April 8, 2004

Audio captured from a very interesting taping of one of America's favorite game shows:

Ol' Bob's at it again.

"OK, welcome everybody to another edition of Jeopardy!. Before we start playing, let's meet our contestants today. Let's start with Deborah Sillinger from Dearborne, Michigan. You are an interior designer, correct?"

"Yes, that's correct Alex. I've been doing it for fourteen years now."

"I'd like to do you for fourteen years!"

"Now, Bob, that was inappropriate. Come on."

"Sorry."

"I guess we'll go to you next. Here we have Bob Casey from St. Louis, Missouri. Bob, it says here you're in sales. What do you sell?"

"Stuff."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No."

....

"OoooK, moving right along. Next is Francis Ballman from Los Angeles, California. It says here you are a history professor at UCLA."

"Yes, that's correct, Alex. I teach in-depth classes on American history to mostly freshman."

"Good. Great. OK now that we've met our contestants, let's look at the subjects for the first round. We have 'What's In A Name?,' 'Historical Places,' 'On The Map,' 'Famous Psychologists,' and 'Star Trek.' Deborah, we'll start with you."

"I'd like 'What's In A Name' for one hundred, Alex."

"'The real name of this famous nineteenth century author, otherwise known as Mark Twain.'"

"Who is Samuel Clemens?"

"Correct! Select again, please."

"I'd like Italian Porn Stars for a thousand, Alex!"

"Bob, I'm afraid it's not your turn. That's not one of the subjects anyway! Now, please, Deborah, select again."

"Uhhh, 'What's In A Name' for two hundred, please."

"Who is Cunni Linguini, Alex?

"Bob, it's not your turn. Now, onto Deborah's choice: 'Non-horrible stories written by this author were published under the pseudonym Richard Bachman.'"

"Who is Stephen King?"

"Correct, Francis. Select a category."

"How about 'Gay names' for four hundred?!"

"It isn't your turn, Bob!"

"Uhh, um, I'll take 'On The Map' for one hundred."

"'This state, home of former President Clinton, borders Missouri to the north.'"

"What is ARKANSAS, Alex?!"

"Well, that's correct, Bob, but I'm afraid that you didn't hit your button in time, Deborah --"

"AW BULL SHIT!"

"Sorry, Bob, but Deborah hit her button first."

"What is Arkansas, Alex?"

"Correct. Now--"

"She stole my answer! She didn't know! Bull shit!"

"I'll take 'What's In A Name' for three hundred, Alex."

"I'll take 'Deborah is a fucking bitch' for five thousand, Alex!"

"Settle down, Bob! OK. Um, here's the answer: 'The company CISCO is short for this city's name, not an acronym as popularly believed.'"

"What is San Francisco, Alex?!"

"You are correct, Bob! You were quick enough with the buzzer this time. Select a category, please!"

"Hey, Alex, can I ask you a question?"

"Well, uh, sure, you--"

"Why'd you shave your moustache?"

"Well, I, uh, did it on a whim, you see, just to see what it would look like on camera one day right before taping the last show of the day. Now, select a category."

"I'll bet it got in the way of some things, that's the real reason."

"Look, just pick a category, let's move things along--"

"I'll bet your boyfriend liked it --"

"Listen, I don't have a boyfriend, all right. Now choose!"

"Geez, OK. I guess I'll choose. 'How Many Dicks Has Alex Trebek Sucked' for a hundred, please."

"Must you be so offensive, Bob? Listen, please select a real category!"

"I'll take 'Star Trek for one hundred then!"

"Here's the answer: 'Although not in the original pilot, this actor became the main star of the original series playing Captain James T. Kirk.'"

"Who is William Shatner, baby!"

"Correct, Bob. Select again, please."

"'Star Trek' for two!"

"'From 1987 to 1994, this English actor, whos first love is the stage, played Captain Jean Luc Picard in the updated Star Trek: The Next Generation.'"

"Patrick Stewart, Alex!"

