Life or Death Decision

McMurphy: They was giving me ten thousand watts a day, you know, and I'm hot to trot! The next woman takes me on's gonna light up like a pinball machine and pay off in silver dollars!
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest


I don't know how many watts they'll be giving me tomorrow, but they are going to give me some. My cold, hard heart has been beating out of rhythm for nine or ten days now so I'm going to the hospital in the morning where they are going to put electric paddles on my sternum, yell "clear", (you've all seen this on "ER") and shock the damn thing back into normal ( or, sinus) rhythm. They'll knock me out with a sedative first and when I wake up I'll be all better, not to mention the paying off in silver dollars thing. I've had this procedure before, so not to worry, I'll be back on the ice playing hockey on Friday. An interesting after-effect is that there will be a puck-sized circular burn mark on my back. That electricity goes right through ya...

Unless I die. This is apparently a possibility inasmuch as the first question they asked me last week at a pre-procedure appointment was, "Do you have a Living Will?"

Since I don't, I talked it over with Jeannie and we (okay, I) decided that if I wind up brain dead --I know, how are they gonna be able to tell, right? -- I don't care how much it costs the insurance company, I want to be kept alive. Sure, I'll look like I'm suffering what with the tossing and the turning and all, but what the hell, I'm brain-dead. How will I know if I'm suffering? It's not like I'm going to care. Besides, they've got all this stem cell research going on now. Eventually they're going to come up with a way to bring my brain stem back to life. And then it's payback time, baby. Take, for example, my daughter who has a surprisingly smart mouth which I have no idea whatsoever where she got it from. When she gets mad at me, which is essentially the same thing as saying, "every day", she tells me that her mother is going to wind up in the good nursing home and I'll be stuck in the one with the sub-standard care. The one with the crummy food and the black-and-white TV, etc. Ha, baby. If this things works out right, guess who's going to be putting who in a nursing home?

Anyway, I better put my affairs in order. So, I am sorry if I pissed off Seattle Dan and Tammy for saying Robert Creamer sucks over at the Generals place a few weeks ago. I'm actually sorrier about the fact that Creamer sucks than I am about saying he sucks, but I hate that I may have offended the two of them and for that I apologize and heartily recommend Jackson Street Books for all your reading needs. Support your independent bookstore! (I don't know if they stock The Gods of Olympia Stadium, but I'm sure they can find out where to get you a copy. Of course, if you want your copy personalized you should hope I don't die and such.)

To my friend Jay whom I dearly love and who has been pondering the meaning of life and the ways of the human heart and spirit for as long as I have known him which is, frankly, way too goddamn long, here's the deal:

Aw, screw it. I can't get e-blogger to insert a freaking video for me, for crying out loud. Here's the low-tech solution, the URL:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWVshkVF0SY

That should set you straight.

Frap. It looks like I'm gonna die, after all. I just saw Jacoby Ellsbury steal home and I've never seen somebody straight out steal home live before and I've been watching ball on TV and in person since '63. Frap. Oh, well. It's been fun.

I'll post up tomorrow (Monday) night and I'll see all you pussies on the ice Friday noon, 'kay?