Dick, Author at Eight Feet Deep

March 27, 2012March 27, 2012

Some tales are best left for the book

Yes. I’ve been absent again. It seems like my life is getting interrupted at every turn which, in turn, turns me away from pounding out something on the old magic board. It seems as if fate has a way of burying one deeper and deeper in — ¿como se dice? — caca. Even if I am not correct in my Spanish usage, at least most will know I am trying convey the word “shit.”

I’ve thought long and hard about writing here as to how I now no longer live in the same little s–thole I have resided in since 2007. Wow, that would be a long time except for the fact that a guy I have known for several years told me he lived in the same little hole since 1997. Holy crap! But alas, we are no longer living in the little hole for it has been condemned by the city. The place we knew as the “man’s home not being his castle” has its medieval gate shuttered by chain-link fencing. There were rumors beforehand “the Man” was cutting off all our utilities but it was in reality four-to-five hours before I knew I must move or go to jail. I had been warned several days earlier by a couple of city doofuses (doofi?) Nevertheless, we all had to wait over the weekend until the word came down. And down it came, like getting swatted by overused flypaper.

So here I am, again, looking for somewhere to live.

In giving thought as to how I would relay such a story of life on the edges I had to consider a number of factors. Among those are legal issues which may arise from the saga, that is issues raised by me is what I am trying to say. I will say that I have seen local governments do a lot of things the wrong way and this story involves my city government doing something wrong at every turn. And, if that almost 60-year-old marvel of American kitsch we knew as sort of like home winds up dozed away and replaced with a multi-story chain hotel or some large medical facility to support the creeping medicine of the hospital about a block away, I will have even more to say.

Some portions of my life, though, should end up in my book. You’re doing a book, you might ask? Of course, all writers are writing a book.

When I first started this blog, after my full-time job as a newspaper writer ended, I naively thought I could write whatever I wanted here in this spot. That was before people I know actually started reading it. Oh, I know the same will probably happen with the book. If so, I hope they — those friends, family and other loyal readers of EFD — pay for the book instead of being a cheapskate like me and waiting until the publication finds its way to the library.

I can’t guarantee this tale of which I speak will be a good story. I mean what happened itself is a very bad story. I am damned near homeless again. But maybe the tale will be something of interest, perhaps a laugh, maybe it will even cause you to shake your head in disgust. I doubt my love life, what there was of it there, will play a big part.

One day I will tell the story of how I sit in by an air conditioner that is blowing cold as if the sun was headed on a collision course with our planet. I will tell of how I sit in an Interstate 10 motel wondering how I will pull this all off, finding yet another place to live in the spur of the moment. I will also, hopefully, relay the tale of what becomes of the 58-year-old castle down the street I have not quite called home even though I lived there for quite some time.

But for now, blow on big A/C. Summer is a’ coming. And, yes, if you know of a place to rent let me know. Soon.

March 23, 2012

Pat Robertson: A Tebow kind of love makes the old fool pine for Peyton Manning injury

Now, I am a nice guy. I don’t normally go around lambasting the elderly, especially when they are famous TV preachers. But no way around it, Pat Robertson is a doddering old fool. Perhaps that is too harsh of a description but Robertson has certainly shown signs of “foot-in-mouth” disease over the years. The latest gaffe has Robertson opining that if Peyton Manning were to receive an injury while playing for the Denver Broncos, “it would serve him right.”

This is, of course, aimed at the Broncos and Manning because of the apparent done-deal trade of Tim Tebow to the New York Jets. The 2007 Heisman Trophy winner is a devout Christian who, despite his good works, rubs so many people the wrong way with his sound-bite proselytizing that it has earned him the not-so-precious nickname “LBJ a.k.a. Little Baby Jesus.” Tebow also has spawned a national fad among Christians and smart-alecs alike by “Tebowing,” the name for the one-knee prayer of thanks Tebow offers after touchdowns. The act has been mocked through photo editing and You Tube displays where one performs Tebowing under odd or even mundane circumstances.

