If You Eat Pork You Will Get Swine Flu: My take on H1N1-Mania.

If you eat pork you will get swine flu.
In fact - if you eat any kind of meat you will get swine flu.
Sucks eh? Oh well.
Vegetarian it is, right? Beats getting swine flu.
Of course - that's all bullshit.
And that scenario would NEVER come to pass.
It is not economy aggressive to be a vegetarian. Even if pigs did cause swine flu (...wait a minute..?) they would never think of banning something they make such a profit from.
We're all animal lovers....none of us can even "stomach" the thought of an animal in pain...yet we are all addicted to and hypnotized to this idea that it's pefectly fine to have slaughter houses where animals are butchered and killed and live a life of HELL and suffering...so we can have a steak.
No - even if pigs DID cause swine flu...they would NEVER ban them.
In fact - they'd find a way to make a profit off of it.
Like say - invent a vaccine for it - and then buy MILLIONS AND MILLIONS of dollars in advertising and fear campaigns to get people TERRIFIED enough to buy the vaccine.
Did you know that former U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was the chairman of the board at Gilead, the drug company that produces Tamiflu, the recommended drug for swine flu? Rumsfeld personally made many millions in profit from his shares in Gilead when Tamiflu was sold widely during the avian flu scare just a few years ago.
The avian flu turned out to be little more than fear mongering, but Rumsfeld and others raked in huge profits.
Funny...the millions spent on the war to get weapons of mass destruction. Those weapons of mass destructions turned out to be little more than a fart in the wind. There weren't any.
But by the time the bombs were dropped and the buildings were in flames and the shock and awe was setting in on primetime television...well the fact that it was all based on a big lie really no longer mattered. I mean, why would it?
Shock. And. Awe.
So isn't it funny, just this year, the U.S. government granted immunity against lawsuits to the drug companies who are developing and marketing the swine flu vaccine?
Why would they do this?
Could it be that politicians linked to the huge pharmaceutical lobby are trying to help the drug companies to avoid paying billions of dollars in lawsuits, as happened as a result of the 1976 swine flu vaccination campaign? Look that little incident up.
A pandemic was claimed...and only one person died.
On a military base, no less. One person on a military base.
PANDEMIC! PANIC! DESTRUCTION! DEATH! GET THE VACCINE!!!
Go figure.
With no pharmaceutical responsibility for their product, who now will deal with those injured or killed by the current swine flu vaccine?
Do we even KNOW what we are injecting into ourselves?
Now...the second half:
Do I believe all the conspiracy theories? Do I stand by what I just wrote? Do I believe any of it?
I have no idea.
I don't.
Do I raise a suspicious eyebrow to this swine-flu mania?
I most certainly do.
One person died in Canada from H1N1.
Do you know how many people die a year from the regular flu?
I don't. But it's more than 1.
I know that much. I'm too lazy to look it up - and you can use google as well as I can.
I've never had the flu. Touch wood.
I've never had a flu shot either.
I don't have an immune deficiency of any kind.
I'm 32 years old and healthy as a horse.
Hell - with the way I've been packing it in lately - I'm healthy as a swine.
I'm an optimist. I am.
But I am fearful and suspicious of big institutions.
Does profit come before health?
Absolutely. We've proved that again and again - from our bodies to our environment to our health care.
Profit comes before health. That is simply a fact of life.
Health care systems are designed in such a way that the poor get killed off.
It's a war on humanity.
And pigs.
But that's nothing new.

It's just scary. Someone tells us we should be afraid.
And we should be very afraid. And we should go out and get this injection.
And we flock to it as if the Beatles have risen from the dead for their reunion tour.

I don't blame people for being afraid. I'm a wee bit afraid too.
I don't want to die.
Mommies and Daddies don't want their kids to get sick.
Why not be safe, right?

Sure. I get it. I get both sides.
But...that eyebrow...it's raised.

I refuse to get a vaccination. I won't do it.
If our health and well being and very existence boils down to a small injection...well - we're all fucked.
And...if H1N1 was just as MANufactured as the vaccine - for profit...well - we're dead already.

I'll be happy meetin' my maker via natural causes, thank you very much.

