A little better, but not quite there

I'm away from home base (and the state, thank God), so my attitude is improving a little. See the relaxed expression on my face?

It looks like I won't lose my leg. Too bad: I was kinda hoping for a pegleg for the boats. :(

I wish you guys would enter snide remarks.

Discretion, Not Neglect

I apologize for not posting in a while (and for the upcoming silence). My attitude has been horrible lately, for a variety of reasons, and I thought it best to keep my mouth shut.

So I am.

I'll be back when I can keep a civil tongue in my head.

La Porte High School Reunion

I was very nervous about going to my high school reunion Saturday night. I get that way when I'm dropped into a situation where I feel alone, and since I haven't kept up with more than a couple of people from high school, I felt alone. I didn't have a core group of friends back then. My friends were a diverse collection of individuals whose company and unique qualities I valued, and they were not always compatible with one another. Sadly, many of them were not able to attend.

Throughout the evening I spent most of my time with a mixture of friends and passing acquaintances at a typical convention-style dinner table, and much of the pointless rambling that follows was inspired by our conversations around that piece of furniture. These were all people I knew back then, but not completely, as you'll see.

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed talking and joking with the people at our table: Lisa, Sharla, Kelly, Thor, Jim, and Wendy, plus Margaret, Chris and a few others. I don't want to push this over the top, but spending time with these folks was actually one of the high points in my life. It made me feel really good and enabled me to connect with something in my history -- an area I generally avoid. Most importantly, for a little while I no longer felt alone. I am grateful for having had the opportunity, and going forward I hope I can build adult friendships with all of them. Each one of them is more interesting and attractive now than they ever were as high schoolers, and I hope they feel the same about me, even if they would never say so and would probably just spew a stream of vulgarities.

As adolescents, you could identify some of our basic personality traits, but we were so awkward and young and stupid and insecure that we couldn't have predicted then how our lives would be now. The people I was with yesterday, myself included, have experienced life -- love, loss, birth, death, tragedy, joy -- all of which fundamentally defined who each of us became. The raw materials that constituted us as children pointed us along the paths we were to follow and predicted our reactions to life's events, but the people present at that reunion were fundamentally different -- creations of the synthesis of nature and experience. I can hear it now: you're no doubt saying "Jeebus, Kevin, for God's sake stop the mental masturbation." That is certainly an accurate description (and excellent advice), but the climax of the process resulted in a phrase that summed it up for me nicely: A cathedral is much more beautiful than its constituent stones.

I don't want this post to sound like a lofty philosophical treatise retracing the very well-worn path of aging and maturity. It's been done far better than I ever could, every aspect of it is outside my field of expertise , and more importantly it is boring. The cold, hard fact is that most of the people I was with last night were vandals, trespassers, arsonists, and people of dubious moral character. If it wasn't for the statute of limitations, I could have made a bundle with a couple of calls to crime-stoppers, although I don't think they pay you for turning yourself in. Nor will they give you a group rate.

There are some truly amateurish photos that are being collected, and I will post links to the better ones (i.e., the ones with me in them) as I find them. If the mood strikes me, I might even take liberties with Photoshop in order to sully the reputation of a few of the fine, upstanding graduates of the fine institution that was La Porte High School.

Please leave comments to this one -- I feel like a verbal brawl would top this topic off nicely, especially if I can work the word douchebag into the comments.

Updated Intel

All right, I can confess to being wrong as well as the next guy. Even faster if you hurt me. Mistress Amber (if that's her real name) is not Sajida Heiralla Tuffah after all. Mrs. Tuffah was, in fact, Saddam Hussein's wife. My bad. I need to monitor my valium dosage better.

After a series of lengthy discussions with Mistress Amber, I believe that her command of the Arabic language is simply not sufficient for her to have survived a marriage of any length to a lunatic that couldn't speak English. I don't believe that she'd appreciate his love offerings of the severed heads, hands, or private parts of dissidents in the spirit in which they were intended. Plus, she'd be like, all TOTALLY in his face all the time. Not that I'm a relationship expert (notwithstanding two successful marriages so far), but she just doesn't seem like she'd be a good personality match for the ruthless dictator type.

Which leaves open the question of who, in fact, she is. Today's session gave me some valuable insight into her training. I now believe she was an intelligence officer stationed at Guantanamo Bay trained by the U.S. CIA in "enhanced interrogation techniques." I'll review the evidence I collected today which supports my position.

One technique commonly used on enemy combatants and other "undesirables" is what are called "stress positions." The prisoner is required to stand or kneel in a very uncomfortable position for lengthy periods of time, until muscles cramp and the pain overcomes the prisoner. Today, I was forced to lay face-down on the floor, supporting my full body weight on just my toes and elbows, back perfectly straight, for as long as 40 seconds! This was done to me at least three times and resulted in moderate back pain and an embarrassing lack of dignity as my ordeal was being witnessed by several attractive ladies.

Another example of a technique used by military interrogators is the sexual humiliation of prisoners, as witnessed in the Abu Ghraib prison photos. To my dismay, I was not invited to participate in building any naked pyramids with the other gym patrons. Instead, I was forced to humiliate myself in front of them, to the great delight of Mistress Amber. This ordeal involved making me rest my neck on a large (3' diam) inflatable ball, feet flat on the ground, body facing up. I was then forced to repeatedly thrust my hips and naughty bits up toward the ceiling, which I presume concealed a video camera. This process was repeated at least two times (the first video must not have adequately recorded the shame and humiliation in my face).

Finally, I am pretty sure I caught Mistress Amber checking me out for the best places to attach electrodes. I only caught the briefest glimpse inside the equipment closet behind the desk, so I'll have to confirm the presence of an arc welder or other torture device during my next interrogation. Also, black hoods.

