Apathy Or Atrophy

Yeah, it's been a while. A lot has gone on, but I'm wary of regurgitating ... Oh, what the hell, it's my blog and I can do whatever I like. If Pete Townshend wrote his best stuff when things were dreadful - then I can write my worst stuff when things are the usual amount of normal.

Bad #1:

I'm growing increasingly tired of my hip replacement (as I'm sure all of you are as well) so I'll keep this short. It appears that sometime last week, I might have partially dislocating the newest member of my anatomy - and well, that's Rule #1 in your hip classes that they tell you to explicitly avoid. It's not a for sure thing, but the sudden reliance of a cane, and massive amounts of painkillers tells me there's something wrong. Further stupidity shall be revealed when I go back to the Surgeon's office for what will no doubt be a severe dressing down from him, by me fucking up all of his good work. All I can say is: This whole thing sucks donkey balls, and gargles boiling acid. Oh, as an added bonus, my physiotherapist said that after a couple of years favoring the hip (and therefore not being able walk without a distinct penguin waddle) I've got the core strength of something approximating the Pillsbury Doughboy, and for the next 6 months I have to walk, sit, and sleep with my ass clenched. My response was "Is that when I am OUT of prison as well?" (Insert tumbleweeds / chirping crickets here). Those physiotherapists are a tough room.

Bad #2:

Work. I can't sit still for more than about 4 minutes at a time. (Reference above hip problem). I need to get up and walk around for a second. Between that and the aforementioned partial dislocation issue? I'm hoovering down massive amounts of opiate based pills at an alarming rate - which is leaving me dull, with zero short term memory, and an insatiable need for a nap in my soft, tacky, yet extremely comfy leather couch.

Bad #3:

Regarding the leather couch? (Its called the Love Couch) and no, its not because of that. It's because I bought it in Edmonton about 19 years ago, and it is quite possibly the comfiest thing on the planet. I'm also sleeping on it now. It's too painful to sleep in my big comfy king-sized bed (which I'm still trying to figure out why), so every night I have my pillow, my pillows under my leg, and off to dreamland I go. Well not really off to dreamland, because I have to wake up a few times a night in pain, and snork down more pills. Mmmm pills.

Bad #4:

All this is happening when my assistant left a week ago to do her own thing. But We are 3 weeks before Cannes. The amount of work that has to be done is staggering, and with me SO not being on the top of my game is just well, overwhelming. I feel like I'm fighting a battle that I won't win. For the first time in my life, physical limitations are becoming a reality. When I was younger, I could get a leg ripped off by a pack of rabid polar bears, and say it was just a flesh wound. Hell I could stay up all night drinking, have beer for breakfast then run a mile. Now? I'm out with my Uncle Stan (with matching canes, 'natch) and yelling at those damned kids to "Stay off my lawn!" If you don't believe me? Here's photographic proof:

Exhibit A.

This first picture was me a week before Surgery on my birthday at the end of February, which was taken at a friend's place who graciously cooked me my favorite dinner. See? Nice, healthy, normal, (Possibly even doable in dim lighting, granted, you might have had to ingest a fair amount of vodkas, but who's counting?)




Exhibit B.

This was me a about week later, two days after my operation on my first lap with my training wheels. Sure, I'm pimpin', stylin' and getting used to the "new deal". But I'm still pulling it off. I mean for God's sake; Who else has hair like that in their '40's? Really. Yahtzee!! (Blue paper hospital booties not withstanding of course).




Exhibit C.

This is me today:




God punishes with a stick. Listen to your Doctor. Eat your vegetables. Don't get into the film business.

Things Ain't Cooking...

...In my Kitchen" (Weather with You, Woodface, Crowded House, Rel. 1991)

It's been quite the thing the past 2 months dealing with the health issues, the work issues, and most recently the accommodation issues.

As mentioned before, because of those sum-bitches at HollyBurn Properties and their Kool-aid drinking eviction tactics; I've become the pro-temp leader of the Rebel Alliance of my building (because it was my bright idea to get all bitchy & indignant & stick it to the man in the first place). Now, I'm wondering if I bit off more than I can chew, and truth be told, had thought about taking the buy-out & slinking out with my tail between my legs. But After I opened my big mouth, I am committed and now 12 other tenants are depending on me to make things right. So now, I've been trading emails with various Provincial BC Government MLA's, the Mayor's Office, and I'm getting interviewed by the Vancouver Province, the Globe & Mail, and will gladly whore myself out to any and all other local media who flash a rolled-up fiver, and stuff it into my G-string. If that doesn't work? Then I plan to get in touch with the Dalai Lama, and then Bono. (Our story also got featured in the West End Rental Association's splinter blog called Renters At Risk.