It's a pretty cozy scenario though. Someone tells us what to do and we do it.
That's why I wanted to give it a shot.
So...here goes:

"If you eat meat...you will get swine flu."

There. Now - I'm off to go buy stocks and shares in tofu.

oink oink, my fellow piggies.

Danny.

Quantum...what!??!?

I can be flakey.
I admit it. Why be ashamed? It's me.
That being said - I try to keep one foot at least partially on the ground to stop myself from spinning away into an oblivion of paranoia.
I'm grounded enough.
So back in April I found this small...wart...on my eyelid. And thought nothing of it.
I forgot about it.
But...I started thinking about it again, in September.
It was still there. Perhaps slightly more prominent.
It bothered me.
So I did the unthinkable and googled "wart on eyelid" and of course - instantly - was convinced it was a cancerous tumor and I was going to lose my entire eye.
*sigh*
So I went to the doctor to have it looked at...and she said it was simply a fatty deposit.
Nothing to worry about - for now - but I should report if it changes colour or size.
She also said - more or less - it would be something I would just have to live with.
"You are going to have this little warty-cyst on your eyelid - it's just a part of life."
Just accept it - and forget about it. Don't let it bother you.
I was relieved. But also annoyed. I didn't particularily WANT it there.
So I focused on it.
I obsessed over it. I'd stare in the mirror at it every day, wishing it would just go away.
But..it was now going on 1/2 a year that I'd had this thing. It wasn't going anywhere.
Until it did.
Within a week of me obsessing over it and wishing it gone - as if by magic - the thing all of a sudden...just...shrunk. And disappeared.
Gone.
Now...what is that?
Is that a coincidence? Sure. Of course it is.
But isn't it strange...for 1/2 a year, when I ignored it...my body ignored it too?
But when I started focusing, obsessing...concentrating... it was almost as if my brain made my body aware that this thing was on my eyelid...it wasn't welcome - and it should do something about it.
And it did.
It reminded me of this book I flipped through at a friend's house, about 11 years back. It was about "Quantum Healing".
In a nutshell (quite literally) it suggested that the human body is capable of creating its own medicine for ailments...we've just forgotten how to do this. The mind plays a positive role in triggering certain chemical releases, etc.
Flakey, right?
Sure. It is.
But...what if there IS something to it?
I mean - why not consider it?
If our brain is as infinite and as uknown as the universe - doesn't that mean anything is up for at least consideration?
I mean - clearly - there is a connection between the body and mind and our thoughts. When we experience certain thoughts - we have physical side effects.
If we just think about - say - a friend or relative or pet who has passed away...salt water will leak from our eyes..our lips will tremble, our breathing will change - and our entire body kind of heaves and sobs.
Crying.
If we get scared, we get that cold rushing tingle through our body - and the hairs on our arms stand up -the texture of our skin even changes to "goosebumps".
Insane, if you really think about it.
Our brain controls every single cell in our body - even if it does run on auto-pilot for the most part.
Every breath, every movement, every sensation - it's because our brain said that is how it will be.
Our body is constantly regenerating itself.
Some say our body COMPLETELY replaces its tissues and cells every 1 to 7 years.
Think about that.
If our cells replace themselves, and regenerate new cells to replace the old...it's almost like we have ENTIRE different bodies...if we're made up of completely regenerated cells.
So what is the common thread, the glue that holds it all together?
No efffing clue. I'm sauntering off into "flakey land", I know.
So why does our eczema, our warts, our chronic diarrhea or ulcers stay with us for a life time, if we have "new" bodies every 7 years? Is it because our thoughts and emotional "habbits" stay unchanged?
If so, if we switch up our ways of thinking, our belief systems - our "let's just accept it that this is how it is" attitude about our bodies and their ailments - and adopt a new way of thinking...that "thinking is an actual energy" - will this in turn effect our bodies at the cellular level?
Again - no effing clue.
I mean - in truth, when you break it down - here is what happened:
I had a wart-thing on my eye...and it went away. That's it.
But if I really THINK about it...what if there WAS more to it than that?
It sounds complicated, but it might not be.

It might be the SIMPLEST, most basic thing we've NEVER ever known.

