Cold Cold Ground

Yeah, so we have Hell Fuck Eternal Cold Vortex bearing down on us.  I may be unclear on the terminology.  That’s what it feels like when you walk outside – and believe me, what Lucifer the Orange thinks when she goes out to try and squeeze out some frozen pee or some poopsicles is probably unprintable, even on this crappy blog.

And this is on top of the 12 inches of snow we got Sunday-Monday.  WHICH IS on top of the cumulative 10-12 inches that we had from the last couple of snowfucks.

So yeah:

We stayed home on Monday, both of us “inter tube-communicated” or whatever the kids call it, and traded episodes of shoveling. in between thawing our fingers under the dog.  But even then, we resorted to hiring the roving bands of shovelers that arise during this weather to do the heavy lifting, especially where the snowplows had created White Walls at the end of the drive way (but we had to re-do it anyways, because the plows are FUCKING RELENTLESS).

Even at the end of the day on Monday, you could feel the new COLDFUCK starting to move in.  it got here today, but mostly the city had plowed and shoveled out; although I have sympathy for the people living on smaller streets who struggle with parking rules and being plowed in.

Today got all the way up to 2 fucking degrees F.  It will be 16 below tonight.  Tomorrow will get down to 20 below.  I know the TV idiots like to talk about the windchill, but fuck that.  These are the temperatures at which windchill is near-meaningless; either way, it is dangerous.  Fortunately, of course, there is a neighborhood store less than a block away that sells liquor.

I had been kind of keeping my plans open, but at this point, I doubt I will go into my office this week.  Maybe on Sunday to see how much our delivery guys delivered.

Because yeah.  USPS are suspending deliveries for most of the week.  All the schools are closed, including UW-M.  Most City and State offices have told people not to come in.  Most offices are closed, and if I had employees right now, I would tell them to stay the fuck in bed with their spouses and pets.

But, you know, we have lived through this kind of shit before.  That’s why we have brandy.  In fact, most of us save these up to tell our kids and grandkids about the Blizzard of 78 or whatever.  we may be stupid to live here, but we ain’t weak.

[ANGRY FONT]

But here comes Cheeto Mussolini, the Bone Spur Hero, to misspelling use our Weather Emergency to flog his infantile understanding of weather.  Saying, of course, in the most ridiculously smarmy insulting way that Global Climate Change must be proven wrong by cold weather.  Of course, his tiny thumbs fucked it up and we now must all refer to it as “Global Waming”  all other references will be memory holed immediately.

Deadpool is VERY aggravated at the maligning of Wham!

AS IF he ever has had to endure harsh weather.  As if he has ever shoveled snow.  As if he has ever had the snot freeze in his nose.  As if he even gives a shit other than to ‘own the libs’ and to provide fan service to his moron base.

Of course, no end of mostly intelligent people responded on Twitler and FaceHeil to say why he is wrong, and some went at length to talk about the actual reasons why climate change causes these extreme weather events.  I look at the people who try this with a kind of sad disdain.  I mean, I know what they are trying to do, and I recognize that the spreading of knowledge like this is a good thing, but I really hope they don’t actually expect to reach the rational levels of the Orang’Hai.  Let along the Prime Oran-Orc.  I mean, it’s not as if they read, or as in A Fish Called Wanda “Yes, they do (read) they just don’t understand it”.  Or refuse to understand it, and turn back to their comforting lies from Fox, Breitbart, and Limbaugh.

As the estimable driftglass has said, these are the reprogrammable meatballs that have been bred for the last 40 fucking years to act like flying monkeys attacking whatever targets are identified by the God-fearing Rightwing Leaders and Kings and Rulers and Daddies.

But speaking as a zombie who has to live in this current manifestation of the ravages of global climate change (and shout out especially to the West Coast folk who got burnt up -ostensibly because you don’t fucking rake) this kind of condescending and politically oriented shitlord, can I just say:

 

A while back, I had a bigger office with a few employees, and there was one guy besides me who like Tom Waits.

 

It’s not Friday, but Fuck You, Donny.  When you are put into the cold, cold ground, I will post the perfectly appropriate Elvis Costello song, and yes, I will tramp that fucking dirt down.

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By-Tor And The Snow Dog

OK, I have made much sport over the fact that I don’t like Lucifer, the orange, leaky-ass dog and she don’t like me neither.   She likes to steal my seat on the couch..