Work? Well, this recovery thing has really been kicking my ass (no pun intended) and even after having 4 weeks off, I think I could have used another 2 to get my head, hip, & ass together, because right now, it just isn't. Just so you know - my incision for my hip? They went through my ass as opposed to going through the thigh, because as it seems the scar is smaller and going through the ass, they don't have to disconnect all the muscles & tendons like they would have the thigh route. That's all fine and all? But when it comes to sitting (which I do at the office, or at home, or in my car) or more importantly sleeping? It's a little problematic even after 5.5 weeks later. But anyway - we all have bigger fish to fry. I also hear that Grunions are especially tasty. Mmm fried Grunions.

I've got the Cannes Film Festival in about 3.5 weeks to prepare for, and my assistant just quit to do her own thing, so I'm hamstrung with the loss of her at the worst possible time, and quite possibly losing my own drive & determination. However, I will tell you that it is almost 1:00 AM and I'm up repeatedly calling the lady in charge of screenings at the Cannes Market (they're 9 hours ahead) because they boned me on my screening times for my new world premiere movie. If my screening doesn't go well? I'm fucked. As yet, she's not answering her phone (it's 9:50 AM in the south of France, so I'm going to keep calling as long as the opiates let me sound at least somewhat like I'm not some ordinary junkie asshole who is whacked out on Oxycondon, instead, I'm a Film Selling junkie asshole who is whacked out on Oxycondon). Seriously, I'm in some pain, and I'm gulping down more morphine than what was anticipated at the moment. I figure a glass of red wine on top of that? And I will be unintelligible - well even more so to the French. Bastards.

Back to the Cannes Marche? I called 30 minutes ago, and they told me to call back now. So I just called, and they told me to call back in 30 minutes. Chances are it's going to happen again during the course of this evening. It's a good thing that I've already paid these fuckers $60,000 for their fine service. Actually? I retract that. They're just being French. Cute little scamps.

So, that's the hell that is my life. Fine & Dandy. But now let's talk about Crowded House for a second.

I was doing some thinking though about the Weather With You song. It's nice and all, but what had been going through my head all night was another song off the same album (Woodface - I HIGHLY recommend it. And if you don't already own it? You must be some sort of Philistine / Caveman / Republican / Republican-Nazi /Hybrid).

Italian Plastic is the song. It starts a little slow and such, but when it hits the triumphant chorus, you can't help but to want to to roll over and greet her with a morning-breath kiss, it would also be the perfect song to crank loudly in the car going for a weekend drive with her up the coast on a sunny Sunday afternoon, with her hand on my leg, after spending a perfect Saturday night together, after the perfect, greasy Sunday morning breakfast.

When you wake up with me - I'll be your glass of water. Uh Huh!

Italian Plastic - Crowded House

Fate, It Seems, Is Not Without A Sense Of Humour

Well, everything is reverting back to the long overdue idiocy which I'd been expecting. I had a sweet ride there for a while, but I knew it had to end.

Sure, I had a hip replacement. Sure, there was that pesky pneumonia thing. Sure, there was that nutty pulmonary embolism thing. Sure there is that walking badly with no sleep constant pain thing. Sure, there is my highly stressful, yet ultimately low-return job that has taken up the lion's share of my life, while destroying at least one relationship red-handed, and was probably suspect for another. Sure. No problemo.

I am though, comfortable with the murky waters in which I choose to swim.

And then last Thursday, I got evicted. Well not just me, but 19 other tenants as well.

The reason is that Vancouver is in the midst of the biggest rental boom in recent history, and all the people that were singled out (for mild renovations which was a new tub and doing the floors - so you must vacate - permanently) were folks who had been here for at least 2 years. Taking me for an example, they've realized that if I moved out of my large, spacious, sunny, quiet top-floor-corner suit, (which is 1 block off Denman St., 1 block away from Stanley Park, and 2 blocks from the beach) then they could charge up to $500/ month more from some poor sap for the same living privileges (there's a waiting list for my building - has been for months). As the Provincial Government caps rent increases at 4% annually, and as I've been here over 4 years my landlords did the math (as they did for the other 19 residents who got axed) and got smart about it and decided to try and evict us all en masse. Well that's why we are capped at 4% increases. We were lucky to be here before the housing boom - and now they are trying to evict us for more profit. Hollyburn Properties are arguably the single biggest rental property landowner in Vancouver. Housing purchases and rentals have been skyrocketing here for the past 2 years, all in no part due to the upcoming Olympics, and a small part of me was thinking this was going to happen. Well, it happened. Bastids.