"All symptoms are just reflection of blocked energy. Anything can be healed"
(Martin Brofman - "Anything Can Be Healed")

Glitter Bombed: A True Story.

I have a bit of a “twitch” when it comes to luxurious baths.
Seriously. Maybe more than a twitch.
Weirdo alert: I hate showers.
Can’t stand them. I like to sprawl out and submerge my entire body in hot water.
It's just the kind of person I am.
See - I grew up in a house that ONLY ever had a bath tub.
So in turn - it only makes sense that my first home only have a bath tub as well.
No shower.
Oh no.
Only a beautiful, claw foot bath tub that can be filled to the BRIM.
I love it.
I know, know – “But how can you survive…how can you POSSIBLY get ready for work on time?”
Trust me. It can be done.
While I may be the master of luxurious baths – I have also mastered the art of speed bathing – and if need be – I can bathe, have my face and hair washed in 7 minutes.
Yes – seven.
Most showers last longer than that.
Anyway…where was I? Oh yes.
Luxurious baths.
Naturally – I enjoy things most men don’t bother with:
Bath salts. Bath melts. Bath bombs.
Rustic, mossy smelling soaps.
Facial scrubs made with real sea salt.
Fancy conditioners and expensive shampoo bars that smell like a stoned art student.
I love bath shit. Love it. I know it seems like the generic gift when you can’t think of anything better to get someone – but if you buy me bath stuff – I will in turn let you have a small piece of my heart.
Forever.
So – the other day – I decided to be decadent and I charged up about 75 buckaroos on some stuff from one of my favourite stores – LUSH!
I dig Lush because their products have wacky names…like “Honey, I Scrubbed the Kids”, “Karma Komba”, and “Too Drunk to Fuck”.
For real. That’s cool.
And most of it is Vegan! No animal oils or body parts.
That’s always a good thing, at least in my book.
I’m big on Lush’s “Karma” scent. Kinda smells like oranges and patchouli.
Like I said – a stoned art student.
But it’s mine.
I use Karma soap, Karma shampoo – and even “Karma Kream” – after-bath moisturizer – which is a must for me because I suffer from uber-dry skin.
And I’m kind of girly.
Whatever.
I have no shame in that.
Anyway – to my delight – I discovered a brand new Lush product:
A Karma bath melt!
It’s kind of like an extra soft soap that you drop in a hot tub. It scents the water and acts as a moisturizer.
Perfect.
Thing is…sometimes, Lush products have…a little “surprise” hidden inside.
Like seaweed…flower petals…
Or sparkles.
Little did I know – this new Karma Bath Melt had MANY sparkles.
Many, many sparkles.
Borderline TOO many sparkles.
So last night - I was pretty much glittering and glowing after my bath.
A drag queen couldn’t apply that much glitter if she tried.
I was slightly pissed, and almost itchy – as I examined my golden, glittering skin - but whatever…I figured I’d just take a bath in the morning and give a good scrub and it would all come off. It was evening so I had nowhere to go.
I eyed my sparkling skin again.
Kinda cool, I remember thinking.
Cut to this morning.
I scrubbed…and – I got SOME of the sparkles off.
But a few of those stubborn bastards were still there.
Screw it.
I didn’t bother mentioning the incident to Wayne…instead I just ran him a bath and woke him up when it was ready.
I always play on the computer in the morning while he is in the bathroom
So I hear him getting out…and let me just preface this by saying he was in a wee bit of a foul mood, because we were running late.
Partially my fault for taking an extra long bath, trying to scrub off all those pesky sparkles.
Ooops.
Suddenly, from our bedroom I hear an angry: “What the fuck?”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Ugh. Why do I have sparkles on me?”
