R.I.P.

This picture was taken on Monday.



The vet gave him two to six months. He took a few more.

It's been a hard year.

When I let him out on Sunday, he lay down in the back yard and had a look in his eyes that said "I'm never getting up again."

There was a scene in Little Big Man where Old Lodge Skins (Chief Dan George) says "It is a good day to die" and lies down in the to die, but nothing happens. "Sometimes the magic works; sometimes it doesn't."

That time, it didn't.

And eventually he got up and came in the house.

But I knew it was time, and on Monday I called the vet and made an appointment for Tuesday afternoon. I took the day off work on Tuesday.

Tuesday was a very long day. He hadn't been eating much for the past couple weeks, and he hadn't eaten anything since Friday. But that didn't stop him from throwing up whatever was left in his stomach, nor did the fact that nothing was left in his stomach stop him. And it was strangely vocalized; it was a human sort of sound that I've never heard from a dog before.

On Sunday, I tried to pick him up and bring him into the house. He growled at me like he'd never growled at me before, and I put him down and let him be until he was ready to come in on his own. On Tuesday, when it was time, he didn't seem to care anymore. He didn't react at all when the vet stuck the needle in.

It was the hardest thing I ever did.

Hair

I've noticed that no matter how many times I get it cut, my hair just keeps growing. I'm thinking I ought to just shave it all off this weekend. Whaddayathink? Does it sound like a plan? Should I post before and after pics?

If I knew how to do a poll, I would. but I don't, so I'll just have to rely on the comments.

Edited to add:

I've often thought that a tatoo like this might look good:

Baby

This is my dog. His name is baby. I don't know why we named him that. I guess someone thought it was funny at the time.



Anyway, few weeks ago, Baby started limping around. I thought he'd cut his paw or something, but when it didn't seem to be getting better, I took him to the vet. The nail bed was infected, so the vet cleaned it out, wrapped it up, and gave me a pain killer and some antibiotics. After a few days, it seemed to be all better.

Then a week or so later, he started limping around again. I took him back to the vet, and this time he removed the claw and took a tissue sample to have it analyzed. A couple days later, he called and said that it was squamous cell carcinoma, which, apparently, is something that Rottweilers are prone to get. Assuming it's caught early enough, the treatment is to remove the digit.

I took him in this morning for the operation along with x-rays and a needle biopsy of the lymph nodes to make sure the cancer hadn't spread. Unfortunately, the dog came home with all his toes intact.

Here's why:



A healthy lung shows black on an x-ray (presumably because there's nothing in it but air). This is a low quality cell phone picture, but that's still pretty much what the x-ray looked like--one lung riddled with cancer.

The vet said he's got maybe two months, maybe six months, and there's really nothing left to do but try to make him as comfortable as possible and treat the pain.

I never wanted a dog. My ex- brought him home about seven years ago, and he stayed when she left. But apart from his annoying tendency to take himself for walks when I was too busy or too tired or whatever (which has resulted in a couple run-ins with the dog catcher), he's been a pretty darned good dog. I really had no idea how attached I'd become to him. I'm sure going to miss him.

Livin' in a Hell Hole

The house I live in was a fixer-upper when I bought it a bit over 10 years ago, and it seems like for every upper that's gotten fixed a couple downers cropped up to take its place. In particular, age, poor design, and bad plumbing have taken their toll on the kitchens and bathrooms, which are moving into the realm of the just plain disgusting.

In the kitchen, cabinet hardware has deteriorated to the point where some of the cupboard doors have just fallen off, an unnoticed drip from a window air conditioner has rotted out a wall, and if the drains aren't regularly treated with lye, the washing machine backs up and drains onto the kitchen floor (and no, I don't know why they decided that the kitchen was a good place for the washer and dryer hookups).

There are two bathrooms. One of them developed a hole in the floor at the edge of the bathtub, and it's been in the process of getting remodeled for about the last five years. Once the floor got replaced, the tile laid, and the toilet and tub connected, I sort of lost interest. In the other bathroom, the toilet developed a leak where the tank connects, so it's had the water turned off for a couple years. The drain on the sink recently developed a leak too, so it has a bucket under it.

