Yes, its been a while, but with so much going on this summer, it is hard for me to know where to begin. I think I got a case of the busy’s plus more then a little burn out on all things political. It is obvious to even the most jaded observer that the much vaunted change we were all expected is not coming. Lets face it, our new administration is proving itself to be just another shade of the same old thing we have come to expect from Sodom on the Potomac.
Not that I am complaining. Life has been pretty good to me lately. My relationship with Mona (AKA Bacon Betty) is going like gang busters. I couldn’t be happier and we have been having some awesome adventures together. We are making new friends, trying new things and generally carrying on like a couple of teenagers.
My depression comes and goes. Good days, Bad days, with most laying in that in between place that most of you are lucky enough to live in full time. It feels good to be a more frequent visitor.
Then there is the big news. Really big. You could even say life changing. So much so that I am still coming to grips with it.
I am single.
On my own.
Responsible for no one other then myself.
In other words, divorced.
Five years ago The X and I went our separate ways. As of yesterday, it is legal.
Not that I have had any regrets. We have lived our separate lives and headed in very different directions. She is now Born Again and headed to Uganda next month for missionary work. I guess that is what being married to me will drive a woman to.
It is such a minor thing really, hell, I have been calling her my X Wife almost forever and yet, I put off making it official.
And now that it is, well, it is almost anti climactic.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that is not having any kind of emotional impact on me, other then the tremendous relief that I will no longer be responsible for anything she might do.
While my stint in the navy was but a small part of my life, it had a very large impact on me. I can honestly say that my experiences of those years made a larger impact on who I am today then just about any other life experience.
Any chance I have to relive even a small part of that experience is always welcome. It was that desire that lead me to be active in hosting sailors during our pre-9/11 Rose Festival fleet week here in Portland, and I will never pass on the opportunity to share a “Sea Story” or two with friends and fellow vets.
it was this desire to relive a bit of the past that led Bacon Betty and Myself to our latest adventure.
It was a beautiful spring day in Portland last Friday afternoon and we had to get out of her apartment and enjoy the day. It is required to be outdoors when the sun is shining here as you never know when you might see it again.
Now we had talked about visiting the USS Blueback in the past and the timing was perfect.
Now for those of you not in the know, The USS Blueback is Portland’s own fast attack submarine. After being decommissioned she was moved to The Oregon Museum Of Science And Industry in 1994 where she became a permanent display with tours offered daily.
We were able to secure a slot for the last tour group of the day.
We killed some time before the tour going through the museums latest exhibit, a display of memorabilia on loan from NASA and we were all fired up to get on with the tour.
Finally it was time to go.
Before we could board, our group was required to prove that we were physically able to participate in the tour. This meant that we were each required to pass through a small opening meant to simulate the smallest hatch we were going to have to pass through on board the sub. One “Skinny Minny” earned a laugh when she asked if extra points were awarded for diving through head first. Bacon Betty and I were able to perform this feat with out too much trouble, grin, and off we went to the dock.
I have done the Blueback tour a few times since moving to Portland, so Bacon Betty and I hung to the back of our group as Richard, our guide for the excursion, pointed out some of the exterior features of the “boat”.
From the start, I knew that Richard was not only new to the job, but that he wasn’t that up on sub lore and design either.
Listen, I never served a day on a sub and I freely admit that most of what I know I learned from Tom Clancy and The Discovery Channel, but I pretty much knew off the bat that I knew more about The Blueback then he did.
After giving his spiel, it was time to go aboard through a hatch that had been cut through the hull to accommodate visitors to the ship.
They say the strongest memory trigger is the sense of smell and over the years I have learned that all Navy ships smell the same. A hundred memories rushed back to me as we descended to the main deck of the sub. The best way I can describe it is sweat mixed with stale cigarette smoke, diesel oil and a hint of, I’ll say it, fear.
I paused at the bottom of the stairs, closed my eyes and breathed deep of the memories.
When I opened them again, there was a sailor standing next to me, dressed in submariners overalls and the rank insignia of a Petty Officer 2nd Class.
“You a Navy Man?” he asked.
Takes one to know one.
He introduced himself as Steve and proceeded to try to recruit me to volunteer aboard as a crew member. Something to think about. We chatted a bit and then Bacon Betty and I joined our fellow tourists in The Officers Wardroom for the first part of our tour.
Richard filled us in on the ships history and and on submarine operations. He made a few mistakes, but I bit my tongue.
Next
we moved to the control room. Again Richard made a few errors and again, I kept silent. Betty and I hung back as the group moved onto the crew berthing area to take some pictures, and to give me a chance to show off my knowledge of naval ships as I pointed out some of the features that Richard had missed.