He paused.
“Oh my God! They’re EVERYWHERE!”
Uh oh.
I walked into the bedroom and sure enough, the first thing that catches my eye is a tiny little glittery sparkle, sparkling delicately on his brow.
His arms were covered. As were his legs.
“What the fuck! Where did they come from?”
They were all through his hair, and slathered across his chin.
I wanted to giggle, but I knew how mad he was.
He eyeballed me, and immediately rasied an eyebrow:
“You’re covered too! Where did all these come from??”
He was clearly pissed. And rightfully so.
Hey - I wouldn't want to go to work drenched in glittery sparkles either.
I thought hard.
How do I tell him that my new bath bomb kind of sorta painted the bathroom up like something out of rainbow bright's worst nightmare?
I noticed it was a bit odd that he was SO thoroughly coated with glitter.
It was almost as if he had MORE on me than me!
And it hit me:
I must have not cleaned out the bathtub properly.
“Ooops”, again.
“I don’t know,” I began. “Could you have used a towel that ...somehow.. had glitter on it?”
I glanced at his chest.
It looked like Mardi Gras threw up on it.
Again - I had to choke back the urge to burst out laughing, but I knew better.
This was my fault, we were running late - and nothing spells "panic" more than a glitter-mishap just minutes before work.
I tried to diffuse the situation:
“It’s not that bad,” I said, trying to brush the mounds of glitter off him using my towel.
My towel – which was ALSO coated in sparkles.
I was actually painting even MORE on him.
I stopped.
“Dan! This is fucking TERRIBLE! I can’t go to work like this!!”
Our cat – Pluto – walked in the room and meowed at us, annoyed for some reason.
Then I noticed she too was coated in glitter.
"Aww..Poor Pluto," I said.
She just looked at us and meowed again.
Her spirit: Broken.
Wayne got up and went to the closet - and I caught a glimpse of his back.
It was as if he POURED a gallon of glitter on it.
As if he ahd rolled around in a bed of sparkles.
It was kind of amazing.
I was fascinated how he managed – without even trying – to get soo much glitter on him.
I could barely make out any skin. It was like he had transformed himself into a pure glitter, disco-queen.
I stifled another giggle.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing…” I said, stonefaced.
“Um...maybe you should...just put a shirt on…”
Before you look in the mirror and realize what I've done to you!! I wanted to scream.
He made his way downstairs. I decided to sit upstairs for a bit and wait where it was quiet and safer.
After a few, I made my way downstairs – only to find him using our sticky-paper lint roller on his bare arms, neck and face.
“Is this from a bath bomb?” he asked.
I sighed.
“I’m not sure," I lied. "Yes. Maybe. Yes.”
It was all I could say.
We drove to work in silence.
The morning sun glistened across his forehead – sending little rays of light on the ceiling of the car.
He was a disco ball.
“You can’t really SEE the sparkles,” I offered.
As he dropped me off, and said “Bye”…the sun caught a streak of glitter painted on his upper lip, like sparkly lip gloss.
Very, very pretty.
And very, very sparkly.
I walked into work, glistening like a prom dress.
I didn’t care.
Oh sure, I should have read the label on that bath bomb, but it wouldn’t be the first time a bath..well – “bombed”.
I’ve been glittered before.
Within an hour of being at work, I left a glitter ear-print on my phone, a small pile of sparkles on the floor by my desk and a pair of sparkling ass-cheek prints on the toilet seat in the men's room.
Hey – I take it all in stride.
Such is life, right?
The simple, laid back life of a guy who knows nothing of personal hygiene, save for the glory of a beautiful bath tub, filled to the brim.