"Oooo, I'm sorry, Bob, you didn't put it in the form of a question..."

"GOD DAMN IT!"

"Sorry, Bob. OK, Deborah?"

"She'll take 'My Name is Deborah and I've Got Small Tits and I'm A Skank Ho' for five hundred!"

"Bob, you are the most offensive man I've ever met! Good lord! Who is Patrick Stewart?"

"I'd like to ram it up your ass, Deborah, and give you a dirty sanchez, put that in the form of a question!"

"Uhh, c-correct, D-Deborah, please, j-just select again. Quickly."

"I'll take 'Historical Places' for--"

"Hey, Francis, can you tell me how Alex's dick tastes now that he's shaved his moustache?"

"For the love of god, Bob! I haven't sucked his dick!"

"Get the fire hose, we've got a flamer here, Alex!"

"'Historical Places' for three hundred!"

"The place where Francis historically fucked Alex Trebek. Why, that would be 'What is the cornhole?' Ho ho!"

"Jesus Christ! OK, Deborah, your answer is--"

"Hey, I put in the form of a ques--!"

"--look at this! It's the Daily Double. It's a special photo Daily Double. Deborah, please tell us what this place is:"

"What is the Sahara Desert, Alex?"

"Correct!"

"Is that where Deborah's camel toe is, Alex?! She's got quite a big one goin' on!"

"All right, Bob, THAT'S ENOUGH! I cannot let you continue to be a contestant on this--!"

"Hey, Alex, I'll take 'Let's All Titty Fuck Deborah' for five dollars!"

"All right. Security! Get this man out of here!"

"'This woman loves fisting and frotting!' Why, that's 'Who is Deborah?' Correct! The next answer is 'The biggest dick Alex Trebek has sucked with his hairless lip!'

"Yes, right here, this one!"

"'A Fourteen Inch Dick!' Wait! I know the question! 'What does Bob have and you don't, Alex?!' Yeeeeuggg! Let go of me! Agh!"

"Get him out of here!"

"Worship my...ugh!...COCK! Worship it, Alex!
Wooorrrsssship my cooooooooock!

"Deborah and Francis, I apologize for this. I frankly don't know how he got on this show. Now, where were we...?"

My mother died today at 7:45 a.m. I had just come home from the hospital; I'd stayed with her from 10 p.m. until just past 7 a.m., when my retired physician dad came to her room, took one look at her and shooed me away.

She didn't seem nearly as sick last night as she was the night before. Last night, she seemed stronger; I honestly thought she'd live another day.

Night before last, I stayed with her from 9 p.m. 'til 6 a.m., and she horrifyingly sick. Her blood wouldn't clot; she had an awful nosebleed that wouldn't stop and slowly filled her lungs with blood, she was bleeding from the dialysis port in her neck, bleeding from the places they'd stuck her to take blood, bleeding internally.

I came home with my mom's blood in my hair, and discovered my silly little badger piece had been Slashdotted. Totally surreal, but it lifted my spirits nonetheless. After watching my mom all night, listening to the suffocating gurgle in her chest, watching her pain as they suctioned bloody gunk out of her, watching them change her linens and gown five freaking times because she couldn't stop bleeding ... being flamed by Slashdotters was hilarious. I got a good giggle out of the whole thing, which I needed.

Not much laughter today. My parent's old tomcat, Roscoe, started howling around 4 a.m. and hasn't really let up. Somehow he knew momma wasn't coming back.

What killed her? The cancer, ultimately; it was inoperable, and chemo failed her. But last week she caught cryptosporidium, and we wasted precious days thinking it was just nausea from the chemo or the tumors. She was severely dehydrated when we got her to the ER at 4 a.m. Saturday. She was starving, and we couldn't get her to eat anything. Then her kidneys started failing. Then the bleeding. And last night, she developed pneumonia.

She fought it, hard, for five long days. But there was just too much wrong with her.

I feel simultaneously relieved and cheated that I wasn't there when she died.

