I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Before I went to lay down, I checked my e-mails--got this in there. Oh brother.

Not again, puh-lease.

Hi

him there Thank you so much

(name left off 'cos I don't want to embarrass this person)

Arrgh! Why do so many people think I know David flippin' Tennant? It's really strange, this blogging stuff. As much as I'd like to be, I'm not British, and dont' travel in David Tennant's circle, even if I was, and Mr. Tennant wouldn't even give someone like me a first glance, let alone be friends with me, for pity's sake. Get real!!!

I think that once Tennant's popularity wains, my blog stats are going to drop like a rock, what with all the David Tennant "bum" "naked" "penis" "nude" "hairsyle" "gay" etc. searches fading away to nothing. My gosh, the man would make a fortune as a porn star! (something I'm trying really hard not to picture in my head, trust me).

Twice today, I've been hit by religious spam.

One was an online "Christian" dating service--wrongly posted on my Roasting David Tennant blog, under "David Tennant dating Christian O'Conell" post.

Just now, I got a comment in German, which I'm guessing was a christian solicitation, 'cos it had the word "Sohn of Good" and "Christan" in it..even tho' it apparently was in German or something similar. The comment was on a post of news stories--none of which had anything to do with religion.

I don't do prayer, I've walked away from the Presbyterian church, I still respect but refuse to practice any religion--tho' I did put up the tree and lights this year...more out of boredom and habit, than any other reason.

I give up believing, and suddenly the Christian spammers come out of the woodwork--what's with that???

Well, I have to go lay down. For some reason, I'm having heart palpatations and feel like I'm going to pass out, so I better take it easy for a bit. Have a good day.

Just this autumn, a bunch of local bikers got together, to do a motorcycle ride for charity--the charity...helping to raise funds to help a wee girl's family pay for the tot's leukemia treatments--which their health insurance wasn't entirely covering...to the tune of some 25,000 dollars.

A month later, a local bartender began a fundraiser for one of their patons, who'd crashed his truck and was now partially paralysed---even tho' the man was working full-time, his employer's private health care insurance was too expensive, (taken each week from one's pay packet) and the man had no insurance--so therefor accured over 100,000 dollars in medical bills...and tho' he was in a wheelchair, he was under threat of his debtor's of having his family home--which has been in his famly for nearly 100 years, taken from him.

Now, there's this story in the local paper, today:

When Robert Gimmler's son inadvertently stabbed himself in the eye while gutting a deer in October, the Hudson Falls resident thought his health insurance would help him remedy the situation.

Gimmler's first reaction: cry. His second: find a way to come up with the money.
"I was going to take out a home equity loan for $72,000 to pay for it but I was told that still wasn't going to be enough," he said.

I hear so many self-centered Americans--who do have good health care coverage--blithely write off the suffering of millions, because of some STUPID fear that maybe THEY won't get adequete care.

Well-off Americans justify their stupidity and thoughtlessness by saying that universal health care (NHS) is bad, that one won't get the drugs or care they need. BULLSHIT. Nearly 50 MILLION Americans suffer and don't get ANY health care, NOW. Nearly double that number--myself included, are UNDERINSURED, and don't get adequate health care.

People with cancer cry themselves to sleep at night--not just because they are dying, but because they are going to lose their jobs AND the roof over their heads as well, because we DON'T have universal health care!

No one, I mean no one, in a civilized western industrual nation, should have to suffer because of lack of money, or lack of health insurance. These nay-sayer won't even look at the FACTS. They blind themselves to reality. They don't know, they don't want to see, they don't care--because they want what they've got, and to hell with anyone else--they don't understand that under some proposals, they CAN keep their private health care, and CAN see a private specialist or doctor--they just wouldn't be able to do it for free.

I think anyone who is against health care for EVERYONE in America--regardless of how good or bad it is, should go without health care for a year, just to experience what life is like for people outside the nay-sayer's little protective bubble.

America is the most un-unted country on the planet--our motto should be changed to: "I've got mine, to hell with everyone else."

From the morning paper:

A Glens Falls man was charged with misdemeanor assault early Sunday after a fight with his wife that left her with a minor head injury. Apparently, the two had been drinking, and had an argument over a mobile phone, when the man bit his wife, she bit him back, he pushed her down, and she hit her head on the edge of their fireplace. This happened around half past four this morning.

Ah yes, the family that drinks together, gets arrested together, nothing gives you that warm fuzzy feeling that family fights at the holidays.

And, also in the wee hours of this morning, a Lake George man sped through a red light, and was arrested for misdimenor driving while intoxicated (aka: DWI).

Regional power outages from the the two-day nor'easter on Thursday and Friday--which included up to 6 inches of heavy wet snow, along with significant icing in three north country counties---power outages have been whittled down to around 16,000, as of early this morning, with all of those people expected to be back on by sometime Monday.

Located just a couple of miles outside the city limits, off of exit 18 of I-87, West Mountain Ski Area has once again opened for the season, and hope to have a banner year, with cold temps allowing for good use of their snowmaking equipment, and the recession discouraging people from travelling to other ski areas further afield, such as in far northern New York and Vermont.

In the northern Warren County rural town of Johnsburg, and high school student set fire to a rubbish bin in the school there, because he was allegedly upset that all after school activities--such as club meetings and sports events-- had been cancelled, due to the inclement weather this week. The 12th year student was charged with with the misdemeanors of Fifth degree arson and third degree criminal mischef.