Happiness is a Warm Gun (Bang Bang, Shoot Shoot).

I remember living in Victoria Parkplace - summer 2007 while our destroyed house was being rebuilt.
Wayne heard the sounds around 4am.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Guns.
Not something you hear all too often. At least not back then.
Fast forward to today - near the end of 2009 - and we've just counted the fourth time bullets have been flying in Windsor this month.
The fourth. Not this year. This month.
And the Mayor has offered some advice:
“I would avoid that street. At 2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4 a.m., if you’re concerned don’t be on Pelissier Street on that corner."
Really.
How about Chippawa? If the people who live there are concerned, should they just avoid that street too?
Do we just give Pelissier over to the "gun toting cowboys and gang-sign-flashing club goers"?
Just "stop going there?"
And then what?
Just accept "that part" of downtown as ...what? A criminal district?
"Oh, Pelissier? No - none of us Windsorites go there anymore...we'd probably just end up getting shot."
No.
I don't think so.
There's no way we lose a street that easily. Doesn't that strike anyone as a bit defeatist?
"Just don't go there anymore, and you'll be fine."
Then...what? Close down Chippawa?
If the "violence spell" trickles over to University or Chatham, do we just close those streets down too?
Give it over to guns?
Should we all start carrying pepper spray?
"Just in case?"
Hell - at least there will be downtown Detroit - it'll be FAR safer than Windsor, once our downtown core is a desolate, closed down, abandoned ghost town - with a bunch of empty shells scattered across the ground and distant gunshots where drunken laughter and the deep booming bass of club beats used to be.
Is THAT where we are headed?
I offer no solution and I certainly don't claim to have one. I have no idea how to handle this problem.
But here's a thought:
Why don't we fucking FLOOD the streets of downtown Windsor?
Pelissier included?
Bring our friends. Walk the streets. Huge numbers. Keep it alive.
We can't ignore it or just be resigned to the fact that it no longer belongs to us.
We can't just give it over to violence and start drawing up barriers of where we can and cannot walk.
Because of what?
Fear?
It's downtown Windsor.
There's no WAY it has come to this.
*THIS*.
Has it?
Do we just walk away?
Put a fence around Pelissier and all the people who live in that block? I know several who live RIGHT THERE, within spitting distance of the shootings.
Is it the new criminal district?
Amsterdam has a red light district.
It could be a tourist attraction for brave yuppies who dare to enter into "no man's land" and get a taste of what a real-live "hood" feels like.
They could pay a small insurance fee - and then we could open up the gates and let them into the dangerous and forbidden "Pelissier Road Experience".
Like a thrill-ride for EXTREME lovers of adventure.
Ridiculous.
So what do we do?
We pay shitloads of taxes. Our taxes are higher than MANY cities...yet our quality of life...
Well - I think if the Mayor is suggesting we just "stop going on that street" - I think it's safe to say our quality of CITY LIFE is going to shitsville.
So what are we paying taxes for?
Who can give us answers?
And why SHOULD we be afraid to walk down Pelissier?

Why should we?

Are we afraid of being shot?

I used to wonder when I was younger and driving through the shell of a city that was downtown Detroit - how in the WORLD - how on EARTH could anyone let it get that bad?

Now I know.

It just happens.

The people just stopped going there because things came to a boiling point and chaos and disorder broke out. And they fled.

White flight.

City of Roses...what the heck is happening?

With all due respect - because I love this city...and I am only asking questions here.
There's no WAY I can even PRETEND to know what I'm talking about.

Is "Nothing" Our Best Weapon?