Services here in San Angelo on Saturday, but she wants her ashes buried in Townsville in South Carolina. She was always my connection to the distant relatives back East; maybe I can make connections of my own, finally.

I am going to miss her so fucking much. She was a great person, a sweet old Southern lady who had a kind word for everyone but who would take on the Devil himself for what she belived in.

Random facts about my mom:

• She was a very good amateur tennis player, even though she didn't learn how until she was in her 30s. When she was in her early 40s, she was actually nationally-seeded.
  
  
• She loved opera and theater and the arts
  
  
• She used to be an amateur actress, but that was long ago. I wished I had gotten to see her in a play
  
  
• Her father died at the age of 21, before she was even born. Her 19-year-old mother gave her to her dead husband's family to raise, and my mother grew up in the rural South in the middle of the Great Depression.
  
  
• She worked for over 40 years for the Social Security Administration, and worked very hard to help people, often putting in 10 or more hours of unpaid overtime a week. Having worked for the gummint myself, I am amazed she kept up that kind of dedication for so long.
  
  
• She was a direct descendant of Andrew Pickens, who was roughly the basis for Mel Gibson's character in The Patriot.
  
  
• She was incredibly supportive of my desire to become a writer, and I'm sad I couldn't get a book published in time for her to see.
  
  
• She really wanted grandkids, would have made an awesome grandmother, and I'm heartbroken I didn't have the wherewithal get her any.

Rest in peace, ma.

Good Friday Update

I've been overwhelmed by the messages I've gotten from Everythingians -- you guys are great.

Some have commented that she sounds like she was a very kind person -- she was. If you've ever watched "Courage the Cowardly Dog", Muriel and Eustace are like a cartoon version of my folks. My dad is less like Eustace (picture him intellectual and artistic and way less evil) but my mom was very much like Muriel.

I got out of my car and walked across the parking lot. I climbed the steel and concrete stairs to her apartment, three flights up. Slightly winded from the climb, I walked down the hallway toward her door, watching the moths buzz silently around the lights.

It was over a year ago.
She isn't worth the pain.

When I knocked on the door and she didn't answer, I knew something was wrong. Fifteen minutes ago, on the phone, she had told me "if I don't answer, I'm probably asleep. Come on in." So I did.

I walked into the dark living room, crossed the familiar steps to her room and opened the door. I turned on the lights and stepped back: he was there with her. They lay naked, asleep on top the covers, and woke up only to my shocked scream.

I ran, fighting the bile rising in my stomach. I felt my hand punch through the light-switch cover in my frantic dash for the door. I charged blindly down the stairs toward my car, tears streaming from my eyes. In what seemed like an instant, I was collapsed, face down, on the trunk of my car, paralyzed, unable to cry.

By the time she came out, I was done crying. I had finished crying for her. I don't remember what she said. I know I decided I would never cry for her again. I saw him walk tentatively down the stairs, and I knew then that I could never call him a friend, ever again.

She took him home, and we talked. We talked, and I drank. I drank myself into oblivion. I drank because I couldn't see the future - any future. I drank because I wanted to kill the pain. It refused to die. I left.

More than a year later now, I can't get the image out of my head. I keep picturing them lying there together, blissfully asleep. I hate myself for making sacrifices, for forgiving her again and again, for loving her. I hate myself for not seeing before how worthless she really was. I hate myself because even after that night, I kept struggling to find something in her worth loving her for. There was nothing. More than anything else, I hate myself for how I reacted. I wish I had been able to walk into that room, grab him by his hair, and beat him within an inch of his life. I hate myself for wishing I had done the wrong thing.

It's more than a year later.

(From the C'mon dude, I had to tell SOMEBODY, so I might as well tell the family department)

See, there's this girl.

(oh boy, here we go...)

Shaddap you. This is a good story.

(grumbles)

Better. Anyway. There's this girl I've been talking to online and off for a week. I haven't met her. I know practically nothing about her except that I really, really, really like her.

