Red Tiger Striped Ludwig Standard Drum Set

 The Foo Fighter's RUN video has a red tiger striped Ludwig Standard drum set that looks like my kit, made in the early 60s in the US by Ludwig.  I'd never seen this set before...  

Taylor's normal set is a Gretsch ... so the old Ludwig was probably just what they had on the video recording set.  And for the record, Dave is and has always been a better drummer than Taylor.  Taylor is not bad, but Dave is a monster on the kit.  I thoroughly enjoy trying to emulate Dave Grohl's work, and work up quite a sweat when I do.

Carlsbad Cardiac Conscious Rodents?

On Sunday evening, I noticed 3 twigs of chrysanthemum plant leaves laying haphazardly on the ground in my backyard, near my grill.  "How did those get there?" I thought, as they were a good 10 to 15 feet away from the LARGE potted chrysanthemum plant Dr Desert Flower has near the outdoor fireplace in the backyard.  I picked them up, examined the stems closely, and it looked distinctly as if a rodent had chewed them off, dragged them away... and then got distracted or detected or possibly had to evade being eaten by an owl or something else, and just dropped them in front of the grill.  So I set them over onto a raised planter near the grill, and made a mental note:  "On Monday, take these to the green trash can", since it was dusk and we've got an abundance of orb web weaving spiders and I really Really REALLY dislike walking into any spider web and getting it on my face, with or without a spider on the web.

To my surprise, this morning (Monday morning, 31 August as I write this), I went out into the backyard in full day light, to fetch the chewed off branches.  They Were Gone.  Only thing left was a sad, trodden, tiny fragment of one of the 3 branches.  I was perplexed.  Where did these large, sandal sized branches go?  Then I remembered, we've got "citrus rats" (AKA Southern California rats that enjoy eating citrus... sounds better that way) and California Ground Squirrels.  Both are about the size of a men's size 12 sneaker, and are large enough to set off wildlife cameras in the yard.  The sadly squished single remanent was not much bigger than a sprig of parsley you might get at a restaurant, and obviously was not worth dragging away by the large nocturnal rodent who had gnawed off the other 3 branches.

Today, I tried to search for "chrysanthemum lined rat nests" and "+chrysanthemum rodent toxicity" and "+chrysanthemum +rat +nest".  I have known that chrysanthemums are used in natural "green" pesticides along with rosemary and peppermint, as many insects abhor and avoid these plants for the scents and toxins carried within them.  One time when we lived in South Carolina, I watched a Japanese beetle land on a marigold plant next to the driveway, take one bite, and fall over dead, instantly.  A few weeks later, I saw the same thing happen to another beetle who landed on a chrysanthemum plant, chomped it, and rolled over onto the ground on its back, legs in the air, twitching momentarily, and then died.  Granted, these were tiny insects, and dosage matters, so the rats (or perhaps squirrels?) won't die from nesting with chrysanthemum... but do they know the holistic benefits of having chrysanthemum lined nests to dissuade fleas and ticks from feeding on their children?  "My momma taught me, when I was a little rat, to always line the nest with chrysanthemum, yes she did!"

Or were these rats voracious readers of Chinese studies of the effects of concentrated chrysanthemum extract on myocardial fibrosis in rats with renovascular hypertension? 

link here:  https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/32186102/   and link here: https://pubs.acs.org/doi/10.1021/jf062088r  (Absorption and Excretion of Luteolin and Apigenin in Rats after Oral Administration of Chrysanthemum morifolium Extract)

I don't know for sure.  There are so damn many H1B visa holders in Southern California that the rodents in my yard might have been participants in the aforementioned scientific studies for all I know? (taking away jobs and resources from Umerikun rodents!  "Make 'Merica rat infested again!" [makes as much sense as Drumpf's inane con-man slogans that only the most gullible of American citizens embrace, hook, line, and sinker]).  

All along the Southern side of my property there's a 6 ft high wall that separates my yard from the neighbor's, and it is covered in jasmine and mandevilla vines.  My hypothesis is that there's a rat family living in the thick vines on top of the wall, and they wanted to help discourage parasites from living in their nest... or they're cardiac research scientist rats who are squatting without paying rent.  Not sure - and no, I'm not the president of the USA in Idiocracy.  

My son's eulogy

  

My son, Nathan Jr,  passed away recently, unexpectedly.  We held a Covid compliant funeral and limited attendance wake in Charleston SC, where he lived for the last 15 years. Today, on August 30th, we had a zoom video conference for friends and family who could not travel to Charleston.  The following is what I said about my son, introducing the videos and slide show memorials:

Thank you everyone for coming today, and taking time out of your morning or afternoon, depending on where you are geographically.  Our son Christopher, as many of you have heard, unexpectedly died in his sleep the night of August 15th.  He was 33 years old.  He had a mild case of Covid back in June, but he appeared to get better after a few days.  We do not know why he died, as the autopsy was inconclusive, but the coroner is running more tests that should be complete in mid September.  We may never know exactly what took our son from this world, but we Do Know what a wonderful person Christopher was, and how many thousands of lives he touched in such meaningful, positive, caring, empathetic, helpful, compassionate, funny, inspiring, motivating, passionate, hilarious, insightful, musical, useful, intelligent, genuine, loving and kind ways.  His passing leaves an enormous singularity, a voracious black hole that is tearing at the very fabric of our hearts.

Our son Christopher was magnetic.  People were intrinsically drawn to him, and loved being around him.  His mother and I raised him, and it appears - from the 100s of FaceBook and Instagram posts, from the 100s of his friends in Charleston who loved him, and from the stories his childhood friends keep sharing with me - that we raised an amazing person, a good human, as my friends and former colleagues in Bangalore would say.  Over the last 2 weeks since his passing, I've lost count of the number of men and women who have told me

- I wouldn't have the job I have today, if it was not for your son

- Christopher built my first bike

- Your son helped me move

- I would not have stayed in school in Charleston and graduated if not for your son, because I knew I would not be able to be around him if I left

- Chris walked me home and made sure I got there safely when I had too much to drink

- Your son taught me everything I know about lighting

- Your son trained me as a bartender

- Christopher always listened to me; you always knew he authentically cared

- I could always count on your son when I needed help; I'd call him and he was always right there

- He always made me feel at home, and made me feel that I mattered

I always knew he was an exceptional person, but his passing has clearly shown me the countless lives he selflessly helped.  Our son inspired others, usually in positive, creative, productive, meaningful ways.  He led and encouraged and loved those who were inexorably drawn to him.  Much like my father, Chris's grandfather, his Dzia Dzia, Christopher loved engaging everyone in friendly & lively conversation. No one remained a stranger to our son for long.  Our progeny made everyone feel comfortable and welcomed when he was around them.  If you were having a bad day or having a tough time, everyone in Charleston knew they could count on Christopher to help them feel better, to brighten their day.  It was a gift he had, and he gave generously, warmly, selflessly.  For those of you who did not live in Charleston, or who had not seen Christopher very much since he went to college there, our son did not tolerate fools, bullies, meanness, hatred, or racism.  The inequality, brutality and injustice he witnessed first hand this year, as he and other peaceful demonstrators were needlessly tear gassed, shot at, and attacked in-and-around Marion Square across Calhoun street from where he worked at Big Gun, deeply upset our son, and he was struggling to find ways to make his community a better place for everyone.  