I read that some Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual/Transgendered community leaders in Michigan are organizing a protest against the Buju Banton concert in Detroit.
Apparently the dude has some homophobic lyrics (depictions of killing gay men with submachine guns and pouring acid on them) and he's coming to Detroit’s Majestic Theatre on Wednesday, September 30th.
LGBT groups are calling for the cancellation of this concert.
They want it shutdown. Doors locked. No-show.
I'm torn on this.
Big time.
Sometimes I like the beauty of life to work its magic. This could also be perceived as being naive.
I think that everything is peachy-keen. And I'm aware that I live in a bubble.
Everything is happy and gay and accepting and peace, love and little cute bunny rabbits.
That's my world.
It's hard to pop that bubble.
Thing is: I don't like censorship. Really. I don't. I think it's a bad idea.
I know - some might say I censored a certain newspaper editor, when I bitched about him after he told me to fuck myself for sending him a press release about an animal rights demonstration I was staging.
Not at all. In fact - I merely asked him to explain himself.
I asked him WHY he wanted me to "fuck myself".
Fair question.
A guy likes to know these kinds of things.
In turn - he called me every name in the book and a small war broke out between us.
Name-calling. Ego. I sent a press release. He told me to fuck off (and did so using his company email and his company's signature and logo - bad move)...and word got out quickly (thank you Facebook) and...his company fired him.
His company fired him. I didn't.
I never did get to find out why he told me to fuck myself. Go figure.
I just wanted to understand where the fierce hatred came from. You would have SWORN I was his worst enemy...and in turn - he ended up being exactly that.
His own worst enemy.
Anyway - back to Buju Banton.
I hope they let this guy have his show.
And I hope no one shows up.
That sends a clearer message than censorship.
Intelligence. Everyone has a right to be a fucker.
My rights aren't violated by this guy having his show and speaking his mind.
Give any dork a microphone. Hell - give me a microphone.
Wait...sometimes they do.
I hope those who feel inclined show up with signs - protesting the message.
And inside -I hope Buju Banton is greeted with an empty room.
Why?
Because if someone is preaching hatred to an empty room...well...is he really "preaching" at all?
Or is he just a nut, screaming nonsense to himself?
People like this end up alone with their own angry demons, tormenting them, preventing them from the peace we all deserve.
While it is "just punishment" - it is also a very, very sad thing.
Someone who wants to segregate and differentiate - and all they end up doing is cutting themselves off.
From people. From friends. From reality. From love.
I'm sure there are plenty who would like gays to hang. There are many "average, everyday God-fearing" folks who would LOVE queers to get the death penalty.
Or some who believe gays need to go for counselling, electro-shock therapy.
I mean, discrimination is not something exclusive to gay people.
There are groups who want to do the same to Jewish people.
Black people. Lebanese people. German people. White people. Aboriginal people.
Women.
Men.
Name a group - there will be another group who wants them dead.
There are still White Power Hicks who hold rallies.
There are Christians who bash Jewish people. Yesterday a certain group protested the funeral of a gay person. Hatred is alive.
Hell - There's a bloody war going on right now over cultural differences, bottom line.
Hate groups excercise their freedom of speech right here on the internet.
Google it right now. There is a website for it.
As there should be. It is their right to say whatever they want.
“Anytime Buju Banton come, faggots get up and run … they have to die.”
Nifty lyric from Mr. Buju Banton.
This man is coming to town at the Majestic on September 30th.
How does that make you feel?

Personally - I believe every idiot has a right to speak his mind.

But what is the consequence?
An empty room with no ticket-buying concert-goers?
Where do we stop?
Do we take down the websites?
Do we censor people and forbid them to speak their mind - as grotesque or as awful as it might be - because we don't agree with it?
Isn't that the same thing the racists and homophobes and sexists of the world are trying to do to the minorities?
Stifle them? Take their rights away?

Me being me. Or a guy being black. Or a girl being Jewish...has no bearings on anyone else's freedoms.
A reggae performer being a homophobe has no bearings on my freedoms either.

Where is the line?
I don't really know.

He's performing songs about killing gays for being...well - poofters.

Is this too far?

Is it too much to ask/hope - that NO ONE will go to this show?

Or is the right thing to censor it? Do we still need "the man" to tell us what we can and cannot see...?
Or should we know better?

Do we know better?

I'm only giving my opinion here. And asking questions. I honestly don't know.
I don't like censorship...but I like questions.

Anyone I know with half a brain will probably not set foot anywhere NEAR this show.
It might not deserve the time of day...but perhaps the guy has a right to show the world exactly what kind of hatred is out there.

And in turn - we can learn from it. And learn how to simply turn away from it.
If the entire world turned away from hatred - we would snuff it out.
Just like that. It would no longer exist.

What if Buju Banton and his hatred were the only things left in the room?
If the "destructive" has nothing left to "destroy" - won't it then turn on itself?

Is that enough? Is "passive" the new "pro-active"?
Is "peace" the new "radical" form of protest?

Peace.
Yup.
One word that can cause a riot.
Pretty "radical".

Of course..."radical" is relative too, isn't it?

I Get to Keep My Eye.