We rejoined the tour in the crews berthing area and I must have reached my limit, because I finally started to speak up and correct some of Richards errors. I was nice about it, very nice in fact, and some of our fellow tourists edged a little closer as I began to point out some of the details of the compartment and added a short personal story or two.
Our next stop was the torpedo room.
Hot Stuff and High Explosives
I think Richard had hoped to get even when he deferred a question about torpedo’s to “Our Navy Man”. I quickly rattled off what I knew about the MK48ADCAP torpedo (thank you Tom Clancy) and the sub launched Harpoon anti-ship missile. I tried to fade back into the background, but several members of our group hung back as I pointed out some Emergency Escape Breathing Devices and Oxygen Breathing Apparatus units that were in the compartment to my faire lady.
All Ahead Flank
The tour wound to an end in the engine room. My lady and I hung back as the tour group departed to talk with our guide. We talked about military service, he wished he had had the opportunity to serve, and some good resources to use to further his knowledge of subs.
We must have chatted for 15 or 20 minutes before we too headed for the exit.
The hatch had been dogged, thats closed to you non-navy types, we can’t have you civilians knowing what we are saying, and Richard stepped past it to open it.
It opened maybe an inch and then stopped.
Richard pushed and prodded at it a bit, but it would not budge. He turned and looked at me as if to say “UH, your the expert here, a little help?”
I stepped up to the hatch, pulled it all the way closed and rechecked the dogs or latches, all were open, so I gave it a good firm push expecting it nto open.
And it did.
For about an inch.
WTF?
I was able to peek out through the crack and immediately saw the problem.
Some one had placed a padlock on the door. We were locked in. It became apparent that crewman Steve, thinking the tour group had left, promptly closed up shop and locked up for the night.
Whenn I anounced this fact, Richard turned a little white and Bacon Betty turned a little green, she had told me earlier that she is a bit claustrophobic.
“Well Richard, what now” I chortled. The whole thing struck me as rather funny, which earned me a pained look from both of them.
Richard looked just a little panicked, so I asked if there was a phone aboard, I gently suggested he call someone in the museum to let us out.
No answer, it was after 5, the museum was closed.
Great.
Is there anyone else we can call?
Richard started a mad search for the number to the museum security desk. I suggested to Bacon Betty that we head down to the crews berthing area for “closer inspection” and got a dirty look for my trouble. She was not moving from her spot in front of the exit hatch.
What can I say, I am a randy old goat.
I decided to poke around a bit and found a small compartment that was used as a office for the “crew” and right there on the wall was a list of names and phone numbers.
“Hey Richard” I called out “Why not just call Steve and have him come back and let us out?”
His voice cracked a bit as he told me he didn’t have his number.
“His cell phone number is right here on the wall.”
It was at that moment that their was a rattle at the hatch and it swung open.
Silhouetted in the opening was a lady security officer performing her rounds. OUR HERO!!
We left Richard to stutter out an explanation of what we were doing aboard and headed back to our car, laughing all the way.
Well my friends, yes, it is another one of those “diary posts” that only my true friends will stop to read.
In the latest crazy turn of events in my so called life, effective this Sunday night, I will be working the graveyard shift. My company, in rare display of common sense, decided to try eliminating the very hot and uncomfortable swing shift for the summer and only run a graveyard and day shift.
My reasons for making the switch are pretty simple really, for the first time in the 11 years I have worked there, I will know when I am going home as I will be working the first shift. Next, it will allow me to spend more quality time with Bacon Betty ( I really have to do something about the name, it just does not do her justice). When she is at work, I will be asleep, it leaves us our evenings together.
Finally, I had absolutely no freaking choice in the matter. I did not have enough seniority to get the day shift so I might as well make the best of it, besides, most of my regular crew is making the change as well and we are going to have a grand old time, or at least we have managed to convince ourselves of that.
Self delusion is a powerful tool.
So, faced with having to turn my body clock upside down, I decided the smart thing to do was pull an all niter tonight and then sleep most of the day tomorrow. A sound plan I think, despite the fact that I was up at 845 this morning for a doctors appointment. I can do this.
2315
Home from work. This is going to be fun, I have a whole list of things to get done, I will have no problem staying awake and making productive use of this time. First order of business, a large cup of coffee to sip while I finish last weeks episode of Stargate:Universe, then a shower and into some clean clothes. No sweats for me tonight, can’t get too comfy.
