figured on maybe taking the floors above the plane entry level.  They’ve got engineers, too.  When that floor went, you’d might think that it wouldn’t be a problem.  It’s the same weight above that it was supporting before, right?  No.  When the columns collapsed, the floors pancaked together.  The impact loaded the floor in a manner in which it wasn’t ever intended to support.  That created the chain reaction of pancaking floors all the way to the bottom. 

Do you remember the video of all the papers flying around in the air like confetti after the towers collapsed?  When two flat slabs pancake, it compresses the air, then blows it outward.  All of the airspace in the offices on each floor were suddenly compressed to nothing.  The sudden pressure caused the windows to shatter and blow glass shards outward for yards and yards.  The same pressure forced every loose paper to fly outward, too.  Imagine all the movies you’ve seen where an airplane gets a hole in it, and all the loose stuff in the plane starts getting sucked out of the hole.  Now imagine that same scene, only the air is inside, pushing, rather than sucking stuff out.  Everything loose is forced out in the span of a second.  Anyone standing at a window at that time would have been blown out with the force of a bomb.

So anyway, that’s two looks at the event that you may never have had before.  Will it do you any good in the long run?  Probably not.  But its something to think about.  And if something like this ever happens again, maybe you’ll remember this little note, and not be one of the Lookie Loos that gets taken down by the secondary.  At the least, I hope that you won’t join the circus next year.

 

Michael

 

The Other Shoe is Dropping

 

         

               If you’ve been keeping up (not much of a challenge), the weekend before Labor Day Weekend “ T ”, (the Sigo (significant other)) and  bailed one of her friends out or a real bad spot, and essentially moved an entire house full of crap in two days between just the three of us.  She has this lovely handmade bedroom set with the Texas Star in aged metal hammered in to about every open spot you could imagine, and I think that truly, if there was anything thinner than a four by four on that 6 pc set, it’s because the guy who put it together just missed it. 

 

     So I lose an entire weekend, every bone in my body aches, as well as every muscle, even the ones I forgot I ever had.  No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, in this world of ours.

 

     Oh yeah, it gets better.  I get up Wednesday, sinuses packed like the mover had extra styro packing peanuts and decided to fill every available sinus cavity in my entire head with them using a hydraulic jackhammer. Liquids jetting uncontrollably and in an entirely unpredictable manner out my back end.  I go to work.  You have to understand, I have missed maybe 5 days sick time in the last ten years.  That’s just me.  My old man was like that, only he missed maybe a week in a forty year career, and only at the end of it.  His work ethic rubbed off and has held me in good stead, and taken me good places.  Thanks, Pop.  Anyhoo, I go to work and last like two hours.  I go home and try to sleep it off.  Body aching has changed to that Wish you were dead, can’t stretch it out, can’t get ANY comfortable position muscle ache that portends a usually nasty flu virus. 

 

SWEET!

 

     By Wednesday night, T and I and both the 5 year old and the 3 year old are just about down for the count.  She calls in sick and takes kids to Doc.  I make it thru half the day, then come home to spend the next four or five hours with the kids.  Do you have kids, or have you had some grow up close to you?  Let me clue you in.  Kids under the age of 10 have to be half dead before they slow down.  They’ll get whiny, cranky, and every other “y” that you can think of, but slow down and take a break doesn’t fall into that category.

I just thought I was tired before.  Come 8:00PM, I am ready to lovingly wring their scrawny little necks and tie them to a tree outside with a gag for mosquito bait.  After sending them to bed for the fourth or fifth time (no, THEY aren’t tired at all) looks up at me and says “I love you Poppa.” The way my body was rebelling certainly lessened the impact that that one phrase should have had on me.

 

     Friday I show up and leave within the hour.  My boss is decidedly annoyed at me, despite past record of no illness.  I try to tell him that this pisses me off and is as unusual for me as it is for him.  He believes it, I think, as well he should.  I hate this.

 

     The weekend progresses, and we all get worse before getting better.  We left the house once each day for necessities.  The 5 year old is feeling it so bad now that he just wants to sleep in the afternoon.  Not even the cartoons can keep him up.

 

     Monday afternoon arrives, I feel almost human again.  I essentially had a four day weekend, and lived through every miserable minute of it. 