He was real, genuine, caring, confident (sometimes overconfident), fearless, fierce, and loving.  Whether you knew him as Chris, Christopher, little Uzbek, Casmir, Nathan Jr, C Papa, or Papa Prolowski, your life was better, enriched, for having known him.   There will never be another Christopher Joseph, but we all can continue to carry part of him within us, his indomitable spirit, on our journeys through life, putting our best effort forward, helping others, rooting for the under-dog, trying to be a good human, and make the world a better place for everyone.  

Losing my son, is the hardest, most difficult thing I've ever had to endure.  Knowing I will never hear his voice again, be able to hug him, play drums with him, travel with him, get a text from him, laugh with him, build and repair things with him, ride bikes with him, share books and music and art with him, trade dad jokes with him,  build sand castles and sand sculptures, walk on the beach and swim in the ocean or sail with him, open Christmas presents with him, see a concert with him, practice yoga or speak French with him, watch a Chicago team usually lose a game on TV with him,  enjoy a delicious meal and savor a good bottle of wine with him, change flat tires or oil with him, go to Costco with him, hike and rock parkour and climb mountains with him, sip a glass of fine quality whiskey with him, dance at weddings with him, watch Raising Arizona with him... these things and so many more, a lifetime more, are memories now.  Christopher would want us to all go on with life, doing the best we can, listening to and genuinely caring about others, helping the helpless, the little guy, the disenfranchised, assisting those in need.  So even though this is the hardest, most difficult thing, we'll do the best we can, as Christopher would want us to, would expect us to do.

What If It Was "Red Lives Matter" Instead?

As a son of European immigrants, and a white male who was born and raised in Northern Indiana, lived & worked in IN, SC, AZ and now California, and who has lived more than 1/2 a century, I've seen many parts of the United States, Europe, Asia, and Australia.  I've had countless civil conversations with men and women of various economic groups, ethnicities, ages, religions, and political affiliations, and usually I've learned something from each of those interactions.

When some of my high school friends embraced right wing politics during or after college, I did not follow them, and scratched my head as to what led them down that path?  When some of my high school friends embraced progressive, socialist, left wing or anarchistic ideologies in college or thereafter, I was busy raising a toddler and being the sole bread winner in my new family's household.  I could relate to the empathy my left leaning friends had for the under-dog, the little guy, the disadvantaged, forgotten, and under-class of society, since I grew up fairly poor myself.

My maternal grandmother would get government cheese at the Senior Center.

At one time in my childhood, my parents applied for food stamps when my father was laid off from Rand McNally as they closed their Hammond IN book printing facility, and dad could not find gainful employment to support the family.  We didn't get it, because we owned a home (with a substantial mortgage) and an old high mileage Pontiac Bonneville that dad used to get to work and then look for jobs when I was in Jr High School. But I understood what it was like to be poor, eat saltines for lunch at school, wear only hand-me-downs, and rely upon my maternal grandparents for food.  I never got an allowance, and didn't understand why any parent would just give their child money that was un-earned.  I had a paper route in 6th and 7th grades, delivering Chicago Tribune, Sun Times, and WSJ to a 8 square block area every morning, rain or shine, on my Schwinn banana seat bike - the Sunday edition of the Tribune was MASSIVE.  So I have first-hand experience with pulling myself up by my "boot straps", having had nothing handed to me or my family from the state or federal government.  But my father was able to get a loan for his house in a majority blue collar suburb of Chicago, where lots of Poles, Slavs, Germans, Hungarians, Irish, Hispanic, Italians, and Scandinavians lived.  He got a unionized job in a book bindery before I was born, and for most of my childhood, we were in pretty good shape.

Just a few miles away, in Gary IN, most of the city was not in very good shape economically.  The steel mills all began to close in the 1980s, and the tax revenues dried up in Gary, Easy Chicago, Hammond, and Whiting.  Street lights, traffic signals, and general infrastructure broke down and didn't get repaired.  The majority of Gary entered an economic malaise from which they've never really recovered.  The majority of Gary was also African American.  But what if the majority of Gary's citizens, instead of being African American, were caucasian and all had red hair?  I know this might sound silly or absurd, but give me a minute or two to explain.

Since Memorial Day 2020, when George Floyd was publicly murdered by Minneapolis police and recorded by civilians as it happened, all 50 states in the US, and many countries around the world, have seen widespread public protests against racism and police brutality against black and brown people.  What if George Floyd, instead of being a large man who was a former NCAA basketball playing African American, was a large red haired caucasian?  And what if every black and brown person who have been beaten or killed or wrongly convicted by the legal system had red hair and white (probably freckled) skin?


Hold that thought in your head for a moment.  Replace "black skin" with "red hair and white skin".  You can certainly SEE that someone has red hair, up-close, or from far away.  Many of them are originally from Scotland, Ireland, or Scandinavian countries, where the genes for red hair are not rare.  Red haired folks are no different than brown haired, black haired, blond haired, or gray haired folks, but you can immediately see that they've got red hair.  Take off a red haired person's hat, and there is no ambiguity that they are indeed red haired.  Many red haired men often grow beards, which show off their red hair even more.

As I kept hearing "all lives matter", and "blue lives matter" and white folks call in to shows on the radio (NPR) say "you have to first acknowledge there's discrimination AGAINST white people, before we can talk about black lives matter" it began to become very clear to me.  Many white people have a BIG problem with the word "black" because of the systemic racism within their narrow view of society in which they were raised and have been living their whole lives, racism that Most of them are not consciously aware that they are practicing.  So imagine a world for a moment, where there were NO BLACK PEOPLE, whatsoever, and probably no brown people either, for this analogy to work and make sense for the white people who read it.  Instead of African Americans being the most discriminated and disadvantaged folks in the United States, RED HAIRED folks took their place.

Think about that, for minute, especially if you're white.

Say that all red haired folks couldn't get VA loans when they left the military, because of the color of their hair.  They couldn't live in nice neighborhoods, without the KKK burning crosses in their lawns, throwing bricks through their windows, and hanging nooses from their trees.  Red haired folks were denied job interviews, jobs, home loans, entry into the best schools, entry into non-red-haired "christian" churches in the Southern United States. They were severely beaten and hospitalized when walking their girl friend home at 3am in Charleston by 5 blond and brown haired guys wearing College of Charleston shirts. Imagine that Red haired folks had been brought to the US in chains from Scotland and Ireland and Scandinavia and forced to work as slaves on cotton, tobacco, rice, and sugar plantations, mostly in the South, but some in the rest of the country as well.  When red haired kids tried to enter segregated public schools in Alabama, Arkansas and Mississippi they had police dogs set on them, were fire hosed, and beaten, all because of the color of their hair.