2400
Look at me being all productive. Got all the dishes in the dishwasher. Not sure what was growing in that glass I found in the bedroom. I think I drank from it last night, but I am sure it will be fine. Listening to Bacon Betty’s Bob Seger channel on Pandora as I straighten up. So far i have not heard a single Bob Seger song….Interesting
0120
Finally got all the trash and newspapers out to the dumpster, including that box of crap that has been sitting next to my front door for a year. I draw the line at getting rid of the phone books. If they cant tell from the three year collection of them sitting there that I am not interested then to hell with them. Still have not heard a single Bob Seger song, going to have to talk to Bacon Betty about this. Well, with the house straightened and grocery list in hand, I head out to the all night market to get my grocery shopping done.
0130
I side track to the local Not A Dennys for a snack. It turns out my favorite waitress has just started graveyard and greets me with a hug. I get a club sandwich and coffee. We both make fun at the group of teens playing D&D at one of the tables until I realize that 30 years ago, I was them.
0200
Taking my usual back roads “short cut” to the grocery store i realize i am the only car on the road. I dodge the shelf stocking crews as I wind my way through the store, back tracking several times to complete my list. It is one of those discount, bag your own stores. It takes me five minutes to figure out how to get everything into the bags I have brought. I am bothered by the fact that I can only buy macaroni salad in a 3 pound tub and that I can no longer get the mopping clothes for my Swiffer. Now I have to buy a mopping system. I refuse to give in. It takes me 3 tries to get out of the parking lot….hmmm…maybe driving is not a good idea. I stop and pick up a few Viso’s to get me through.
0300
Groceries are put away. The cat appears confused. Every time she sees me move in her direction she runs into the bedroom thinking it is bed time, then comes out a few minutes later wondering why I have not followed. She gives up after the 4th attempt. Still have not heard a Bob Seger song…What the fuck Pandora.
0342
Finally….A fucking Bob Seger song.
0415
My grand plan to clean my apartment has degenerated to wiping down the counters and sweeping the floors. I have lost my cigarettes twice, my lighter in M.I.A and I found my Viso in the linen closet. This was sure a better idea at 4 O’clock this afternoon. The cat has apparently given up on me and disappeared. 4 hours until I can go to sleep?
0430
The cat reappears and demands attention. Obviously this is some kind of power struggle. What was in that glass I dranK from the other night? I have given up on the notion of ever hearing Bob Seger again.
0435
Switch over to my 80’s channel…first fucking song…Bob Seger
0500
FUCK YOU CAT
0530
I am pretty sure Bacon Betty just called. Might have been the cat. Not too sure,
0600
The sky is getting light, another hour and I can…..ZZZZZZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzzz
One would think that I would know better than to ruin a perfectly glorious three day weekend spent in the loving arms of the alluring Bacon Betty by trying to make sense of the insurance mess in which I currently find myself, but alas, I am just not that bright.
It was with some trepidation that I called my Doc’s office to check on the status of the pre-authorization for my new meds. I was told that they had indeed heard from my insurance company and that my claim had been denied.
Denied?
WTF.
I was then told that the Doc had authorized them to give me some office samples to tide me over, two weeks after this whole mess began. Well, since I could not afford this stuff in the first place, I did not see any reason in starting up the whole mess again, so I politely declined and canceled my appointment for Tuesday, the point of which was to discuss the side effects from the drugs I am no longer taking. Saving twenty bucks seemed to be The Jew thing to do.
My next call was to my insurance company as I wanted an answer to the obvious, three year old type question….WHY?
I would like to share my first big problem of the day…
WHY IN THE FUCK AM I REQUIRED TO TELL THE COMPUTER MY MEMBER NUMBER AND DATE OF BIRTH IF THESE ARE THE FIRST FUCKING QUESTIONS THEY ASK ME WHEN A HUMAN BEING FINALLY GETS AROUND TO TAKING MY CALL?
Seems a little redundant, don’t you think?
I explained to the nice young man that I wanted to know why my pre-authorization for my new medication had been denied.
The nice young man explained that he had no information on the matter for me, that all of these types of issues were handled by their drug contractor and I would have to talk to them.
I explained to the nice young man that I have been down this road before and that their drug contractor told me they have no control over these matters, it was all decided by the insurance company, after all, they are just a contractor.
The nice young man became not so nice, and asked rather sternly if I wanted the number.
No said I, I have the number, just transfer me over.
CLICK, BUZZ, DIAL TONE
OH NO YOU DID NT.
Undaunted, I called the drug contractor.
I explained the situation to the nice young lady.
She advised me they needed additional information from my Doc before they could authorize the medication.
Oh really, said I, what information might that be?
She explained that they needed to know if I had ever taken three other drugs to treat my condition and if I had a history of drug abuse or mental illness.
Well, let me cut out the middle man for you.