 

SWEET

 

     Two precious weekends in a row, shot to hell.  They say good things and bad things both happen in threes.  The other shoe is dropping, ready to close out the dark Triad.  I hear it coming, and I’m really worried about where it is going to hit.

 

Michael

 

 

Interim Post - Yes, I'm Alive

Since bloggers that get me interested in their posts and then cut me off for a week or ten days at a time really bug me and cause severe withdrawal symptoms, I want to make sure the 2 or 3 of you that follow this post know I haven’t bailed on you yet.  The Sigo’s (significant other’s) best friend is getting a divorce, left her house with the kids, and got the soon to be Ex to agree to get a hotel for a couple of days so she could move out.  So rather than a weekend off, we basically bailed her out and helped her move completely out this weekend: weekend destroyed.  But it’s a friend, so what are you going to do?  She wouldn’t even ask us to help.  We just did it.  So I hurt, and I ache and I had no time to write this weekend.  For those of you that are looking forward to more, it will be forthcoming.  Just gimme a couple of days to get my hands, feet, and back into working order again.

 

Michael

 

It's All In The Marketing

Strange things happen when humans turn from their normal daily pursuits and look to find a fling, a love interest, a spouse or a soulmate. Ordinary people suddenly become marketing gurus and car salesmen, trying to find that perfect spiel that will get them the one or the thing that they want, without stretching the truth too badly. Here’s the rub. We’re pretty sure of what you want, and you’re pretty sure of what we want. This gets somewhat more accurate as we spend more time together. So, prior to the Sale, whether it be marriage, a long term relationship, or a one night stand, we all try to Close the Sale by either telling you what you want to hear, playacting the person we think you’re looking for, or basically living a lie for as long as it takes. The acting and the actual are inversely related. The further we actually are from the person you are looking for, the higher the level of playact, lie, cheat, and steal it takes to close the deal.

Here’s the screwy part. The Warranty period on a one night stand and a marriage is the same. For the one night stand, it lasts until you go to sleep after the Deed is done. That’s what you both wanted, that’s what you got, so there is no more need for the bullshit, ‘cause you won’t see ‘em again anyway. The Marriage Warranty might last through the Honeymoon. After that, all bets are off. Lilke a one night stand, you got what you wanted, the papers are signed, and now you’re both stuck. So we SURE as HELL don’t need to playact any more.

Fems in general market SEX. No surprise there ladies. You are not stupid, by any means. You know the thought running around in most guys head 95% of the day. There’s simply no easier way to hook us. So you let us play, you either enjoy or pretend to enjoy it, and at the end of the day, we firmly believe that we have no worries, that you liked it so much you’ll be putting out like this forever. On top of that, you’ve surely managed to stroke our sensitive egos enough that we’re feeling like Superman, ready for anything, including a ring through the nose.

Guys don’t have it that easy. We have to figure out if you want the nice guy, the sensitive guy, the biker, the jock, or the submissive wimp. Every time we start the chase, we have to play a different part. You all have your part down pat because it rarely changes, you’ve had lots of practice, and its very hard to get that one wrong. We’re good liars, because we have too many different characters to play, and they are all specialized enough that you have to know them and do them well or they will fall apart in an instant.

I’m reminded of a joke that was going around in the email about a year ago.

There’s a chapel where they are fixing to conduct a wedding. The Maid of Honor and the Best Man are rushing around, trying to locate the Bride and Groom who have seemingly disappeared. Meeting out front, they see the Bride and Groom coming from the parking area, so they rush back to their places so the Wedding can begin. The Groom steps up to his place somewhat breathlessly, with a huge grin splitting his face from ear to ear. The Brides Processional starts, and the Brides Father is walking her up the aisle. She has this Cat that Ate the Canary grin on her face. As her Father gives her away, the Best Man leans over to the Groom and asks what the grin is for. Barely withholding a laugh, he coughs out a quiet reply,

“I just got the best blow job of my ENTIRE life.” The Best man smiles knowingly.

The Maid of Honor leans over to adjust the Bride’s dress and she too, asks what her grin is for.

Reaching up to adjust her veil and wipe the corner of her lip, the grin deepens into an evil smile, and she replies

“I just gave the LAST blow job of my entire life.”

So what are YOU selling today?

Michael