One of these days I'll get around to fixing all that stuff. In the meantime, I think this pretty well sums it up:

It's Such a Good Feeling

It's such a good feeling to know you're alive.
It's such a happy feeling: You're growing inside.
And when you wake up ready to say,
"I think I'll make a snappy new day."
It's such a good feeling, a very good feeling,
The feeling you know that we're friends.

Hi, neighbors!

As some of you may have surmised from my previous posts, I gave up alcohol for Lent. Cold turkey, not to mention Wild Turkey and Cold Duck. Actually, if the truth be told, it was a little longer than just for Lent. I swore off Demon Rum shortly after the law firm Christmas party, a party of which I have no memory--just a vague feeling of unease. So far, no one has seen fit to clue me in to what might be behind that feeling, if there was ever anything to begin with.

Anyway, the promise that I made to myself was that I'd give up booze completely for Lent (including even the Sundays that by some reckonings aren't included in Lent), but I wasn't actually going to wait for Lent to start. From December 23rd through April 15th, not a drop.

I found that going to see bands wasn't quite so much fun as I'd thought, but other than that, no difference. Still, I stuck with it 'till the end, because I also promised myself that if I cheated even a little, I'd start over from the beginning.

Lent ended at the stroke of midnight last Saturday. I'd had a considerably long time to think about what I was going to have to break my fast, but what I settled on was really a last minute choice:

Kissui Miyanoyuki (Classic)
Type: Junmai-shu ~ Size: 500ml, 1.8L

Excellent of medium body and traditional style sake. Light,smooth & well balanced. Hard and crisp texture with mild aroma. Great with mildly seasoned beef and chicken. Serve at room temperture to warm.

Alcohol : 15-16%

I'm really not sure why. I don't really like sake all that much, but for some reason, it had been calling to me. But it apparently hadn't been calling all that loud, because all I cared to drink was one little sake cup full, which has about a quarter of the alcohol of a shot of Bourbon.

Today I decided to finish the bottle (it's only a half liter, so the alcohol content is less than a bottle of wine). And I think I figured out why I picked sake. Even if it doesn't taste all that great, it's such a happy drink. Like the man said:

It's such a good feeling, a very good feeling,
The feeling you know that we're friends.

With apologies to Mr. Rogers.

Wang's outta here.

Ol' Wang got a little tired of all the jokes about his name, so he asked me, Jack, to take over the House of Pancakes' newsletter.

Halloween on Crockett Street

I went to the Brent Coon & Associates Halloween party on October 29, 2005, at Antone's. They had a Jimmy Buffett tribute band. They were okay. Afterwards, I went to the Black Cat Lounge and sat in the bar area until closing time.

At a bit after 2:00 a.m. when the bar closed, the elevators apparently were not working, and everyone was herded toward the stairs. There was a long line that was moving very slowly.

Although there was really nowhere to go until the line thinned out, a Black Cat employee was yelling at people to get out. When I say yelling to get out, I really mean yelling "get out." I was struck by the rudeness of it as well as the futility, given the fact that there was no way to get out until the line at the door cleared. I've been in a lot of bars at closing time, and I've never seen that sort of behavior.

After yelling for several minutes, while there was still a large crowd blocking the door, this same Black Cat employee came over to the area where I was sitting. He came up behind a chair that another person was sitting in and pushed the chair over, dumping the person out of the chair and onto the floor. This person was minding his own business and had made no belligerent or aggressive move of any kind towards the Black Cat employee. It was completely unprovoked.

As I got up to leave, I said "you're an asshole." The Black Cat employee turned to me and said "what did you say?," and I looked him in the eye and said "you're an asshole." He apparently didn't like this, and he pushed me into a couple of chairs. I did not respond to this assault physically or verbally (I'm still recovering from some fractured ribs and vertebrae, after all).

As several other people ushered me towards the stairs (in the normal bar-clearing fashion, i.e., without resorting to physical violence), I tried to find out this employee's name so I could register a complaint and possibly file criminal charges. I was told that his name was Paul, but I have no way of knowing whether that was really his name.

I think I should do something, but I'm not sure what. It's one thing when a bouncer in a bar gets physical with an aggressive drunk. It's another thing entirely when he thinks he can resort to physical abuse just because people aren't moving fast enough for him or tell him he's an asshole when he's being an asshole.