Yes, said I, I have taken one of the three, and all three have one thing in common, they are all narcotic stimulants and that the whole reason my Doc wanted me to take the new drug was because it was the only non stimulate medication available for the treatment of my condition. Another reason for making the switch was because I did have a previous history of drug abuse, and, if I was not crazy before I started trying to take the drug, the insurance company was surely going to make me that way.
Well, that is all well and good, but we need to get that information from your Doctor, sir.
Why?
What reason would I have to lie to you, I am not trying to get narcotics, I am trying to get away from them, it would seem to me, a semi rational human being, that this would be proof enough that I must be telling the truth.
Proving that corporations, as defined by the recent Supreme Court ruling, may be people but are not bound by any rules requiring common sense (Hmmm…maybe they really are people?), I asked to speak to someone who could explain to me why I was being made to jump through all these hoops to obtain a non narcotic alternative to the medications I am currently taking.
But sir, the now not so nice young lady said, we are just a third party contractor, we do not make these decisions, we simply follow the guidelines given to us by your insurance company.
what, What, WHAT????
OK, now I really want to speak to your supervisor.
CLICK BUZZ DIAL TONE
OH NO YOU DIDNT!
So I call my Docs office back.
OK said I, here is this information they say they need to approve my meds.
Oh yes, that was all in the fax they sent us, we have all the information together and ready, we are just waiting for your Doc to sign off on it.
HUH?
Why didnt you….you knew I was going to call…could have told me…WTF….BANG
Click Buzz Dial Tone
Apparently a flying fragment of my exploding head had hit the end call button on my phone.
About ten minutes after I started my shift last night, my Doc left the following message on my voice mail…
“Uh, I know you are waiting for that prior authorization request and I did have my office try to phone that in once, but they left them on hold too long so they were not able to do it. If you could, can you you call your insurance company and have them fax us the paperwork so we can get that done. If you need some samples, let me know I will leave some here for you.”
If I need some samples?
I have been out and needing meds Friday, missed a days work and had to start taking the drug I started with again because it was the only thing I had access too.
It took me all of ten minutes on the phone, including hold time, to get the insurance company to fax them the documents, which might be sent to them in the next 72 hours…glad we are all on board with being partners in my continuing quest for mental health.
I have been experiencing what is truly wrong with our health care system over the last four or five days and I thought I would share it with you all.
Regular readers know that I recently tried a new drug to help me deal with concentration and frustration issues at work. I had to build up to the drug slowly, over the course of weeks, to get the full effect. For the first two weeks I was unable to work as my body adjusted to the medication. As the dosage increased, I began to notice some truly unpleasant side effects. All of them were normal for this drug, but that did not make them any easier to cope with.
To my dismay, the drug was doing its job, making it possible for me to focus and concentrate, and by doing so control some of the paralyzing anxiety I have been suffering over recent years. The advantage of the drug, it being a non narcotic, and the fact that it was working, seemed to balance the scales somewhat for the nasty side effects.
So when I met with Doc Ray, my prescribing nurse practitioner, I had mixed emotions about continuing the drug. After some pointed questions and heated debate, the decision was made to continue the drug at a lower dosage in the hopes it would reduce the side effects and still be effective. He wrote me a scrip for the reduced dosage, the first months supply of graduated dosages came in the form of an office sample pack, which I dropped off at my local drug store to be filled.
This was on Tuesday last and I still had two of the higher dosage pills left.
This was when the “fun” began.
On Wednesday I get a call from the pharmacy, my insurance wont pay for the drug without a prior authorization from Doc Ray. I have been down this road before and was not particularly concerned. The pharmacy would fax the paperwork to the doctors office, he would fill it out and send it to the insurance company, and I would get my meds. I ask how much it will cost me to buy a seven day supply to get me through, they quote a price in the three digits. For seven pills. Its a rent week, I don’t have the money
On Thursday I took my last dose and received a call from the docs office. They needed ME to contact the insurance company and request that the paperwork be sent to them.
Didn’t the pharmacy send you the paperwork?
Yes, but we need a number to fax it back to.
OK, whatever, I call the insurance company and get them the info.
Friday arrives, no meds, no word from the doc’s office.
I call them, they tell me that Doc Ray wont be back in the office until Tuesday…
What What What?
Wait, I am out of meds and I have to work, can you get a message to the doc and see if he can hook me up until the prescription goes through?
We will give him the message.
I go to work.
It is a disaster.
I can’t hold a thought in my head, can’t find my ass with two hands, a flashlight and a GPS system.
I make it through the weekend, no sweat. I am not doing anything that really requires the kind of focus and concentration work does. I do find myself getting frustrated easier, but I keep it under control. On the plus side, the side effects are slowly disappearing. Good times. Now I am starting to think I made a bad call by agreeing to continue the drug, even at the reduced dose. I vow to talk to the doctor about it when he calls.