What if red haired folks created better music, more meaningful and soulful and powerful lyrics and rhythms, that they called blues, jazz, gospel and many other genres that blond and brown and black haired artists appropriated, imitated, and played for blond and brown and black and gray haired crowds in bars and concert halls and churches, where red haired folks were not allowed to enter?  What if blond and brown and black haired daughters liked red haired boys, but were forbidden to hang out with or date those red haired boys?  What if the N word was replaced with the G word (ginger)?  And one red haired person could call another red haired person the G word, but no one else was allowed to use it in conversation, in a tweet, on-air broadcasts, in social media, or anywhere else without repercussions?

What if, in the Fortune 500 companies, there were only 4 red haired CEOs, even though red haired folks comprised more than 10% of the US population?  What if red haired folks were 2.5X more likely to die from Covid-19 infections than their blond, black, brown, and gray haired counterparts?  Because of the systemic fear, structural racism, and discrimination against red haired folks, a large percentage of them worked in lower paying service professions, like security guard, bus driver, janitor, short haul truck driver, and health care assistants, and during periods of economic downturns, they were impacted disproportionately to their size in the general population?  What if the relatively few economically successful red haired folks who were judges, US senators, plant managers, or PhD scholars were routinely hassled and scrutinized, delayed by police, security guards, TSA, and retail store loss prevention personnel? "Why is a red haired person like you driving this really nice car?"

If you were a police officer (city or county) in this all white society where red haired folks were routinely discriminated against, you might be fearful of those citizens with red hair.  They have "fiery tempers" after all, and everyone knows "red haired women are trouble" while all non-red haired men know that many red haired women are "crazy".  Broken tail light, failure to use a turn signal, "fitting the description" of a red haired suspect... all of these would be opportunities to pull over a red haired driver, interrogate them - often rudely and with excessive force - and take them in for further questioning when the red haired driver, who was minding their own business and usually did nothing wrong, began to get irritated that they're being hassled for no reason whatsoever... oh... wait... yeah, they have Red Hair.  In the eyes of many of the blond, brown, black, and gray haired officers, most red haired folks "all look alike".

What if in Tulsa OK on Memorial Day 1921, the most prosperous part of the city, known as "Red Wall Street", 35 square blocks, was looted and then burnt down by non-red haired people, while Army Air Corp biplanes dropped petrol bombs on the district, with more than 400 red haired men, women, and children, massacred?  (without a single prosecution, and with zero insurance claims paid)  What if in Chicago Illinois, on the Lake Michigan lake-front beach in 1919, a red haired teenager swam over to the non-red-haired beach, across an imaginary line, that got him stoned to death by all the non-red swimmers?  And then the non-red swimmers went on a rampage killing 150 red haired citizens, and burnt down 1.1 billion dollars worth of red-haired owned homes and businesses in Chicago?  What if all red haired men were called "boy" or "uncle", instead of "mister" or "sir" when they were spoken to by someone with blond, brown, or black hair.

So if you personally have a problem with the phrase "Black Lives Matter", as I first did many years ago the first few times I heard it in my 40s, where I kept telling myself "no, all lives matter, not just black ones" ... then you really should stop for a moment, replace "Black" with "Red" and remember this context.  Think about the analogy I make here, about a country where everyone is white (no black or brown people whatsoever), but the red haired citizens consistently the short end of the stick, a raw deal, a violent and forceful shove back down the ladder of success by all the other citizens who don't have red hair.  Even if they have boot straps, the systematic barriers non-red society has repeatedly placed in their way have made it remarkably hard for the vast majority of red haired folks to succeed, prosper, and be on equal footing under the US Constitution, after the 13th Amendment was passed in December 1865, just 155 years ago.

If reading this has changed even one person's mind or opened their eyes to the reality that the majority of African Americans live in the United States are subject to just because of the color of their skin, then it was worth writing.

Note:  I have many red haired friends, former class mates, colleagues, acquaintances and neighbors.  All of whom are nice people.  I hope such discrimination and anti-red-haired hatred is never focused upon them, as stated in this analogy.  I was going to try "blue eyes" or "bald" or "left handed" but none of those aspects are instantly recognizable, from afar or by law enforcement officers, so I kept coming back to red hair in my mind.

Correcting Degenerative Spondylosis

When I was unexpectedly let got my my employer of nearly 20 years back in 2017, I threw myself into a physical fitness regimen to occupy my time and work on chronic health issues that had been bugging me for several decades.  I was determined to lower my A1C, try and get ab definition, improve my aerobic capacity, and increase my yoga practice from 2 or 3 times a week to 5 or 6.  For about 9 months of 2017, I was successful in working towards my goals and making significant progress.  A1C lowered by a whole digit.  First time in 1/2 a century I went from Michelin Man torso to almost a semblance of abs and ribs and lats definition.  Practiced yoga so much that I began to name the pelicans who soared over the South Ponto cliffs where I practiced each day.  After 60 to 90 minutes of yoga and crunches and extended plank poses, I ran the 93 stairs from parking lot to top of cliffs, 10 or 12 or 15 times in a row, pushing myself to go as fast as possible, taking 2 to 3 stairs at a time, going both up and down.

This ledge no longer exists, since a fancy coastal hotel has destroyed the bluff over-look which is now apparently private property.

This is where I made a BIG mistake.

An aging guy in his 50s shouldn't be trying to do Parkour (as I had previously in Orange County at the beach on the massive rocks there), or extreme stair running.  All of that IMPACT did not do my hips, knees, or spine any favors, as I thudded down the stairs and sprinted up them at a running pace.  The whole time I was driving down my A1C and helping my muscle groups to develop, I was causing high cycle fatigue to damage my hip joints and spine (L4-l5-S1) with all the cumulative impacts.  In 2018, I found a new job here locally in Carlsbad, and cut my yoga back to twice a week, along with stair running just twice a week.  In 2019 some developers destroyed the South Ponto Beach cliffs with a high end boutique hotel construction project that blocked the top of the stairs and eliminated the pretty spot in all of Carlsbad where anyone could practice yoga, a hundred feet above the ocean with an on-shore breeze.