The context under which Robertson apparently made his ridiculous comment was in examining why Timmy was thrown to the wolves of New York, which is Peyton Manning’s past injuries. Manning had at least three cervical spine surgeries which kept him out of action at Indianapolis last season — destroying the Colts’ season — and his subsequent trading to Denver.

If Preacher Pat is true to form, I should keep a look out for an apology or “clarification” later today. Good ol’ Pat Robertson. Always good for a stupid remark.

March 23, 2012

An interesting tale, but until then …

Oh I will have an interesting tale to tell, maybe. It’s just been a(n), interesting maybe, day. I could give snippets, but I won’t.

On another front, I stayed up late in my hotel room in Houston last night watching the movie “Capote.” Phillip Seymour Hoffman was excellent as the effeminate, brilliant writer. If you have not seen it, the movie focuses on his pursuit of the story which led to the novel-like non-fiction book “In Cold Blood.” I had forgotten or perhaps didn’t know Capote was assisted in his research of the Clutter Family murders in Kansas by Nelle Harper Lee, who had just finished “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

I guess Capote may have been difficult to take for some but “In Cold Blood” was one of the first of what became an overloaded genre of “True Crime” stories. Nevertheless, it was interesting to see a depiction of how Capote went about researching and writing this masterpiece of modern non-fiction, with (plenty of) blemishes and all.

March 20, 2012

The uniforms I don’t care don’t really matter in the end

A photo stopped me in my tracks the other day at a local restaurant I occasionally frequent.

The owner told me long ago that her son was in the Navy and I got the impression he was a junior enlisted, perhaps a petty officer third class. I noticed a new picture the owner had behind the counter and it featured her son and some others who were wearing what I thought were khaki uniforms. Not looking closely at first, I thought these were all chief petty officers and officers. Those are the ranks that have long worn khakis as service uniforms.

Looking closer I briefly thought “Marine” as the men and women were wearing khaki shirts and dark pants. Then it hit me that the group I saw in the picture were indeed sailors. They were wearing the new Navy service uniform which consists of khaki shirt, black pants and a garrison cap. The latter is the straight-sided cap that is parted in the middle, the kind of which has been worn for ages by Army and Air Force personnel as well as Navy officers and chiefs. Were it not for subtle differences, the uniform would be a dead-ringer for the Marine Corps service dress. That’s not a bad thing, if you want to look like a Marine.

Several years ago the Navy tested new uniforms, perhaps to be more economical, and the present service dress was the winner. To be fair about the finances, it did replace two uniforms, one blue and the other white. At the time of the changes, an FAQ on an official Navy uniform Web site explained:

“While trying to find a functional year-round service uniform for Sailors E-6 and below, our
intent was not to try and make us look like any of the other services. However, the concept we are testing is in line with other services (i.e., a non-vertical match (tops and bottoms are different colors.)

Okay, leave it to my old service to over-explain a concept.

One has to wonder though about the Navy — always different if not unique — looking like other services. They replaced those comfortable and, I’ll say cool as in stylish, dungaree working uniform with their version of the Army Battle Dress Uniform (BDU). The Navy calls it a NWU, for Navy Working Uniform, and it bears camouflage patters with an overall blue and gray color in its main form. There are also woodland and desert camo in case, I suppose, a sailor wants to go hunting for a bear or maybe a camel.

As I have said here before. I like the BDU and especially like it’s main features — mucho pockets — but it is getting done to death as every branch of service has its version of it and cops also wear its variations. I mean, I love cargo pants as it kept men just that much further from having to carry a purse. But the Navy has a rich tradition and I hate to see the uniforms and the service itself set into some kind of national defense force like other countries where navies and armies wear the same uniform.

I have spoke with some sailors who are in today’s Navy and they love the utility of the NWU. I know it has its advantages, and I’m talking other than pockets, such as camo hiding stains from things such as grease or paint. Everything is gray in the Navy if it isn’t blue.