Monday morning comes, still no word from the Doc. Now the frustration is getting harder to keep in check.
I call the Doctors office and again explain the situation. There is no help to be had, would I care to leave a message? OK, tell him I have been out of meds since Friday, that I don’t feel I can work in this state and that I am going to go back to my old meds, the narcotic stimulant, of which I still have a supply.
Then I call the insurance company.
It takes me ten minutes to navigate the phone system, the computer is convinced my member number does not exist. I finally speak to a human being and once again, explain my predicament.
Hmm, says the insurance company, I see the problem, your coverage will not cover the drug because it is a non formulary drug, ie, a name brand without a generic equivalent. They need documentation that the drug is necessary to treat my condition.
He wrote me a prescription for it, I have been taking it for a month, that seems like proof enough to me.
Yes, that is true, but we can not authorize it without the documentation.
But I can’t work without it.
Sorry, says the insurance company.
I call my boss, I explain the situation, and tell him I am going to be out for a day while I go back on the old meds. He is not happy and I don’t blame him.
I take the meds and feel the rush…my hands shake, I cant sit still, my conversation with BB, who has been a witness to all this craziness, skips from topic to topic, seemingly at random. Slowly I adapt to it, I take two more doses through the day, the rush fades, my concentration returns.
It is Tuesday morning…no word from the doc’s office, I continue to take the old meds, I feel liker crap, probably the remnants of the new drug left in my system fighting with the old, you are not supposed to take them at the same time. I have no choice but to go to work…
How about it Mr. Obama, do you have a fix for this one?
What would life be without the BIG dream, the Impossible dream, like say, winning the Lottery.
I guess the difference between me and most is the fact that I am willing to allow my dreams to intrude into daily life for my own amusement.
Take Saturday for instance.
I joined up with Bacon Betty after she got off work on Saturday for a quiet dinner and a video. Seems simple enough, but as it always happens with me, even the simple can become downright funny given just a little nudge.
Now, I had given BB a list of ingredients to pick up for me to make dinner, my world renowned Baked Mac and cheese and ham, but I had neglected to put flour on the list. We were all set to pile into the car and head over to the store when I suggested we try the mini-mart on the corner. Sure, we would pay a bit more, but it was a very nice day for a walk.
We found our quarry and after debating the merits of the various Slurpy flavors, she prefers blue, we paid for our purchases. At the last minute I added a couple of Lottery quick pick tickets. You never know and while a 60 million dollar jackpot was a bit low for me to play, I figured I would clear enough to scrape by.
Now, as part of the getting to know each other phase of our budding relationship, we had talked about The Lottery Dream. You know the one, whether we admit it or not, we all have one. Most of us have, at one time or another planned what we would do with the big windfall should it ever come.
Much to my delight, I had discovered BB and I share one. To cross the country in an RV and see what there is out there to see. Yes, I know it is a bit old fartish, but come on, with no bills to pay, no kids, no responsibilities, spending a few months on the road is very appealing to me. To her as well. So, it was not with total surprise when she accepted my invitation to go do a little dreaming at the RV dealership on the corner opposite the mini-mart.
It was there that we came to know, which I am sure turned out to be to his displeasure, Frank.
To my pleasure, the only way to get a look at the land yachts parked on the lot was to pass through the showroom and run the gauntlet of sales people who would be only all to willing to separate me from my money. Now to a lesser man this might be considered an obstacle but for me it was an opportunity to engage one of my passions, dreaming and a little improvisational theater.
Frank greeted us warmly and asked how he could be of service, perhaps he was dreaming his big dream of what to do with a nice fat commission in a down economy.
I introduced “The Missus” and explained that we were both now getting four weeks of vacation and were looking forward to spending it criss-crossing this great nation of ours. I explained that I was looking for something in the $50 grand range, big enough for just the two of us, and that I had about ten grand to put down.
I could see the little sales chubby start to tent his trousers as I explained that I had already talked to “OUR” credit union about the financing and we would be looking to do a deal in the next few weeks.
Frank said he had a couple of brand new units and a couple of used ones that might fit our needs.
As we stood in front of a 21 footer built on a Chevy chassis, Frank let slip he was retired from the Navy.
A fellow squid, oh this was going to be fun. We swapped a few lies, uh, sea stories and then he took off and let us explore.
The first one was kind of cozy, a little on the small side but with all the right amenities, we both agreed that we could easily see ourselves spending some time exploring the west coast and Mexico in it.
Frank returned as we exited and explained some of the features that made this a great coach and then introduced us to the next unit, a 23 footer.