Also in 2019, I began to limp as my right hip started to show significant signs of wear.  My lower spine felt akin to "a stack of tea cups and saucers" that were ready to tip over and crash, if I did something as "extreme" as reaching 2 or 3 feet diagonally in front of me, my back popped, felt like it was going to collapse, and drove significant chronic sciatica on my right side all the way down my right leg.  In the 2nd 1/2 of 2019, I had a series of X-rays and MRIs that revealed Spondylosis, disc generation, leg nerve impingement, and 4 mm of misalignment on L4-L5-S1.  My orthopedist explained that the minor misalignment was not a huge issue, but the nerve impingement would only continue to get worse.  My right leg would sometimes "go out" for a step or two, as if it was no longer attached.  Then it would come back.  The ortho explained that the frequency and duration of the absentee-right leg would increase over time, as the nerve got further crushed.
The recommended solution, as to do an ALIF, Anterior Lumbar Inter-fusion, where they cut you from belly button down the middle, open up your abs, move over all your sacked intestines in-tact to the right side, scoot over your aorta and vena cava, and access the front of your spine to excavate (medical dremel tool) the front of your disks & vertebrae,  inserting titanium cages that have allograft adult stem cells inside of them to encourage your spine to accept them.  Then they turn you over on a sandwich bed in which you, the patient, are the meat of the sandwich.  Once on your stomach, two Large slits are cut on your left and right lumbar muscles along the muscle fibers, and screws and tie rods are installed on the back side to stabilize all the cage and allograft work that was just done on the front side.  After a 6 to 8 hour surgery, you stay in the hospital 3 to 5 days, and you DON'T BLT (Bend, Lift, Twist) for the next 3 months, minimum, wearing a little back brace that covers the 3 incisions, but which does not Prevent you from Bending, Lifting, or Twisting.  "How will I know if I've gone too far?" I asked the Doctor and his RN.  "The pain will tell you".   This freaked me out before surgery, as I tried on the back brace a week before the operation, having wrongly assumed it would be a confining corset that would not let me move.  I can move a great deal in the back brace. My body screams at me when I've moved too far.

So 16 days ago, on Monday morning at 530am, I had my ALIF surgery with the posterior back hardware reinforcements completed.  At the 6 hour mark (of the 8 hour estimate) the orthopedic surgeon came out to talk to Dr Desert Flower to tell her I was fine and everything went well, while his PA apparently closed up my sutures. An hour later in recovery, I kept complaining that "a giant is kneeling on my back's left side!" (the side that previously had not hurt at all).  The pain meds flowed freely Monday and early Tuesday, and I complained very little. On Wednesday I was weening myself off the pain meds, and feeling good enough to come home.  Thursday DDF brought me home, and I've been rather sedentary since October 25th, as my spine slowly builds bone around the titanium hardware and the 3 separate spinal bones become one longer, strong bone fused together.

I had sought out a 2nd opinion, which took 2 weeks before planning the surgery, since DDF's employer based health insurance has a 2nd opinion consulting service where they get experts from Cleveland Clinic and Mayo Clinic to review the case.  The 2nd opinion concurred with he ALIF.  The 2nd opinion also concurred that fixing the spine has to happen before repairing the damaged right hip joint, or a substantially increased risk of hip joint dislocation could happen if the spinal fusion was attempted after a hip replacement.  I spoke to the VP of Business Development at OrthoFix about the Phoenix NXG system that was going to be installed into my body.  He was a very helpful person who spoke confidently and intelligently about OrthoFix's products, regulatory body approvals, Quality System, FDA approvals and recalls, and fielded hardware installations that number in the 10s of thousands when Gen 2 and Gen 3 (current) are considered together, since Gen 3 is not much different that Gen 2.  As a life long engineer interested in quality aspects of premium products, this comforted me somewhat, and I thanked the VP for his openness and time.

The merciful NSAIDs I'd been taking for my hip were discontinued October 14th, a week before spine surgery, since NSAIDs inhibit new bone growth.  Now I'm just on the Tylenol, but sometimes the Tylenol has hydrocodone or Oxycodone in it, when the pain gets above a 5 on the 1-10 pain scale.  I'm actively trying to not become dependent on the narcotics, so I endure a 1-3 or 1-4 level until I feel it crescendoing towards a 5 or 7 or 8.   The first week at home was relatively pain free, with barely 1 out of a possible 8 pain killers being taken each day.  Then, on Saturday November 2nd, we had friends over, and I over-did it with activity, grilling, refilling hummingbird feeders, going in and out of the house, and Saturday night my left leg - the one that has a good hip and never hurt me previously - was in tremendous pain all night, resistive to any narcotics, and preventing sleeping more than 20 minutes at a time.  Sunday I rested, sedentary, but Sunday night was no better.  Monday I rested again, and finished a good book on the Tulsa 1921 Memorial Day massacre where state sanctioned mob violence destroyed the African American section of Tulsa burning down 1100 buildings and leaving 5000 people homeless (there will be a blog posting on this later, here).  My doctor's office has advised that I Carefully and Cautiously stretch while laying on my back, to bring my knees to my chest and straighten my legs without bending my spine.  I hope it works tonight... zobaczymy.
My cousin and one of my co-workers had this same spinal surgery on their necks, where the wind pipe and throat are moved over and hardware installed on the cervical vertebrae.  Both my cousin and my co-worker told me the importance of stretching after surgery, with reasonable limits... and once all the bones are fully fused in 9 to 12 months, that I'll need to stretch every day to avoid stiffening up and getting sore again.   So I have that to look forward to as well.

Next October (2020) I get to have my right hip joint replaced, since the protective cartilage is completely gone and I'm bone-spur-to-bone-spur grinding whenever I walk and load the right hip.  Getting old is So Much Fun!

Promises vs Reality, Mexico

On my Aeromexico flight from LAX to Monterrey Mexico this morning, I was unexpectedly upgraded to Business Class.  Instead of a cramped coach seat in this Embraer 190 (2 x 2 seating in the back, 1 + 2 seating in business class, x four rows), I have a rather spacious left hand 3A seat, with a window all to myself and no neighbor.  Very nice.

Not having flown Aeromexico Business class for many years, I was curious as to what kind of alcohol they might serve.  I of course, looked at their in-fight magazine and immediately located the whiskey.  Whiskey Bushmills - international flight…. well, that’s what I’m on.  Cognac Courvosier - International Flight.  Mmmmm, choices choices.  I also noted that they had Johnny Walker black for those who love peat and smoke, various beers, 2 tequilas, 2 vodkas, and one rum (or Ron).  The white wine list included a Bordeaux, a California Chardonnay, a Riesling, and 2 others.  2 bubblies, and 3 or 4 reds. I’d ask for Courvosier, then go to the Bushmills if they didn’t have it, and then step down to the vino blanco if that was low as well.

“Courvosier Cognac, por favor” I said in my best Spanish to the flight attendant.  I received a blank stare.  I showed the flight attendant the page from GranPlan Aire magazine.  She looked, and said “whiskey?”  Si, Bushmills whiskey for favor.  She then walked back up to the front of the plane, 10 feet away, and opened a 1750 ml bottle of Johnny Walker Black, pouring me a generous serving.  Not my favorite by far, but drinkable compared to its red cousin, that is better off thrown as a molotov cocktail.  After lunch was served she politely asked if I wanted more whiskey.  “No gracias. Vino blanco for favor”.  I am now on my 3rd glass of vino blanco - I am not driving when I get to Monterrey.

Why am I not working? - you might ask?  Well, the company paid for a non-refundable cheap coach class ticket, where there is not room to open a lap top.  I’m up in business class not because of work, but because of the funerals and vacations I’ve taken with Delta this year that have almost made me gold medallion status.  The domestic and Tijuana based work flights I’ve taken have barely moved the needle.  If work wants me to work on a flight, they can pay for business class, and i will drink less, work more, and be a happier camper.  After 5 decades on this mortal coil, I have no patience for trying to placate cheap employers who drive to the lowest common denominator.  Therefore, I am composing my first blog post in many many many months.