How do I know this? I've proofread her papers. This is not a euphemism for sex of any kind. I've quite seriously proofread her finals. Yes, I did this for fun. Yes, I'm strange.

I'm glad I did it. Her brain makes me go all squishy.

I'm meeting her for the first time tonight. Because my social skills are better online and on the phone than they are in person, I needed an ice-breaker. So I made her a CD. This is it. May you find it illuminating.

Brought to you by the guy standing behind the suave motherfucker standing in front of you. The one with the glasses and the annoyingly plaid shirt. Yeah, him.

Title: The Proofreader's Opening Volley

1. Frank SInatra - I Love Paris (The Select Cole Porter)
2. Jude - Love Letters (430 Harper Ave.)
3. Josh Dodes - Wasted By Your Door (Freak)
4. Save Ferris - Come On Eileen (It Means Everything)
5. Jack Johnson - Traffic in the Sky (On and On)
6. Randy Newman - Sail Away (The Randy Newman Songbook, Vol. 1)
7. The Holy Cole Trio with Wayne Shorter - Losing My Mind (Color and Light - Jazz Sketches on Sondheim)
8. Fighting Gravity - Mission Bells (Forever = One Day)
9. Great Big Sea - Trois Navires de Ble (Turn)
10. Richard Thompson - Train Don't Leave (You? Me? Us?)
11. Bruce Hornsby - White Wheeled Limousine (Hot House)
12. Shades Apart - One Starry Night (Eyewitness)
13. The Who - Who Are You (The Who's Greatest Hits)
14. Billy Bragg - Accident Waiting to Happen (Live at the World Cafe, Volume 11)
15. The Old 97's - Barrier Reef (Too Far to Care)
16. Robbie Fulks - Let's Kill Saturday Night (Let's Kill Saturday Night)
17. Aimee Mann - Save Me (The Magnolia Soundtrack)

My weight's 185 today. Neat. Looks like we're stabilizing. Still want to nudge downward a bit, but it seems achievable now.

Still no sleep since Monday, 4:00pm. This goes beyond insomnia at this point; I think something has finally broken inside me and that thing helped me sleep. Anymore, it's not anything specific that "keeps me awake". Sure, I still worry about stuf and get angry, sad, scared, lonely, etc. But now, it seems like I just don't get sleepy. It won't be long before I just eventually pass out and get the rest I need, but right now sleepiness just doesn't come to me.

I am starting to realize I'm feeling some stuff I probably didn't want to see in myself. I think recognizing it might be a good step in trying to resolve some of it and get through it.

I'm hurt, lonely, and all that fun stuff, sure, but there's more. Oh joy. :)

I'm fucking angry. I'm angry at two people in particular right now. I'm angry at her for telling me it was over with him then changing her mind, changing her mind again back to me, then finally changing it back to him again. I'm angry at her for making me feel as though the worst thing I've ever gone through in my life (my divorce back in January) would turn into the best thing ever in my life (being with Erica for the long-term, possibly even for life), then taking that away from me.

I'm angry at him for everything he's done to her, and for sticking around even after their breakup like that annoying kid down the street who won't ever really leave you alone. I'm angry at him for taking her back, for still being available to her even after everything they've done to each other. I'm not thrilled with the things he has to say about me, either.

What I'm most angry at is the advice I get from her sometimes. I am not good at openly expressing frustration without just being sarcastic or spiteful. I know she offers advice honestly and that she really is trying to help me. The problem is, it feels like sometimes she is still twisting the knife with every word.

The big thing is this: she tells me she's sure I'll find somebody, that I'll heal, that I'll become a better person. She's sure that I'll make new friends and get settled in quickly in my new home wherever that ends up being.

That's all well and good, but here's what sucks about all that: I'm sure she still hurts from all this too, but she is with the person she wants to be with. There is pain in her heart, but the man she wants to spend her life with is right there, with her, ready to spend his life with her, to help