It had most of the same features, a better appointed cockpit and more storage space. Frank and I exchanged some more anecdotes from our military service. Now BB has not heard a lot of my “Sea Stories” so she really didn’t know that I was embellishing some of my adventures and telling a few that were complete fabrication. I was having fun with Frank, and at the same time picturing myself cruising the back roads of the south with nary a care in the world.
Next up was a 28 footer, not much bigger when you looked at it from the outside, but the interior was a whole other world. The living room area slid out about three feet from the body to give a much larger living area. It was in our “price range” and only had about 20,000 miles on it.
BB and I prattled on about how much fun it would be to take her daughter and her very large boyfriend on a drive up to Alaska when Frank asked a question of BB that stopped her cold.
“So, how long have you two been married ?”
Up to this point, I had been doing all the talking. so she kind of froze in the head lights. I gave her a little grin and a raised eye brow. She took another beat and said to me…
“Yes dear, how long has it been now, after all, it is important that you remember these things.”
Hmmm..I replied…has it been six years or seven?
Her look of mock indignation was thing of beauty to behold. She was learning how this game was played.
It was then when Frank came to my rescue. When I responded “It has to be seven.” Frank stepped in with “See how happy he is, it only feels like six years.”
Way to keep a shipmate out of the doghouse Frank.
Having had enough fun for one day, I was about to start with my usual “we have another couple of places, but we think this is the one” exit strategy when Frank said something that got my dander up. Mixed in with our talk of exotic ports and insuring an RV, Frank somehow got on the subject of our modern armed forces and one of HIS pet peeves…Gays in the military.
Regular readers of this site know my feelings on this issue, and Frank was about to get an ear full.
I asked him how he felt about the Air Force pilot who was tossed out after 19 years, 3 combat tours and three commendations for valor.
Oh, he should be allowed to serve, but gays in the regular military shouldn’t be allowed to share barracks with “Normal” sailors an soldiers. He wouldn’t want one of “Them” looking at him and getting all turned on.
The merest of glances at Frank and just about anyone, gay or straight, would be able to assure him that this would not be a problem for him.
Then Frank asked if we were ready to step in the office and do a little paperwork.
I took a step forward, invading his personal space and looked him square in the eye.
“Frank, my son is a United States Marine on his second tour in Afghanistan. He was wounded twice on his first tour and when he came home he told me that he was gay and hoped I didn’t hate him for it. I told him not only did I love him, but I respected him for making the choice to serve his country and conceal his sexuality. He is over there, right now, protecting YOUR freedoms, laying it all on the line while an ungrateful piece of crap like you dares to judge him based solely on his choice of bed partners.”
With that I took BB’s hand, turned and walked off the lot.
I could see a tear starting to form in her eye and she quietly said “You never told me you had a son.
I gave her a wink and a nod and said “I don’t, I just dont like narrow minded people.”
It took a second for it to sink in that I was just yanking Franks chain and then she thanked me as we walked away.
I got to witness first hand an actual Darwin Award Nominee in action this weekend. I only wish I had my camera handy to record this moment for posterity. As I did not, I will attempt to paint you a picture with words.
Saturday was a glorious spring day in The rose city and it seemed that everyone here in Portland all had the same idea that me and my new paramour did, to go out and enjoy Downtown. First stop, as always, was Voodoo Doughnuts for a Maple Bacon Bar. Yes my friends, it is true, a maple bar with bacon on top, think about it, you know you want one. It is oh so wrong, but oh so very right.
My lady friends response earned her name on the Angry Jew’s cast of characters. After her first bite, she launched into a very credible impression of the voice of the dog from the Beggin Strips Commercial (bacon, Bacon, BACON!!!!) and from this day forth will be known as Bacon Betty, or BB for short.
World, Meet Bacon Betty
After wolfing down our treats, it was off to the Saturday Market for people watching. BB was proving herself to be more then my match when she joined me in heckling a couple engaged in long distance purchase of some tie dye apparel. A woman sitting in the shade was attempting to get the attention of Dennis, who was attempting to pick out a shirt for her, to tell him which one she wanted. BB and I lent our voices to her cause causing heads to turn in all directions. Good Times.
After that, we met up with her slightly hung over girl friend Cal, who had to give me the once over and seal of approval. After wandering the market, the three of us ended up at the Thirsty Lion Pub for some food, drinks and conversation.
We parted company with her Cal and headed off to meet some friends of mine.
We stopped at The Happy Fun Time Piercing Emporium # 9 and after receiving my required ration of shit, my Piercing Goddess replaced the plug in my ear that I had lost at work. I know I have said this a couple of hundred times, but if you are considering any kind of body adornment, get your, insert name of body part to be pierced here, over to Straight To The Point Piercing in Downtown Portland and tell them The Angry Jew sent you. You will not be sorry.