I named this post “Promises vs Reality” because in Mexico, there are No Shortage of lofty promises.  Can you makes these parts? Si.  Can you meet the delivery date?  Si.  Will the parts be made from American bar stock and sheet metal?  Si.  Can you mark each part according to the instructions on the specification?  Si.  All promises made to try and make the customer happy.  None of the promises were kept…  no, not even slightly, remotely, partially kept.  Late parts, unmarked, with no data, made from very cheap Chinese sheet stock… a lie on every front.   This is what the last 4 months of dealing with Mexican suppliers has been for me.  And today’s Aeromexico flight is emblematic of what I’ve seen at various supplier throughout Mexico this year.  

No one ever wants to tell you know…  but they will slowly show you (demonstrating) no.

At least I got to sit in a nice, comfortable seat to compose this post... unexpectedly pleasant.  

Please, Let This Be The LAST Jedi

We went as a family this afternoon to see "Episode VIII The Last Jedi" at the San Marcos Regal Theater.  I'd hoped it would be better than Episodes I, II, and III... and it was, for the most part.  The Original Star Wars (Episode IV) still remains the best, most impactful, memorable Lucas Film of the series, in my humble opinion.  This Last Jedi could probably have been much shorter, included fewer meaningless plot dead-ends, and flowed better than it actually did in the film we just saw... but that's probably the grumpy old man in me commenting openly ("back in my day, you cut people in half with light sabers; you didn't stab them!").

Sure, it was a western / space opera with multiple themes introduced, but it was not the tour de force that the lonnnnng intro & ramp up led the movie-goer to believe.  Hamil goes out far better than Ford went out, in Episode VII, and some of Fisher's appearances look almost computer generated, in the varied lighting she is depicted compared to those with whom she is speaking to or interacting with.  Admiral Ackbar, sadly, is no more.

Several issues I had with the film that still stick in my craw are:
- in space, you don't need bombers (there's only microgravity, or no gravity)
- furry penguins should be delicious, or comical, but not both
- tasting white crystals form the ground, is stupid & potentially deadly (could have been anything more toxic than just salt)
- since when are dueling weapons strong enough to withstand a light saber blade? (in IV-VI there was nothing stronger than a light saber blade)
- if the evil emperor is so knowing and omniscient, why would he be so careless to leave Luke's lightsaber on an oversized arm rest next to him?
- if a ship can be piloted into light speed directly in the path of enemy ships to obliterate through them, why wait until 80% of your fleet is blasted into nothing before making that last spectacular jump?
- if a casino full of the top 1% of the 1% of war profiteers is so opulent, why do they have only 5 cloaked foot guards and 2 little flying police cars?  (ever been to Monaco? I have...)
- if a rebel fleet is trying to run away on regular engines, and are running out of fuel, why doesn't the Imperial fleet just just into hyperspace ahead of the fleeing ship, surround it, tractor beam it, and obliterate it (or force it to surrender)?

Much of the film, depressingly, appears to be made to introduce more toys, more marketing, more character "bling" and accessories that I, as an adult man, could not give a care about.  ALL the previews leading up to the film (we got there 25 minutes early to get good seats) were for inane movies and products that I could not care less about seeing, buying, or mentioning here... but obviously idiocracy seems to be crazy about them.  There were no less than 3 major motion pictures previewed that are coming out that were video game extensions of concepts or movies that I consider irrelevant.  Just because making a CGI model is possible, doesn't mean it Should Be Made, every time.

If you're a HUGE Star Wars fan...  enjoy.  It's not that bad.  I just hope it's the Last Star Wars film I see now that all of the original characters, expect the droid and Chewbacca are gone (and Carrie Fisher is gone in the real world).

Three Billboards

Last night, Nathan Jr, Dr Desert Flower and I went to the old La Paloma theater in Encinitas where they were showing Three Billboards Outside of Ebbing, Missouri.  We'd heard it was good.  Mistakenly thought it was a Coen Brothers movie, as Francis McDormand is it in the lead role,  and the 90 year old La Paloma was somewhere we'd never been, so we bought our tickets in cash at the old time box office (they don't take credit cards), sat in the dilapidated non-reclining seats (circa 1928), and breathed the chilly air of the theater, waiting for the show to being.

It is a somber, moving film.  It is a Very Violent film.  It is a sad film.  It's a well acted and well directed film.  And, as someone who lived in semi-rural the South for 16 years of his adult life, I'd say it is a fairly accurate depiction of life, prejudices, and culture in rural American "fly-over" country.   Beautiful country-side combined with a deep, thick, undercoat of lawlessness and a loose-sense of imposed community that often times runs no deeper than superficial pleasantries.

Francis McDormand should win an Oscar or Golden Globe for her role.  Woody Harrelson is great in it, throughout.  Sam Rockwell - who admittedly is NOT one of my favorite actors as he often plays a goof (Hitchhiker's Guide), clown, a fool, a cocky & flawed playboy (F is for Family) - makes you Hate him, viscerally in the first 2/3rds of the film.  Clarke Peters (Lester, from The Wire) is under-stated in the movie.  I don't want to spoil it, but it was both a great movie and very disturbing at the same time.

After the movie, we were all somewhat down, silent, depressed, retrospective... pondering life & existence... akin to how my buddy Ryan and I were after seeing Schindler's List in Atlanta back in 1993, but without the genocide.  So we got a good meal and some strong drinks at the Encinitas Bier Garden, before driving back up to the homestead.

What To Expect After Elbow Surgery

So back in July, I posted here (link here) that I'd screwed up my olecranon bursa on my left elbow by jamming it tween the arm rest and the fuselage of a 4 hour Delta flight to Cincinnati at Just the Wrong angle.  The bursa ruptured, made my arm swell, heat up (infection), and was painful.  If I tried to load it working out with free weights, working in my yard with hedge clippers, or doing yoga (like plank pose) the elbow was painful, wobbly, and no fun.

Bryce Canyon (not how it is not "smooth")

I took methyl prednisone (at the advice and Rx of an Urgent Care doc here in Carlsbad) to make the swelling go do and relieve the pain.  The steroids worked, But, the insidious damage had already begun on the bone itself, following the bursa rupture.  The bursa fluid provided food for naturally occurring bacteria (like staph) to feast upon, and the bones where it spilled (the ulna, for example) provided an Excellent network of a narrow lattice-like maze where the staph could eat, breed, and hide from white blood cells (lymphocytes) whose job it was to envelope and kill the invading bacteria.  Problem is, the white blood cells are larger than the bacteria, and can't get into all the nooks and crannies of the bone lattice work.

The end of each of the arm bones are supposed top be nice, smooth, elliptical shapes, where bursa and synovial fluid sacs keep the hard bone from rubbing against the other hard bone.  The fluid sacs act as cushions, to prevent bone-on-bone damage.  While working out and going to physical therapy with a damaged bursa, the bones were grinding on each other, the bacteria were multiplying and building infected lairs in the bone, and throughout July and August, it kept getting worse.  Bone erosion, bone infection, bursa inflammation... it was a vicious cycle.