But here’s the thing; I like dogs, and cats, and most animals.  Like em better than most people, most times.  So even Snag’s Lucy was endearingly over-enthusiastic

(admittedly, I only had to endure her work for short periods of time; on a daily basis, maybe not so much.  On the other stump, Paleo’s Jaxon is a fucking delight to share a back seat with, especially coming home drunk from First Avenue).

But, here’s what has changed:  Me.  Since the Event, I have been told in very direct terms by any number of Health professionals that I need to change my ways. Usually accompanied by some variation of “and you need to do this for the rest of your life” delivered in as dark a tone as they feel they can get away with in a health-care setting (which makes me kind of chuckle, as I am conversant with serious foreboding in stupid horror movies, until I remember they are are talking about ME).  And one of the things they impressed on me is the need for daily exercise.  “Unless you want to die” is the unsaid half of that dire warning.

So one of the things I did is bought an extensible leash (Lucifer likes to range) but she also like to work fast, so she maintains a decent pace.  And in the summer, I went on many walks with her; the extensible allowed her to go up ahead, and to linger over smells, but only to an extent, because we needed to MAINTAIN A PACE, you foul beast…

And so now, whenever I get up and even make a motion toward the shoes, she gets excited.  “Walks? Walks?  WALKS WALKIES WALKIES”  Sorry, you damn pathetic beast, I am going to work.  In the oncoming fall, I have gotten back to my taekwondo family (instructor is also a cardiac therapist at the hospital that takes the REAL hard cases) and I joined a gym near my office where I can do an hour or so of mild, middle-aged style cardio.  It’s gonna be winter…

But I have a partner, Wife Sublime.  And she has been working crazy to make things happen for a large globe spanning corporate megalith that has also footed my bill for the recent Event, so I am hardly one to bitch.  So today, I did laundry, i cooked, and went to the grocery, and I took Lucifer to the dog park.  Made dinner, simple as it was.

Which she needed. (Both of them).  But Lucifer needed some Dog Time. She gets restless.   She is, as best we can tell, pretty much a pure-bred hound dog called a black mouth cur and we figure that she was abandoned by a puppy mill because she had a few white stripes across her snout.  Yeah, we got her from a rescue situation, what did you expect?

She is now old enough that her snout is mostly white (as is my hair, let’s be plain) but she still needs much exercise and as a hound, she needs to sample the smells in the neighborhood.  She also needs to run, and the dog park gives her some room.  And many other friendly dogs (some overly friendly, we watched one mount another).  Good doggy fun no matter, and she poops more than I really wanted.

She now likes me more than I expected, and the way she looks up at me when we walk on leash is heart-melting.  It almost makes me forgive her for the way she yanks the shit out of my arm…

Dammit.  I never expected Lucy, the orange, leaky-ass dog to be my avenue to being more healthy, let alone to being more composed.  Dammit.  This is what happened with the last damn dog.

Shit.  I know how this ends.

All I Want For Christmas

Wisconsin based band who moved to Austin, had an unexpected huge hit, then couldn’t deal with the one-hit wonder strangeness.  Still better than anyone ever expected, and Pat McDonald is still gigging around….

Anyway, I encourage all of you to gang together and get me this:

http://hiconsumption.com/2015/10/10-gallon-whiskey-still/

Making my own bourbon.  ZomBourbon.  Come on, that’s a win!

Also, here’s a lovely Christmas Cover song by the Wonderful duo of Blue Girl and Neddie Jingo:

Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!

12:30 Sunday Morning, and I was laying down to read and then go to sleep.  But when I lay down, my breathing got shallow.

1 AM, I was sitting up to get my breath back, but then some chest tightness started.

After trying a couple of different ways to get things under control, it became obvious something was wrong.

I woke up Wife Sublime, and said “I think I need to go to the hospital.  I can’t catch my breath, and have chest pain”…

I hate to say I was lucky that two friends had had heart attacks in recent weeks, because having that weighing on my mind made me pull the trigger quicker than I might have otherwise. For DAMN sure, I am fucking lucky that we live five minutes from a world-class hospital…

I walked into the ER.  I was still having trouble, but it wasn’t strenuous.  And when they did an EKG, they thought it didn’t show classic heart attack; what the ER doctor thought was that I had a blood pressure spike (my BP was something 2,000,000/500,000). that was straining the heart, which was causing my lungs to operate like a Soda Stream machine and fill up with liquid.  But at this point I didn’t care, because even with an oxygen mask or a biPAP machine on, I couldn’t even breathe anymore.  Later, the cardiologist said the ER doc wrote an unusual paragraph in his report, saying he could see me losing my ability to breathe.