With this task completed and a spirited debate over the nature of good vs evil under our belts, we headed off to the waterfront. We strolled along the rivers edge hand in hand, occasionally stopping for some heated tonsil hockey that I am sure caused nausea in some of the younger park goers who I am sure wished that gramdma and grandpa would get a room.
It was at this point that our story really begins.
The city of Portland is divided by The Willamette River and the river is spanned by several bridges. Barge traffic on the river will occasionally require some of those bridges to be raised.
We were stopped for a smooch fest by The Hawthorne Bridge when we heard the alarm horns indicating the bridge for a barge that was headed down river. Now in my ten years here, I had never seen this particular bridge raised, so we watched in fascination. Gates lowered to stop vehicle traffic and pedestrians were warned to clear the span by a voice over a loudspeaker.
We watched as the foot traffic cleared and the barge approached.
At what seemed like the last possible moment for the bridge to raise, enter Dumbass.
We watched as her ducked under the barricades, walked past the flashing lights, and headed out onto the span. Onlookers shouted and screamed at him, but Dumbass was in his own little world. The bridge operator began shouting at him over the loudspeaker and even the tug pushing the barge added it’s horn in the attempt to get this mental midgets attention.
Finally, he stopped and looked around.
The expression on his face seemed to say what the hell is going on around here and what is with all the noise?
Even at a distance you could see the moment of realization pass over his face as he turned tail and ran, not jogged, not sprinted, but full out ran back to where he started. Not only did he make it back past the barrier, but he kept going in the direction from which he came, perhaps afraid of the ridicule and harassment he would have encountered from his fellow citizens if he had stopped.
Needless to say, the bridge was raised just in the nick of time, and all was right with the world.
So ended my first adventure with Bacon Betty, the new mistress of adventure here in Angry Jew land. I hope you will all join me in welcoming her to our little slice of heaven.
You know, every time I start to think that things can not be an weirder, something comes along to prove me wrong.
OK, now everyone has heard of The Jones Soda Company, right?
They are a boutique soda pop company known for their off the wall seasonal flavors. Well, sometime back around Thanksgiving, the released their Turkey and Gravy flavored soda.
Now I never tried it, mainly because I can’t think of anything more repugnant than carbonated feast food.
I thought ti myself, well, that can’t possibly get any weirder.
I was wrong.
for this holiday season, Jones Soda Company has unveiled there newest holiday flavor.
TOFURKY AND GRAVY SODA.
I am guessing this a move to corner the vegan soda market?
It does beg the question, in a November 2004 article detailing the release of the turkey and gravy soda, a representative stated there were no meat extracts used in it’s production, which means it is ALREADY FUCKING VEGAN,
Why the hell do you need to release a Tofurky version.
I want someone to do a side by side taste test of these two and tell me whether or not there is any difference between the two.
I have found one review of the new flavor from someone intimately familiar with the taste of Tofurky and this person stated;
Sweet. Salty. A bit like Tofurky aftertaste. Not entirely unpleasant, but not something you’d want to chug after a long session of Dance Dance Revolution.
Quote from Julius Cesare invoked by The Cherry City Derby Girls “Ringmaster”
I think anyone my age remembers Roller Derby.
Back in the 70’s I can remember watching The Los Angeles Thunderbirds do battle on a banked track. I don’t think I ever understood what was going on. The staged fights, the hair pulling, the occasional player being flipped over the railing into the crowd, the roar of the motorcycles…Oh wait, that was the movie Rollerball…my bad.
Well Roller Derby is back, and to quote the “Ringmaster”…This is not your Mothers Roller Derby.
How, you ask, did a nice Jewish Boy get involved with Roller Derby?
Well, a while back I a wrote a review of a restaurant in Salem. No big deal…good food , good service, happy to do it. Well, it lead to a very nice thank you note from the wife of the owner and the beginning of an interesting on line friendship. We would trade quips and occasional barbs over the net and she introduced me to some great people, like author MM Garcia among others.
She also used her graphic design skills, working in collaboration with The Secret Alien, to design the label for my now famous Angry Jew IPA.
So when she began to tell me about the Cherry City Derby Girls, I got a little excited. I followed the on line build up to opening night, my excitement growing as the day I would get to meet my long time friend, who I had now begun to think of as her Derby Persona…2001 A Skate Oddity.
Now Portland has had it’s own Roller Derby Team for a few years now, but this year was to be the debut of the sport in Salem.