I love not losing body parts.
Well...that's not entirely true.
In 2007 I dropped my gallbladder - and I have to say - I think everyone would be better for it to drop an organ.
At least - a non-vital organ.
I lost weight, my colour got better and I stopped having insane diarrhea attacks.
Of course - the fee I paid: One destroyed gall bladder - plucked from my body and donated to science.
A fair trade.
But...you're wondering how this relates back to my eye?
I should probably explain myself here.
In late March, I noticed this small, teeny little...wart-looking thing on my upper eyelid.
Nothing gross. Like a small skin tag.
Firm. Hard to the touch.
Perfectly smooth and round.
A tiny little bump.
I shrugged it off and forgot I had it...until about a week ago.
"Hmmm," I said, looking into the mirror, one week ago, fingering the little uninvited inhabitant of my eyelid.
"Little twirp is still there."
I showed it a co-worker - my good buddy Gnyp.
"Check it out," I said, closing my eyes and pointing to it. "You think it's a wart?"
He studied it for a second and shook his head.
"Too smooth to be a wart."
Hmm.
"It looks more like a cyst of some kind."
The "C" word.
Cyst. On my eyelid.
The wheels began turning.
"Pour some oil on it and use your lighter."
I take every bit of advice he gives me about my on-air performance to heart - treat it like it's gold...but - this little home remedy, I gracefully declined.
*sigh*
Instead I did the unthinkable:
I googled "cyst on eyelid."
Immediately - a collage of horrific words whizzed by the screen.
Malignant! Tumor! Fatty tissue! Inflammation! Blindness! Biopsy!
And of course...
Cancer.
"Fucking typical," I cursed at my desk.
It's my right eye...and I don't have a lot of luck with that eye.
See - I'm kinda-sorta blind in it.
"But Dan...you don't have a lazy eye."
No. I don't.
I can see light and movement. No colour. No depth perception. No shapes.
Just blobs.
It's okay...no reason to take out your glittery hankies and bawl your eyes out for the depraved life I must live without use of one of my eyeballs.
But no need. I'm used to it.
In fact, my brain has worked around it and I actually have a short-cut to depth perception...my one working eye just views depth in a different way than other people.
Kinda cool.
And...since my shitty eye is capable of seeing things move...it has no problem following them.
So: No lazy eye! Yay me!
You can move your finger by my bad eye...and my bad eye will follow it. It just has no idea what it's looking at.
Weird, eh?
I was born with my bum-eye. A cluster of scar tissue formed on my retina for no good reason - surgery can't fix it. Glasses can't help it.
It's just one of those "things".
Anyway - that cluster of scar tissues is also considered a "mass" of irregular cells.
Irregular cells...aren't necessarily good things, especially since there is no real reason why they are there.
And of course - one of the symptoms of an irregular cell turning into...well - the OTHER "C" word (and I don't mean "cyst") is a small bump on the eyelid of said eye.
*gulp*
The website said to not be alarmed - 9 times out of 10 it is a skin tag...but it is a good idea to make an appointment with an eye doctor to have the eye examined.
So I did. And I had to wait one week.
One week..and I pondered what life would be like, if I lost the eye.
I know - I'm all about the drama.
But I couldn't help wondering..."what if..."
It's human nature.
I wouldn't necessariliy "miss" the eye. I mean, if it were my good eye - I'd be screwed.
But...even if they did have to pluck my crappy eye out of my skull..I'd be okay. I could function normally.
But...a glass eye?
Interesting. It's something I've always thought about.
A glass eye can't see movement.
A glass eye is lifeless. It will sit in my head and stare blankly into space.
Not the end of the world - just something to consider...perhaps a bit more seriously.
I had many things to consider.
I could wear a patch, for example.
Would it be weird if I wore a patch?
And if I became known as "Patch guy"?
Would people look at me strangely, wondering if I have some crazed pirate fetish?
Wondering if I am "all there"?
Perhaps I could ask Phat Matt if he'd let me change my on-air name - "Patch MacDonald, on 939 the River"...or maybe the "Wild Eyed Hour of Rock N Roll"...singular.
I settled on designer sunglasses.
I'd join the ranks of Roy Orbison, Bob Dylan and Max Headroom..."the guy who just always wears sunglasses - day and night".
It'd be my thing.
People might whisper behind my back, sure.
"What's up with Dan? Why is he wearing sunglasses non-stop...?"
"Legend has it he lost an eye..."
"What? Lost an eye..."
"Some kind of a bar fight..."
"My god...I had no idea..."
"I know...that Dan..he has a dark side...he's mysterious..."
I'd be very "Prince".
Dark sunglasses. Soft spoken. Mysterious.
I was in LOVE with the idea.
Then...reality hit.