At a bare minimum, I think that the management needs to sit this guy down and have a long talk with him. But I really think he needs to be fired. And if the management approved of his actions, they need to be fired too. What this guy did to the guy in the chair and to me was criminal assault, a class A misdemeanor, in violation of § 22.01 of the Penal Code. What do y'all think I should do? File a complaint with the cops, complain to the management, or nothing at all? Or did I get what I deserved?

And don't say "sue the bar." Although he was acting in the course and scope of his employment and the bar would certainly be vicariously liable, I believe my employer owns a piece of it.

And for the record, I wasn't intoxicated and I have witnesses. And he was bigger than me.

Price Gouging

I just got the bill from the hospital. Actually, it says "This is not a bill, do not pay," but it does say what they're billing my insurance company.

And the total for taking a few pictures, one night in the hospital, two stitches, a tetanus shot and a little morphine in the IV, comes to a grand total of $21,808.23.

I love these guys. I can understand, sort of, the $10,000 for the CT scans. I'm sure it's grossly inflated, but at least there's some really expensive equipment involved. But they've got to be kidding when it comes to things like the drugs. For a tetanus shot and an IV they bill "pharmacy, general," $2271.00; "pharmacy, IV solutions," $255.00; "drugs-req spec id, req det cod," $714.00. Well over $3000 for about ten bucks worth of stuff.

I'll bet when my insurance company goes over the bill, they'll say the reasonable charge for all these services is a half or a third of what the hospital billed, and the hospital will accept their determination. (They have to. The hospital's in the PPO's network.) At least that's been my experience in the past every time I've received a bill from a hospital.

I was thinking it would be fun to send the bill to the Texas Attorney General along with a complaint about price gouging after the hurricane, but unfortunately, this is just business as usual for hospitals. It doesn't make much difference for me since they have to take what the insurance company pays, but people without insurance (or a government payor) get screwed over royally every time they set foot in a hospital, and that sort of ticks me off.

But that's just me. I'm sort of funny that way.

Friday, October 7, 2005.

Still no power or internet access at home, but the server's back at the office. I found that I can sit at a computer for almost 15 minutes at a time.

Thursday, September 29, 2005.

Breakfast at the hospital was good. The eggs had a bit of picante sauce mixed in, and just a hint of cilantro. Cilantro is a dangerous herb. Good in small amounts only.

They gave me lunch and sent me home with prescriptions for Vicodin and Soma.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005.

Another oppressively hot and mostly uneventful day. Got some gas for the generator, cleaned up the house and yard a bit. Helped a friend take care of some holes in her roof. Felt the ladder slip out from under me. Woke up in the hospital. Nothing much.

They did a bunch of x-rays and scans and stuff. I heard one and then later two fractured vertebrae, and one broken rib, although the doctor said there were likely more that didn't show up. It was only a total of about a 20 foot fall (in two 10 foot segments with a bounce of a first floor roof to make it interesting).

Wang's closing shop for a while.

Due to the oppressive pressures of work and other considerations, Wang's going to be curtailing his Internet activies for a while. Check back after Rockfest.

I've been pseudonymized!

Given the profession of the former owner of this blog and his penchant for bad-mouthing the Texas Supreme Court, he's decided to start posting under a pseudonym. Actually, it's not him at all anymore, but a totally different person who has now taken over his blog. The person whose name appeared on prior posts is no longer affiliated with this blog in any way.

Really.

He's turned the whole thing over to Wang Chi, in whose honor this blog was named. The name comes from "Chi," meaning "vitality" or "life force," and "wang," meaning "Wang," or an outdated computer. Either that or a character from one of finest examples of the cinematic art: John Carpenter's "Big Trouble in Little China." I'm pretty sure it's the latter.

Really.

And since "The Person No Longer Affiliated With This Blog" is no longer affiliated with this blog, his "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" metaphor for the Supreme Court of Texas will no longer be used. (It was stolen from Bob Hilliard anyway.) Henceforth, the Supreme Court of Texas will be known as "The Lords of Death" (who are, after all, only errand boys for the business interests behind the Wing Kong).

Thank you and good night.