Eventually, they got it under control, the biPAP was helping me to breath and get oxygen, and the BP was down.  So they moved me up to the ICU, where they kept working on the vitals, and I just luxuriated in breathing.

Until they did an echocardiogram, to see how the heart looked.  When the cardiologist looked at it, he hit the big red button calling available team members to get the hell in and scrub up; remember this is about 9AM on Father’s Day…. They didn’t even worry if I had anything in my stomach.  The RN on the team told me brusquely “you’re having a heart attack.  If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here”.  twenty minutes later, I was receiving a stent for my LAD, which was blocked 100%

The procedure was remarkable.  I was fully conscious, and they kept TALKING to me.  They went in through my right wrist, and plumbed a wire up to my heart.  They actually installed two stent pieces, because the blockage was long enough that one wouldn’t cover.  After it was over, they even had me stand up to transfer to the mobile bed.

Later, I found out that my heart had been either ‘stunned’ or damaged so function was at about 25% (normal is about 50%).  There was no way of telling whether that would improve or not, because no one knew how the heart was in shutdown.  This is a problem, because that level makes arrhythmia a distinct possibility; The discussion was that I would be using a defibrillator vest until they could see if  the heart recovered in 90 days or so, and if it didn’t, a permanent defibrillator would need to be installed.

Meanwhile, lab work indicated that I now have a diagnosis of diabetes.

The cardiologist then came in and read me the riot act, saying if I didn’t change my lifestyle and immediately, it was likely I would wind up back here, or maybe not; maybe just going directly to the coffin, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

The thing I still have trouble wrapping my mind around is that all of this happened in about 20 hours.

They spent the next day getting my vitals under control.  Insulin, blood thinners, BP meds, oxygen, constant monitoring.  Nurses and doctors constantly asked, over and over, if I knew my name, what day it was, and where I was (amusingly, all of this was printed on the status board in front of my bed). Then they would ask me to squeeze their hands, and then would grab my feet and ankles.  It was like the world’s weirdest specialty fetish movie.

I had stabilized, and they started talking about moving me to a general room, or even discharging me.  But the cardiologist decided that he wanted to go back in and deal with a second occlusion which was at 90%, but in a much less hazardous location.  So on Tuesday afternoon, I was rolled back down for an encore.  It went almost exactly the same.  It is remarkable how low-impact this procedure is; they told me it is often done as an outpatient procedure.  One more night in the ICU!

On Tuesday, I was first told that I would be going home as soon as the doctors signed the discharge.  However the cardiologist decided that he wanted to have another echocardiogram done, to see if the heart had recovered at all. I think he wanted to know if he needed to worry about me.  Riot act aside, he was concerned.  AND…heart operation back up to 35-40%!!!! Not only does that make it more likely that I might get most or all of my normal operation back, but that I wouldn’t need the defibrillator.  I can’t tell you how excited I was about that; the doctors were too.  I think they raced each other back to the room to tell me

Came home tonight with an armful of meds, a whole bunch of diet outlines, appointments for cardiac rehab, and no activity restrictions.  Which means I will be going into the office tomorrow, then to Summerfest tomorrow afternoon!  I intend to become famous as the guy who survived a heart attack nicknamed “the widowmaker” because he needed to attend Summerfest.

Modern medicine is goddam amazing.

Way Down Now

Hey there.  How y’all doing?  I know mikey has recently ‘been released to find new opportunities’  but it sounds like his profile is much higher and more desirable than in the past, especially when he is wearing pants.

Been so damn busy, me.  Hey, you know what?  remember that crazy shit where I added four stories to a building?

Got a Mayor’s Design Award for that shit, and the Dean of the Architectural School likened to to European design and also said that this view makes it look like the project is a triumphal phoenix-like eruption from the original building.  Well, gosh.  I was just trying to make it look cool…

And you guys remember back to when I talked about cutting heads off of drawings to create new hedgehogs?  Come on, that was magical wordplay combined with a callback to a very obscure mikey comment.  Here’s the hedgehog in question:

And after much trial and tribulation, we are now at this point.