So I go to an orthopedist who does an x-ray.  Being versed in radiography, I know how poor the resolution can be on an x-ray, especially when dealing with 3D shapes, since the x-ray is a 2D picture.  X-rays are also notorious for not being able to see much of anything on low density soft tissue and fluids, aka the inflamed bursa and progressing bone infection.  They prescribe more steroids, and tell me to ice my elbow - with a freezing cold ice bath for 15 minutes being the most effective - and continue physical therapy.

As a good patient, I go to PT three times a week, I ice my elbow at least once a day.  It hurts less, but it is still wobbly, and when I try to do heavy lifting (like 180 lbs bench pressing) or heavy curls (like a 65 lbs curl bar) it screams at me in pain, so I stop.  I can do light hedge clipping, but anything requiring significant effort and strength, the left elbow rejects the notion, completely, sends extreme pain signals to the brain, and I halt the activity.

Throughout August I struggle with this troublesome elbow.  It's not getting better, and it seems to progressively becoming slightly worse.  Yoga poses that use my arms become increasingly painful.  Playing drum set is fine for about 5 minutes, but after that, Ouch, Yikes, Stop!  Dancing (with ethanol enhancement) to silly songs like YMCA or Vogue, where hand movements are necessary Truly Aggravate the left elbow and result in pain, swelling, throbbing... driving the infection (that I did not yet know I had) DEEPER into the bone.

Just before Dr Desert Flower and I went to Montpellier France for a work conference at Labor Day that she needed to attend, the elbow started to get red, swollen, and exude puss (yes, very gross).  I go back to my primary care doctor who looks at it, and categorically says "you need dissection, you need packing, you need drainage and vacuum and antibiotics... you Must see an orthopedic surgeon immediately!"  I told her that all orthopedists were booked for at least the next 6 weeks and I had no way of seeing anyone, especially not 2 days before heading to France.  She leapt into action, and made an appointment with Scripps best elbow surgeon that afternoon.  The surgeon re-arranged his schedule, and saw me late that afternoon in his office down in La Jolla.  He took a culture from the oozing elbow, hoping to grow in a lab whatever the infectious agent that was troubling me.  Nothing grew, of course. He also placed me on a massive dose of broad spectrum oral antibiotics (4x a day), to try and kill (or at least subdue / slow the progress) the infection.

He gave me a huge bag of betadine swabs, sterile gauze, ace bandages with velcro, and medical tape to clean and dress the festering elbow while in France.  I dutifully cleaned my elbow with the betadine swabs each day after I showered, and carefully wrapped it in the sterile gauze for the week we were in France.  On the plane ride home, I sat with my arms crossed over my chest, protecting my sensitive elbow from being bumped by other passengers, the passing drink cart, and anything else in the crammed, lemming-like environment that is the coach economy section of international commercial travel, unless you're on Aeroflot.

When I got back to California, I was supposed to have an MRI of my elbow pre-surgery so that the surgeon would know what to expect.  Due to the arcane and byzantine American health care system, the MRI was Still Not approved by United Health care, and I had to waste a day of my life getting an ultrasound of my elbow, instead.  The Scripps elbow ultrasound radiologist took one look at the high resolution image, and said "this is not classical, you'll be getting an MRI".  He pointed to the screen where the contours of Bryce Canyon were showing up on the end of my ulna, instead of the nice smooth egg-shape that was supposed to be there.  Change the angle of the UT probe, and yep, the canyons and valleys and out-cropping were still there, in graphic 3D.  The MRI should confirm it, the radiologist said.  An hour later, United Health Care approved the MRI, and it was schedule for 2 days later, on a Saturday.

The next day (Friday) the Hospital with the MRI machine called, and said they had a last minute opening, am I available?  Unemployed and unable to use my left arm... sure... I was available.  So I got fast-tracked into the MRI the Friday before my surgery on the next Wednesday.  The elbow continued to "weep" out puss over the weekend and right up to the day of surgery.

Holding the vancomycin "hand grenade"

The morning of the surgery, the surgeon's PA (physician's assistant) comes into the pre-op room where I am wearing just a open-backed gown, and asks me "do you know what to expect, what is coming?"  I told her my abbreviated understanding, of surgery, followed by 2 or 3 weeks to let it heal, followed by weeks or months of physical therapy.  "Not quite" was her reply.  She then laid out the whole treatment plan that I had no clue would be so onerous.

It went as follows:
- Wednesday morning surgery to remove the bursa, and pack in antibiotic "beads"
- the infected bone would be removed (picture a medical dremel tool) to 'clean it up'
- stay in the hospital for 2 days, with my arm immobilized in a cast
- go back into surgery on Friday night, and have the beads removed, check on progress of the wound, clean up anything that needs internal clean up
- Saturday, after surgery, if I am stabilized, go home with a fancy portable vacuum pump, that will keep suction on the elbow wound - which they won't stitch closed - to drain fluid and to aid in the healing and closure of the wound over time
- keep the vacuum pump on me for at least 3 weeks, changing the dressing on the elbow with a visiting home health care nurse 3X a week
- install a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) into my right arm, that runs up to my heart's ventricle vestibule, where it will dump out liquid antibiotics that I will infuse at home, twice a day, for 2 hours each dose, for the next 6 weeks
- come back to the doctor's office once a week through this whole process, to check on progress of the wound healing, to take vital signs, and make sure there's no relapse back into infection.

First look at home, after surgery (disgusting, yes)

Ugh!  I had no idea that it would be such a life-halting inconvenience.  If I had been employed at this time, I would have had to take 1/2 days basically EVERY DAY for a month, to deal with this health issue.  Why could they not just stitch up the elbow, like a "normal surgery"?  Then the bursa would not grow back clean and healthy and the bone infection would continue to destroy the ends of my bones.  It needed to heal "from the inside out", and closing the wound before the bursa had fully rebuilt itself from scratch would have a negative prognosis, with re-infection likely.  According to the surgeon, who volunteers much of his time at the local San Diego VA, Afghan and Iraq vets with bone infections from shrapnel fight the infection for months at a time, on and off antibiotics, and the only way to seriously correct the problem is to surgically dissect (dremel tool / bone saw / etc) the infected bone, and then let the body grow it back.

The surgery went fine.  Two hours under general anesthetic.  The final wound was 50 mm long by 20 mm wide by 10 mm deep (or 2" x 1" x 3/8ths of an inch, roughly).  Bursa removed, and 4 mm of ulna dremel tooled off.  Lots of Percocet in the Hospital to deal with the pain.  The re-check 2 days later also went well, beads removed, I was set to leave the hospital on Saturday with my portal vacuum pump... but.. bureaucracy stepped in the way.  Apparently, no one filed the final paper work to get me a pump to take home, send the vancomycin antibiotic to my house, or arrange the home health care nurse visits.  "We're sorry, but you'll need to stay until Monday, or maybe Tuesday, once the paper work is done."  Unacceptable.