What my property company is doing is just plain wrong. I've been on the phone with the Government of BC Landlord & Rental Tenancy act, and I do have some (dwindling) options. So I decided to act on them: In the space of 48 short hours I've gone from the single, convalescing gimp-boy, to crusading activist. I've talked to the government, talked to the head of the West End Tenants Association, emailed both the Vancouver Sun & Province Newspapers, printed off 50 notices to meet at this restaurant tomorrow at 1:00 PM for all the tenants, taped notices in the elevator, left flyers on every car window in the parking lot, and well, have either become Luke Skywalker, or Che Guevara. (Hopefully it will work out like the former - not the latter). I've become the head of a rebellion - it would be much cooler if I had a lightsabre. Chicks dig lightsabres.

To be honest? I'm not equipped to be doing all of this, nor do I want to - but someone had to step up and take care of things, so it looks like I'm the patsy. For better or worse - this is my home. No one is going to uproot my life into a disaster except for me, and also at the time & place of my choosing, not theirs. Ok, here's the other side of this issue: There are 3 senior citizens in my building who have been living here for at least 20 years, they are all on pensions and are all over the age of 65. There is a guy named Brad who has AIDS who has been here for 7 years who lives on disability and carries around a gym bag full of medicine every time he has to leave his apartment. They want to raise Brads rent from $767 to $1000. Brad and the seniors face some real problems and challenges. Someone has to help these people. If not me then who? If not now, when?

Lastly - on a personal note - when all this nonsense is said & done? I'm going to look for a girlfriend. I figure that should be a very easy thing to accomplish. And why not? Everything else this year has been sweet as Tupelo Honey thus far. It should be really simple to do, and I anticipate no difficulties whatsoever.

The Drugs Don't Work

"Wherever you are, it's 3:00 AM, and I'm awake." (Neil Finn, One Nil, Rel. 2001)

Sure enough. It is indeed 3:00 AM, and sadly, the drugs aren't working. After inhaling my daily dose of opiates, I crawled into bed and they lasted for exactly how long they were supposed to last, which is about 3 hours after I took them, the pain came back, and obviously there is enough of the other stuff rattling around my noodle where sleep isn't an option.

Mmmm Oxycodone. (Mother. Teacher. Secret Lover). Just one of the iffy side effects of this wonder drug though, is that it will either knock you out cold, or it will just zap you out enough to sort of float around in a morphine induced haze for a couple of hours so that it takes the edge off whatever pain you are in, but fail to go the distance sleep-wise. (However, I have had some interesting pharmaceutically-induced conversations with myself about the merits of chocolate, or striped basketballs, etc.) Something else annoying is that with anything opiate-based, an unfortunate by-product is some rather creepy night sweats. Only from the neck up mind you, but it is enough that it wakes me up with a startling amount of regularity. (Speaking of regularity, I don't think I need to go into side effect #3 either).

All in all? Drugs however nifty they are - I just don't get the whole addiction to prescription drugs thing. There's got to be a better way to get one's rocks off. Now don't get me wrong - there's nothing like a little escape from reality now & then - but no matter how inviting I think it would be to invite some friends over and gunning down 7 or 8 Red Bulls, and then popping some Tylenol 3's would be a great fix from the daily grind... I can't see this as a regular, fun way to enjoy oneself irresponsibly, I could probably come up with something much more entertaining.

It could also be that with the insane amount of medications I've had to ingest / inject over the past 5 weeks, that if my liver was biopsied, the lab would probably register me with the Guinness Book of World Records. What it really boils down to is that it's 3:34 AM. I'm wide awake.It's so quiet. No traffic noise, or anything from the outside world at all. My window's are open and it's dead silence outside, and as an added bonus - I've got the hiccups.

So, it's either go back to bed and try and get some sleep for another 3 hours, or sadly, I'm leaning towards jumping in the shower and going to the office to try to scale the mountain of work that has accumulated over the last 4 weeks of my absence. I also think that is the real reason I can't sleep, and why am sitting in front of my computer at some ungodly hour of the morning.

I think this is going to be the last time I go in depth into the medical coming's & goings of what's been going on. I am certainly sick and tired of hearing, reading, and writing about it, as I am sure you are (all 4 of you).

So for the next time? I'm thinking international intrigue, flowers, kittens, and that week when my singer punched an unconscious biker in front of his biker crew, after my drummer had already beaten him senseless.

Good times.