I'm still trying to determine the true identity of Mistress Amber, but it is extremely difficult to learn the real names of operatives engaged in "wet work," as the professionals call these kinds of activities in the movies. I'll keep you posted on my research in the hopes that some of my clandestine colleagues can confirm my fact-findings.

Pray for me, friends, as I feel my resolve slipping almost daily.

By the way, I think I hoovered three lbs of cherries today. By the end of the week I know I can polish off a full 4 lb container! If anyone knows any reason I shouldn't be doing this, I'd be more than happy for you to share that information with me. No, really.

I CAN SO Take Underwater Pics!

Here are a few I'm proud of (click the pics for bigger versions):

This guy (girl?) is one of a pair of nurse sharks, about 9 ft long, that were resting deep in a coral cave in Cozumel, Mexico.

This beautifully colored monster is about 8" long and is called a "squirrelfish." Some of their family members have HUGE eyes. I've seen them in Cozumel and at the Flower Garden Banks National Marine Sanctuary (where this was taken).

This little (1") bastard got me in trouble with my dive buddy. I was determined to get a good shot using my macro (close-up) lens. Unfortunately, his burrow was underneath a rope fastened to the bottom, and my strobe cast a shadow that hit him directly. The strobe scared off a hammerhead shark that had been circling above me that I totally missed.

I am just a beginner, so my pics aren't perfect, but at least I'm not a total tard when it comes to capturing wildlife. I will say, though, that it's a HELL of a lot easier to get good wildlife pictures above water. Underwater photography isn't for sissies.

Physical Progress!

As you are no doubt aware from my prior postings, or perhaps by "overhearing" my conversations in my completely private cubicle, I have slavishly devoted myself to improving my physical condition. I have been spending countless hours in the gym under the strict tutelage of a strangely terrifying professional trainer. She says her name is "Amber," but at the end of one of my workouts I'm certain I heard her referred to as Sajida Heiralla Tuffah, a woman known to have been smuggled out of Iraq in the early days of the war to testify about the atrocities she participated in under Saddam's regime.

In fairness to Ms. Tuffah, I'm still seeking confirmation of her identity, so don't take that as gospel. You see, I heard the name during a post-workout period of intoxication, either from the natural endorphins released from the exercise or the handful of Valium I took in case the endorphins took too long. Either way, she is quite skilled in the art of pain, so you can understand my confusion.

Actually, whoever she really is, she confirmed today that I am, in fact, making a little progress. To me, the end of every workout feels like "G*DDA**SH**F*CK I'M PARALYZED!!!" but she is actually paying attention to what's going on and she says I'm improving some. I think I'll start tipping her with real bills from now on. Well, depending on who she really is.

Just out of curiosity, is there any good reason not to eat 2 lbs of fresh cherries in one sitting? Just asking.

Be Careful in Coral Reefs

Dear Friend(s):

At the request* of my only known reader, I used some of my sophisticated photographic equipment to provide a close-up image of the coral burn I received in Cozumel. Unfortunately, the really close-up pics were either focused on leg hairs or showed nothing but slightly red skin. In either case, they were not appropriately dramatic for a blog such as this. I believe the picture included here is the most dramatic in my collection.

This completely unretouched photo is noteworthy in that a) it's gross, b) it shows that even after ten days coral stings leave a mark, and c) it's gross. I've discovered that I can make the burn itch by scratching it, make it hurt by scratching it harder or poking it with a pin, or completely forget it's there by not touching it.

I presume you're thinking, "Jeebus, doesn't this guy have anything better to do with his time, or have something meaningful to say?" To that offensive opinion I offer you a virtual smack in the face with a linen glove. I will, nonetheless, answer your questions:

No.


* OK, by "request" I should clarify that the topic of the leg came up tangentially in an email discussion and I threatened to (and actually did) post a close-up photo. Technically, it wasn't a request, per se.

Keepin' it Alive

Just wanted to post something new so you didn't lose interest.

I think I forgot to mention that our last day diving in Cozumel I got a little too close to some coral and got a nasty sting on my hand and leg. It wasn't too painful when I got it, but believe it or not I've still got a big red welt on my leg. I know you guys are curious, so I've taken the liberty of posting a pic. It itches a bit, but no real damage. This is why divers (smart ones, anyway) wear wetsuits even when the water's warm. If it had been a portugese man-of-war or some other free-floating jellyfish, it would have been much worse.

My other knee STILL hurts. I looked back through my posts, and saw that it first started hurting on May 27, after our four-hour walk. I'm worried about it, because every day I can't hit the gym or the treadmill or the pool at full capacity I'm losing an opportunity to build stamina for October. I couldn't finish my treadmill program this morning.

This afternoon I decided to say "bugger it all" and went down the hill to our community pool. I tried snorkeling, but there were too many kids that kept getting in the way so I strapped on my SCUBA gear. Keeping to the bottom let me avoid swimming into the sprogs and my tank was like a turtle's shell, ensuring they injured themselves if they dove down on top of me. Even with 1500# of air I got a good 1/2 hr of strong swimming in. I think I'll try to do this a few times a week after work: good for the legs and low-impact on the knees. I'm using my old Oceanic Vector blade fins. They're harder to kick with than my ScubaPro Twin Jets, but the additional resistance will help me out in the long run.

At the pool, my only worry was that the other adults would think that I was there to catch illicit views of their precious semi-aquatic disease vectors. I'm glad that second-stage regulators are designed to be puked through, because I did my very best to stay as far away from any living creature as possible.

I've scheduled some modifications to my SCUBA gear: I'm having the low-pressure inflator hose shortened 3" to accomodate my emergency air horn which will remove this big loop that develops over my left ear. I'm also having my computer/gauge console mounted to a quick-disconnect so I can separate it from my regulator and pack it safely in my carry-on.