The hospital bed was a VERY uncomfortable "smart bed" made by Hill-Rom Versa Care.  It was supposed to "auto adjust" to the patient laying on it.  Instead, all it did, was inflate and deflate, Every Two Minutes, to tilt my pelvis forward and back, legs up slightly, legs down slightly.  It was uncomfortable, disconcerting, disruptive, and impossible to sleep soundly on it.  Whoever the morons at Hill-Rom were who designed this monstrosity obviously never asked for customer feedback.  The nurses Could Not turn off the auto-adjust, or the bed alarmed at the central nurses' station.  Sleeping on this continually moving, hot-and-sweaty, poorly designed, poorly conceived contraption meant that Saturday night in the hospital was a very unhappy & unpleasant & restless experience for me.

Sunday came, and the bureaucrats in "Program Management" continued to drag their feet.  Apparently walking and chewing gum at the same time was a challenge for them.  "We might have a pump delivered after 7pm tonight, but we can't guarantee it... we don't normally discharge patients on weekends".  UGGGHHHH!  And then "Even if you get the pump, we have not gotten any confirmation that you'll get the antibiotics or wound nurse... so it's best to just wait until Monday or Tuesday."  This was not the Riyadh Saudi Arabia Ritz, and I was not enjoying my house arrest.  But my heroic floor nurse "Jose" leapt into action.  Working 7am to 7pm, he forced the system to accept all the discharge paper work, prepped me for going home, and KNEW that if he didn't get me out before the end of his shift, I'd be stuck in the hospital for Sunday night unnecessarily.  Jose's efforts were successful; the pump arrived at 7pm, we left at 730pm, and the antibiotics showed up on our door step via courier at 1030pm.


Then, everyday, from October 16th through November 22nd, twice a day, I had to sit and infuse my IV antibiotics through my right arm, into my heart.  Each infusion took roughly 2 hours.  I watched all of Stranger Things, Luther, F is For Family, the Twin Peaks Fire Walk With Me debacle, Dr Whos that I had not seen, and re-read Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber, finished JRR Tolkien's Silmarillion, and started Iain M Bank's "Use of Weapons".  I could not sweat during this time, as perspiration caused the adhesives on the PICC line to loosen and come off my skin.  The PICC line ran straight to my heart, and getting a blood or heart infection was not something I wanted to entertain.  So a month of being sedentary was required.  I tried learning basic Spanish in this time too... but without someone to practice and converse with, I made little progress on this front.

Every week I returned to Scripps in La Jolla to have the nurses, PAs, and doctors tell me how "beautiful" my wound looked, and how well it was healing.  Every 2 or 3 or 4 days, I showered with a large plastic sleeve sealed around my left arm, and baggies that looked like a shower cap over the PICC line dressing.  Today (Thanksgiving) was the very first day I could shower and use Two Hands!  Hooray!

First wet to dry dressing, jammed in

During this time, the first 3 weeks, I had to wear the $22,000 portal vacuum pump around my neck (even sleeping with it, and recharging it as I slept).  Every Monday, a nurse came to change out the vacuum sealed dressing.  Every Thursday, I went to doctor's office in La Jolla to have them change it again.  After 3 weeks, the vacuum pump was discontinued, and I had to do a "wet to dry dressing".

What's a "wet to dry dressing" you might ask?  (I had no idea what it was).  Well, using sterile technique with nitrile gloves and sterile gauze and sterile saline, the patient PACKS in sterile gauze that has been wetted in saline, jammed up into the wound, using sterile cotton swabs as well as nitrile gloved fingers.  Yes, this is unpleasant and mildly painful.  Then, the jammed in gauze is covered by a 2x2 gauze pad, which is then covered by a 4x4, which then gets and ace bandage wrapped around it, to hold it all into place.  All of this is done using just one hand, since the left hand is too far away from the let elbow to be of any assistance.  The Next Day, using sterile gloves, all the jammed in gauze is yanked out, and the process started again - approximately every 24 hours.  Each time the nasty used gauze came out, it looked like a little piece of lemon peel.

At my Nov 22nd visit, I was told the "wet to dry dressings" could be discontinued, and "put a bandaid on it" .. a large 2x2 inch bandaid...  but no more dressing changes.  And the PICC line was removed, leaving an irritated upper right arm where all the dressing adhesives were aggravating my fair skin.  Once again, the nurses and doctors admired how "beautiful" the wound was, and how well it was healing, which was a very strange things to experience from the patient's perspective.  I am glad that the whole wound process is NEARLY over.  I go back in 2 weeks for a followup, and THEN likely, physical therapy will begin, and last through MLK day or Valentines day 2018.  I will be happy to begin working out again, able to sweat, and re-building lost muscle mass... as soon as the bursa is re-built.  I Do Not want to re-infect the ulna or any other bones, so I have to take it easy on my arms and lift nothing more than 5 lbs with my left arm until after my next doctor visit in 2 weeks.

My friend Joe M texted me several Spanish curse words, to help me learn the slang of the language (similar to how I first learned French).  If you want to call me up, or text me in Spanish during the next two weeks, I'd appreciate the practice.  In the mean time, I'll be working on legs and core and aerobic exercise, until I get clearance from my doctor to begin rebuilding strength in my left arm.

Yes, this Thanksgiving I am very thankful that my wife has a good job with good health insurance coverage that paid for this 6 digit surgical experience, and I am very thankful I don't have to get my left arm amputated.  One armed drummers are not very good.

Wonderful White Wines from Trader Joe's

I have an enormous collection of wine bottles on my desk, that for months, I've been procrastinating in blogging about.  I've always had something else to do for the last several months that was more pressing, whether it was working out, going to physical therapy, having elbow surgery, going to job interviews, going to France with DDF for her work conference, going to Jackson Hole for vacation, post-op doctor visits, energy consulting on the phone with clients, cleaning out and refilling the 11 humming bird feeders around our yard, getting 6.29 kWHrs of solar PV panels installed on my roof, re-reading old Zelazny books, learning introductory Spanish, or reading a new Iain M Banks book... but I've grown so tired of all the bottles taking up space and getting dusty, that I am going to do a shot-gun blast review of all of them this afternoon, and toss the bottles into the recycling bin this evening.

First off, the Trader Joe's "Petit Reserve" bottles are not bad.  They're sometimes slightly better than the standard fare at Trader Joe's.  Sometimes they are slightly worse / less tasty / off-a-little-bit, but they're never "pour down the drain bad", as some low cost wines and poorly kept high-end wines can be.  Many of them are screw top, and I personally have No Problem with screw top wine bottles, since
1) they are easier & quicker to open
2) the wine never suffers from cork rot & the resulting spoilage
3) they are slightly less expensive to manufacture, and that savings can be passed on to me by responsible grocers
4) they don't deplete the cork rainforests of Portugal and the endangered cork monkeys who live there (Portuguese cork monkeys are a fictional invention from my old friend Todd, from more than 20 years ago)
5) convenience: anyone can open them anywhere, without having to hunt up a sommelier / cork screw (like when you're away from home, traveling, or in a hotel room)

The Petit Reserves from Trader Joe's that I have tried are as follows:
Sauvignon Blanc, Horse Heaven Hills, Washington, 2016 - it was ok, drinkable, not bad for a Washington wine (and I am sure if you're from Washington that you Love your local wine, and that's fine.  I don't hate your local wine, it just didn't WOW me, or impress me, to the point of making a post all about it). For $7 a bottle, it was not bad.