Yeah, design involves a lot of compromise (which is apparently lost on the Mentors Remaining).  We moved in many different directions to make it acceptable to all the parties, and now we are ….more or less OK.  I got a check from them.

of course, no one ever comes to the Empire looking for Happy Time Happy Talk.

SPOILER ALERT: things get dark from here on out.

Did I ever talk about this project, directly across the street from that crazy award winning project?  We had worked on the site and managed a building code variance to allow a curious combination of construction types and a pretty aggressive  code version to allow a very tall wood construction.  It kind of looked like this:

Yeah, well, it ain’t gonna happen that way.  you see, while I am really really great at design and overall work and urban design, I have a chicken vs. egg problem.  While making the PRIOR hedgehog work out, I had to get design aspects ironed out including many many many MANY unit layout changes, I had to forward them to the associate architect who was agitating so he could get his work done and get some checks as well, and the clients are just basically pushing like hell to get it all done WHILE they are demanding more changes and revisions, so that taller building kind of went on a back burner.  Well, the client (same one as the head-swapped hedgehog) was only willing to be back-burnered so long, and I was notified that he would be finding a different architect to deliver that baby.

The dilemma whose horns are rammed up my ass has to do with the Great Bush Economic Unpleasantness.  Before that I had a few folks on staff, and was able to work around the demands of bigger projects.  But the Shit came down, and for a while I was barely able to maintain myself, let along take responsibility for others.  so I let everyone move on… And now, while I am re-building cash flow and a bit of cushion, I am strangely gun-shy about bringing on staff willy-nilly.  and so; how to build capacity before I have the staff, while bringing on staff prior to having projects seems kind of stupid.   Been burned and well burned at that; scared to grab the damn stove again…

On top of that, at the Mayor’s Design Awards reception, a friend and client notified me that one of my long time clients and someone I consider a friend had been in the hospital for a couple of weeks.  This is the guy for whom I have designed many of the MLK Drive renaissance buildings, which you may recall from this:

And not long after that, I saw the sad news that Welford had succumbed.  Here he is in front of our first project together:

Gonna miss him a lot.  He was a good man, a good friend and a great client and he had a huge impact on the city that both of us loved.  Zombie props, Welford, and you live on in the work we did.  Kind of zombie-like, now that I put it that way…

Well, on a less depressing side of things, I had a GREAT time at the Murder By Death show last week, and may have been a bit over-served.  And a lovely girl kept playing with my hair while I was having such obvious enjoyment of the show.  How weird…

And tonight, I saw World Party in a stripped down three piece show, and it was a splendid show, yes it was.  It was supplied with tables and chairs, because the WP fans are older, yes we are.  And I managed to avoid that dastardly over-serving issue.  Also talked for a while about music and shows and common acquaintances with Brian Wooldridge, one of my favorite local musicians.

Mr. Wallinger, (if you did not know, had an accident several years ago and dain bramage made him lose his goddam voice and it is so good that he managed to work back.  Dammit, we don’t have enough artists, universe, that we can let you just remove one like that) does not look like that anymore (but which of us do?).  Now he looks like this (but fortunately he still sings and plays and writes like he did).

However, his son was working the merch table and he does pretty much look like Karl in those younger days.  And I think between Brian Wooldridge and I, we managed to buy Karl a new guitar strap.  Someone else will have to buy him a proper left-handed guitar rather than just an upside-down righty.

I am always curious about lefties who play right handed guitars, and whether they re-string so chording is just reversed rather than upside down; and looking at it, I see he keeps the right hand stringing.  What a weird thing to do, but then I shoot pool left handed, so who am I to judge?

Such is life.  There’s Bad, and Good, and Bad, and a little more Bad just to spice things up….

Bitter drink, Bitter Moon

Wow, I am in a lousy mood today.  Woe be to the poor bastard who tries to reach me on the phone….

I am, however, seeing a darkish Goth-alt-country band tonight, across the street from my office at the wonderful Turner Hall; Murder by Death.  Here are some samples:

It will either cure my mood or deepen it.

…it is, however, dependent on whether I can get the goddam ticket sitch straightened out, they haven’t been delivered yet.  Gotta see if I can switch them to Will Call…

What A Terrible World, What A Wonderful World…

So, this happened…

Yep. That’s right. My Robotics team went to Chicago Regional without me and all I got WAS A DAMN CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!

Who gnu that all it takes is for me to stay the hell away?

So yeah, it’s kind of bittersweet.