I'm pondering the loss of my eye.
Blind or not - and as cool as David Bowie may be - with his dead, pale eye that sits motionless in his head...I didn't want to lose my eye.
Worse yet - what if it was the "C" word?
What if it was too late?
It's a scary thing to consider, but with my mass of irregular cells...and this newly formed cyst..not 100% out of the question either.
How would I deal with that?
I didn't ponder this all too seriously. I didn't want to worry myself.
I am a positive thinker. The glass is ALWAYS half full and while I have questions that will forever be unanswered about the existence of any kind of "higher power"...I sometimes think that everything happens for a reason, even if only allowing us to see things (no pun intended) that we were incapable of seeing before.
I thought briefly - but long and hard - about the "C" word.
Because you just never know.
And I decided to brush it from my head.
I've lived a charmed life. A lucky life. A happy, rich life.
I have never taken a second of it for granted.
Oh, I live in la-la land - and I will admit - I often live in a state of ignorance to problems greater than my own - and horrible to say or not - ignorance is sometimes bliss.
I try. And it's the best I can ever do.
Michael J. Fox was asked of his Parkinson's disease - and the negative impact it had on his life.
And he replied - "If this is the ONE cross I have to bear...I can do this. I've lived a great life."
Beautiful.
What a beautiful attitude.
I have no idea how I would react if I was diagnosed with some kind of horrific disease, but I know not to dwell on that for too long.
I have one life. And it's a good one.
Any negative stuff is merely a challenge. A challenge I can take on 2 ways:
1) In stride or 2) A crying, destroyed, defeated mess.
Which sounds like the better option to you?
I walked into the doctor's office relaxed.
I flipped through a copy of House & Home magazine and waited for my Optometrist.
She took one look at my cyst...and said:
"It's not cancer."
Ok. Gotcha.
"It's a tiny fatty bit of tissue. If it doesn't bother you - I wouldn't worry about getting it removed. But I can refer you to a plastic surgeon if you want to look into getting it removed."
"Not necessary," I said.
I'll embrace this little twirp on my eyelid.
Even though I am a drama queen who googles things and believes he has every affliction he reads about like a good hypcondriac...this little cyst forced me to do a wee little bit of soul searching.
I'm happy it's nothing serious.
That being said: I'm even happier knowing that I would have been okay no matter what, had it been a different scenario.
If I've done ONE thing right in this life...it's pick the people I've surrounded myself with.
Or maybe they picked me.
Because people like me need people like them. Who knows?
What I do know is this:
Everything in my life - from the good to the bad to the downright confusing has always made sense in its own way.
Everything has always happened for a reason and anything can be looked at as "for the greater good".
The bigger picture - is beautiful. Beyond comprehension. And my life...it's been pretty f-ing sweet.
I cannot deny that. I'm lucky.
It's been a non-stop party with ups and downs, but in the end - it all equals out to experience.
And there's not a doubt in my mind - whatever life tosses at me - whatever curve ball that "chance or fate or pure coincidence" throws in my face - whether I have depth perception or not....I'll be able to catch it...and hang on to it...and deal with it.

I can own it. I can make it mine. So, no.
No plastic surgeon necessary.

There's happiness in everything, I guess.
Even deep inside an eye that is blind to everything.
Except of course - for movement and light.

Do You Give Ass...or Crotch?

So there I was - 3rd row centre at the Michigan Lottery stage in the middle of Arts Beats & Eats in Pontiac Michigan, smack dab in the centre.
And I had a dilemma.
Ashes of Soma was playing, and I had to pee.
In a bad way.
And I hate being "that guy".
You know?
The guy who gets up and has to politely stumble past the entire row of people who are trying to watch the show. I hate being that guy.
It's annoying, uncomfortable...and - I'm always faced with a certain...dilemma.
*sigh*
It's plagued me at concerts, at the movies, at lecture halls and in choo-choo trains...
So I'll ask all of you - dear fellow bloggers...
When you get up from your seat - and you have to do that awkward shimmy past other people who are sitting in your aisle...do you face the front or face the back?
I guess what I'm really asking...is - when you're practically straddling the person's lap as you shuffle past them...do they get your ass in their face...or your crotch?
Because dammit, I just can't figure out which way is more appropriate.

Just wondering.

For the record - in my weird semi-OCD state of mind, I held my pee the entire show.