Sauvignon Blanc, Sonoma County, 2016 - For $6 a bottle, this was some dern good wine.  I hope the recent fires in Northern California didn't destroy the inventory or the vines, as not drinking this again would be a loss.  This wine has a light citrus note, but NOT anything like a puckering New Zealand grapefruit abortion that completely ruins my palate & meal.

Sémillion, Napa Valley, 2016 - another $6 bottle that was not bad.  It had a nice buttery finish that some sémillions often do, but the long notes on the tongue were not as pleasing to me as the Sauvignon Blanc.

Pinot Grigio, Monterey, 2016 - fine for a $6 pinot grigio. Sweeter than the Sauvignon Blanc mentioned above, bit not riesling sweet.  If you like pinot grigios and don't want to pay $18 Santa Margarita prices, save $12 a bottle and buy this instead.

Other Trader Joe's wines that are not "Petit Reserve" that I've enjoyed, include:

Trader Joe's Coastal Sauvignon Blanc, Central Coast, 2016 -

This $4.49 bottle is the staple that I
keep 6 to 12 bottles on-hand, in the wine fridge, at all times.  This goes with everything.  It's not too sweet, nor is it too dry.  It causes me to have zero hang-over the next morning if I drink the whole bottle (or more) the night before.  My liver likes it.  My tongue likes it.  I like it.  I've given bottles to the neighbors' before, and if DDF and I are invited over to a friend or neighbor in California and we bring wine, one or more of the bottles will likely be this one.  It is my inexpensive & delicious "go to" wine, that I buy by the 1/2 dozen whenever I go to the Bressi Ranch Trader Joe's here in Carlsbad.











Trader Joe's Grower's Reserve, Sauvignon Blanc, made with organically grown grapes, 2016 - this $9 bottle was pretty good.  It had a smooth finish, light citrus notes, not at all overwhelming, and was enjoyable to drink; especially nice for an organic wine at a reasonable price.  If I was hard-core 100% organic all-the-time every-day, I'd probably switch to this, but since I am more than 1/2 century old now, and more than 1/2 of my life span is behind me, my passion for all-things-organic is more reasonable now.  If I can peel it, and I am not eating the skins, then organic is less important to me.  Yes, yes, I know biology experts, that what it is grown in and what it receives as nutrients during its life-cycle determines what its content is going to be.  I get that.  I also get that when I was a very young man (in my teens and 20s) I never thought I'd live past 40 or 50 at best, so now each day is sort of "bonus time" that I originally had not counted on ever reaching.  If this organic sauvignon blanc was AMAZING and Life Changing, I'd proclaim it from the roof tops, but to me, it was a good sauvignon blanc.  Enough to write home about, but not enough to turn into a short story or a novel.

I have several more bottles to write about, but one can only sit inside and blog for so long when it is 65 degrees Fahrenheit outside, with a light breeze, here in Southern California.  I know other parts of the country are experiencing a "normal November" of cold temperatures, cloudy skies, and frost each morning... but I blog today with my windows open, wearing shorts and a tee shirt, and I've not yet picked up my mail from the central mail down the street, so 'nuff for now.

Run Like Hell

Not only is Run Like Hell a great Pink Floyd song from their amazing album The Wall, it is also what Tormund Giantsbane shouted to all of his comrades at East Watch on top of The Wall that had guarded Westeros from the dangers of the north for more than eight thousand years, in that fictional world.
(again, spoiler alert... if you have not seen the season finale of Game of Thrones, season 7, read this post after you've seen it)

The season finale was epic, dark, beautifully done.  I won't go through everything here scene by scene, but it IS Worth watching, for all of the ends it ties up, and the new circumstances it presents to the viewer.  Jaime does the right thing. Daenerys still knows how to make a Grand entrance.  Cersie remains one of the largest forces of selfish evil in the world, perhaps equalled by The Night King?  The Hound becomes more likable.  Arya is lethal with her blade. Sansa embraces her family before sycophants.  Sam enlightens the all-seeing three-eyed raven, who needs to get better at predicting things and warning his family about them, instead of just looking all white-eyed in his wheel chair.  The door was held closed for you, FFS!  Do something useful with your new super power Bran flake!

Now, in a physics based world, The Wall was made out of indestructonium since it stuck out into the Narrow Sea at East Watch, and yet after 8000 years of the sea water buffeting against it, The Wall  Never eroded.  Therefore, indestructonium must be one of The Hardest, Most Erosion Resistant, Most Corrosion Resistant, Most Crack Resistant initiating & propagating substances to ever be written about, in any book.  Indestructonium has to be magic... created by magic... shaped by it... maintained by it... However, with such formidable strength and durable properties, there comes a price.  Action / reaction.  If a magic dragon, hatched from an egg that had turned to stone long ago, but when that stone egg was heated in a funeral pyre back in the season 1 finale... and then that magic dragon gets killed by a magic ice javelin... and the thrower os said javelin then resurrects the dead dragon as an undead dragon...  then the magical power of that weapon of mass destruction apparently can over-power 8000 years of ice masonry and indestructonium's use as a long-standing barrier.

As I watched what remained of Viserion repeatedly blast the architectural marvel that was The Wall on Sunday night, I thought to myself:

- is this hot blue fire?
- is this ice coming out of the dragon (like a Gygax dragon)
- is it some kind of psionic blast or energy beam?
- perhaps it is plasma, like that of a white dwarf star?  (but then the undead Viserion would have its own gravitational pull, since it would be far too dense)
... and it wasn't until I talked to my buddy Ryan when he explained to me that it was "magic" and that only magic could defeat magic...  um... ok.  Sure.  I won't think this through any deeper than I already have.

If it is magic breath from a magic beast that was impossibly hauled out of a semi-frozen lake north of the wall by the magical ruler of the magically animated and magically commanded undead, then why not let all that magical confluence take out a long-standing 8000 year old wall?  Sure. Indestructonium be damned!  There's magic at work here!

In that case, Daeneryrs and Jon Targaryen (yeah, He's not a Snow nor a Sand) and their remaining two dragons will likely / should likely be magically destroyed by the Night King and his undead Viserion WMD, and all the steel wielding soldier of Westeros be swarmed by the +100,000 horde of white walkers heading South.  Cersie and all of King's Landing should be wiped out by the undead horde, and all of Westerosy civilization should end as we know it.  I know that doesn't make for a good story or series finale... but if an undead Viserion can destroy an 8000 year old formidable piece of magical creation in less than 1 minute, then it won't take that much longer to kill both siblings, their riders, and let the ground army swarm anything that is still warm-blooded.  I am 99% certain that season 8 and all of GoT won't end that way... but if I was writing it, and I included The Wall coming down as it just did... then that's how I would end the series next season.  3 episodes at best... and then everyone is now part of The Walking Dead.