The Cherry City Derby Girls are a league that fields two 15 girl teams, The Boneyard Brawlers and The 8 Wheel Assassins. There are also about another 30 girls who are their “Fresh Meat”. They even have their own all male “pep squad” know as The FearLeaders.
The FearLeaders work the crowd
Each girl adopts a derby name and persona. With names like Flea Bitten Kitten, Summer Bitches, Areola 51 and Leika Virgin, one can easily deduce that their is a certain amount of sex driving the sport. I can already hear the tight ass, angry, hasn’t been laid since the Reagan days crowd whining about the objectification of women. Well ladies, all I can say is, YOU go get out on the track with them. These are strong women who would serve any young girl as excellent role model. How many other examples can you show me of women who are strong AND sexy.
It was clear and cool outside the Salem Fairgrounds Pavilion when The Secret Alien and I arrived Saturday night. We were among the first to arrive, partially because I wanted a chance to observe the crowd and partially because I had spaced buying the tickets in advance.
We found ourselves sandwiched between a Derby Mom there to to see her daughter skate in her first match and a Star Trek Geek.
The Secret Alien Chats With A Derby Mom and a new found friend
We were quickly joined by bikers, heavy metal rockers, the pierced and tattooed counter culture crowd and the mundane but curious. While there were plenty of friends and family in evidence, as the crowd swelled , it became apparent that The Cherry City Derby Girls had a following before they ever hit the track.
The Crowd Grows
Every once in a while. the girls would pop out in costume to check out the crowd. As the line outside the pavilion grew longer and longer, you could see the pleasure in their faces at the turn out. The FearLeaders were working up and down the line, handing out candy to the kids and doing their very best to get the crowd fired up. You could see that most of the crowd was really not very sure what to expect, so they were a little reserved.
That all changed when the doors opened at 6.
After a quick stop for The Secret Alien to get his junk food on at the concession stand, we headed into the arena to grab some seats. We opted to sit on the floor in The Crash Zone, an area at the bottom of the flat oval that served as the track. In other words, if a girl slid out of control coming into the turn, The Secret Alien, myself and our fellow fans would act as convenient padding. Well, there are worse ways to go.
The Angry Jew in The Crash Zone
It was not long at all before the arena was filled to capacity. I later found out that 2,000 tickets were pre-sold for the event and another 1,000 were sold at the gate.
The night’s festivities were kicked off by The Ringmaster welcoming us, followed by a slow speed demonstration masterfully handled by Texas Hold Me and The Fresh Meat Girls. It left me with enough understanding of the skills I was about to see demonstrated on the track. For the curious, I found this great video that explains the sport.
After the singing of the National Anthem, the ladies took the track and the game began.
Along with the rest of the crowd, my excitement grew as I began to understand what was happening just feet away from me. Elbows flew, girls went down, points were scored, Jams were called. The crowds roar increased with each “Jam” as they quickly picked out favorite players and choose their teams. The first thirty minute period ended with The 8 Wheel Assassins in a commanding lead over the Boneyard Brawlers.
The Secret Alien, somewhat dejected at the fact that not a single example of eight wheeled hotness had landed in his lap, and I headed outside to replenish our nicotine levels during the half time break. When we stepped outside, we were greeted by the largest group of nicotine fiends I have seen in some time.
MY PEOPLE!!!
Another unexpected treat was being joined by several players, either grabbing a quick smoke themselves or mingling with friends, family and new found fans. Some of the girls were positively glowing with their new found popularity. Lets see you get that up close and personal at a Blazer game.
We re-entered the arena in time to catch part of the half time entertainment, Salem based band Quandry and fire dancers from The Apocalyptica Fire Factory and get a little face time with 2001 A Skate Oddity.
The Angry Jew and 2001 A Skate Oddity....HOTTT
The Secret Alien and I had lost our spots in the Crash Zone and had to console ourselves by holding up a wall, wanting to remain at the floor level for the second half of the match.
The Boneyard Brawlers made a valiant attempt at a come back in the second period, but in the end, they were unable to overcome the lead held by the Assassins.
Not that it seemed to matter all that much to the girls.
From the tired grins all around, you could tell that winning to was just the icing. The cake was seeing their dream succeed beyond what I am sure was many of their wildest expectations. As they accepted the accolades of friends, family and fans, signing autographs for young girls with wheels in their eyes , you could easily see that every girl there was a winner on opening night.
2001 A Skate Oddity And Her Young Fans
Why do they do it?
Well if you ask 2001 A Skate Oddity, she will tell you “I am an athlete”.
One of the Fresh Meat girls told me “I am a wife, a mother and this is MY thing.”
This is MY thing
What is Roller Derby?
Think Circus Maximus in fish net stockings, gold lamee bloomers and a heavy metal soundtrack.