USN_NWU1 — The Navy Working Uniform. Now you see it. Now ... you see it. Navy photo.

Also, I remember there were many people both inside and outside the Navy who hated the uniforms of my days in the Navy in the mid-1970s. That is when we switched our dress blues from the bell-bottom trouser, jumper and “dixie cup” caps to the dark blue coat, pants and combination for junior enlisted which made us look like chiefs and officers. I never even wore the former uniform although I found the latter was probably much easier to keep than the latter. The dress blues were so hated as a matter of fact, that Navy enlisteds got the old “crackerjack” uniform brought back. The old uniform was new again.

Uniforms come and go. Even though I don’t like the new uniforms very much I don’t really disparage them. It’s who wear the uniform that counts and I know when it comes to that aspect, it really doesn’t matter that much to me what they wear.

March 19, 2012March 19, 2012

From the DeBakey Center to DC, our veterans deserve better than what we’re getting from the VA

Normally, I don’t do this, but today I went off on the Democratic Party.

The party sent me a message saying we should thank our veterans. Naturally, I don’t have any problem with that. But I wrote back a message that they wanted me to share with the veterans so here it is, that we should really thank them. One way to do that is to stop the arrogance that has seemingly become institutionalized at the Department of Veterans Affairs. Yes, I have my problems with them and tomorrow I go back to the neurologist at the Michael E. DeBakey VA Center in Houston to see if this new doctor can do anything. I know the last “neurologist” — a resident — sure as hell didn’t do much except piss me off.

Over the past several years the VA has done nothing for my often crippling condition except for providing false diagnoses and say there is nothing they can do. There is this doctor who supposedly runs the VA pain clinic and doesn’t know my case from Adam’s. But he knows I need to be taken off methadone, the only thing keeping my neck pain in check and preventing me from being a total physical wreck. Hey Doc, it’s my lower back that hurts. The methadone mostly helps my neck. Now you want to get me off of it because there is some kind of national jihad against opiods. Little Jack and Jill, best teens ever, go out and get wasted on Oxy, and do too much and die. Yeah, well sorry for your loss. But I don’t get high on methadone. It doesn’t space me out like the Vicodin and Tramadol the VA had me on 24/7. It enabled me to make what living I have been able to make.

Today I got a response as well from an appeal of a copayment waiver request I made. I guess I’m just too freaking rich for the VA to give me a break on copayments of prescription drugs. Here is what the VA’s letter said as a reason for their denial:

“The following information was influential in this decision:

–No additional appeal information submitted that would substantiate a decision change.”

I’m not kidding. They basically said we don’t have to tell you jack and there is no reason to ask again. Thank a veteran. Give him money to go elsewhere for health care.

The VA has established these regional “consolidated patient care centers” or CPACs where these anonymous bureaucrats make decisions on veterans’ health care. These are the men behind the curtain. They’ve got their call centers where people tell you crap just to get rid of you, just as if you were talking to Verizon or Time Warner.

This is the people who take care of you, your Dad, your brother, your sister, your grandpa. The VA is supposed to help people who were starved as Japanese POWs in World War II, or got blew up by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan or Iraq, or stepped on a mine in Vietnam, or maybe they weren’t in a war but they served at a time when everyone else was partying and getting high on Panama Red or mushrooms and having all that free sex. But those who served at the latter time did so because someone had to do it. Where’s their parade? Where’s my parade? By the way, I went to boot camp with hair down to my shoulders and got it all cut off. Then out on boot camp liberty in Wisconsin, all these people around my age looked at me like a leper. Hey, we weren’t in a war, we must’ve been doing something right.

So, this is why I went off on the Democrats today. Sorry, you just caught me on a bad day. It’s a bad day brought to you by the Department of Veterans Affairs. I was hoping you would make the VA better Gen. Shinseki. I am sorely disappointed.