1. Title of the last book you purchased:

The Last Gun (used)

2. Title of a book you've recently re-read:

Doctor Who: The Last Dodo

3. Title of a book you've read more than ten times:

The Walking Drum

4. Title of a book that made you think differently:

Essays by R.W. Emerson

5. Title of a Book that you thought you'd never like, but did:

A Day in the Life of Ivan Densinovich

6. Title of the first work by Shakespeare that you'd ever read:

Gosh, the first time I cracked open Shakespeare was in my early 20's...made the attempt to actually tackle Hamlet--not a good idea for a first timer...took me 20 years to get through it, ha-ha. I think the first Shakespeare I ever managed to wade through, might have been Twelfth Night...but could have been Richard II...tho' I think that one came later.

7. Title of a book you were forced to read in high school that you didn't like:

Failsafe. Gave me nightmares, that one did.

8. First piece of classic literature you remember reading on your own:

I think that would have to be "King Arthur and His Knights," or maybe "Treasure Island," I'm not sure.

9. Title of a favourite story your mum read to you as a child:

Mum was always reading to me when I was wee, but I remember the first "big kid's" book she ever read to me, when I was around 8 or 9 years old, and I treasure the memory--I was terribly sick in bed one time, and mum was sitting beside me every night, reading Margarerite Henry's "King of the Wind." I loved it so much, I asked her to read it to me again, when I got better.

10. Title of a modern classic which you've read more than once:

Cannery Row by John Steinbeck--brilliant!

11. Title of a book you read over and over as a child:

Gosh, there were loads. I suppose C.W. Anderson's "Afraid to Ride." Though, "The Black Stallion" got a lot of reads, as well.

12. Title of the last non-fiction book you read:

I was just reading a play from a book called "The Play: a critical anthology."

I couldn't get back to sleep right off last night, so I took an hour and wrote this thing. It's only the first chapter and I actually for once haven't a clue what the story is going to be about--I just started writing it...borrowed an idea I had for a 10 min. play, and found myself turning it into some Who-fic.

Anyway, it's rubbish, cos I just wrote it off the top of my head in a hurry, didn't think about it or anything. I wasn't going to bother posting it...but changed my mind--think of it as "blog filler." Anyway for what it's worth, here it is:

______________________________________________________________________________________

Doctor Who: Untitled Story Dec. 08

Bertha and Harry Twobigg were sitting beside the placid canal, fishing lines dangling in the water. “What I don't understand, Harry,” said Bertha between mouthfuls of a cheese and pickle sandwich, “is why you sold the boat.” Harry took an unlit pipe out of his mouth, looked at his slightly rotund wife, and replied, “Weren't catchin' no fish.” Bert snorted, casting a wry glance at her chubby husband's fishing creel, which was sitting beside him, filled with bottles of ale. “Well, ya' aren't doin' that now, either.” She shook her head, at him and added, “I don't figure you, Harry.”

Harry gave her a blank look, “What's that dear?” Bert sighed. “You buy a boat so you can fish right out in the middle of the canal, and then spend your all your time out there, casting your line towards the berm. Then, you sell the boat, and now all you do is sit on the berm, casting your line towards the middle of the canal. It don't make sense!” Harry merely grunted, and slipped his pipe back into his mouth, muttering, “If you were a fisherman, it would make perfect sense to you, sweetheart.” His wife snorted, “Oh sure, Harry. The day you catch somethin' big in there, will be the day that some alien will fall out of the sky and land smack in your lap.”

Suddenly, Harry felt his line jerk. His eyes popped open with surprise. “Well dear,” he told his wife with a happy grin, “looks like we might be havin' some fish with our tea, after all.” Suddenly, Harry was almost yanked off his feet, as the line dipped deep below the surface of the water. Then, Bert looked on in amazement, as the surface of the water began to bubble and roil. Harry pulled back on his line with all his might, leaning way back, as the pole bent almost double. “'ere now, help me woman!” He gasped. “Don't wanna' lose 'im, do we?” But, just as Bert went to reach for the pole, Harry cried out, and was abruptly dragged into the canal.

Bert screamed as Harry thrashed about, sputtering and waving his hands in the water—then, he went under, and was gone. His wife leaned over the edge of the canal bank, whimpering his name. There was one last big bubble that came to the surface, this time with a deep crimson tinge to it...and then the water became dead still. Bert sat down on the edge of the berm, looking out into space, her face white with shock.

A few moments later, a dark, oily looking blob, shot out of the water, and landed on her ample lap with a squishy plop. The middle aged woman stared down at the horror. It was almost like a cross between an octopus and a squid. It had a round body, slightly smaller than a football, and short little tentacles that seemed to end in miniature hands. It was coal-black, and slimy cold. Bert was paralyzed with fear and couldn't speak or move. Then, the thing opened it's single eye, glaring at her malevolently. Bert screamed again, a terrified high pitched shriek, which was cut off abruptly, followed by a tremendous splash. . The crows in the trees behind her, croaked in protest, flapping heavily away, as the woman's arm slowly sank beneath the surface of the canal.

The canal path was quiet in the late afternoon. It was slightly overcast, and a faint breeze stirred the trees. The narrow boats tied up near the edge of town rocked gently in the water. Just then, the peaceful scene was marred by a wheezing and groaning sound, like a metal file being run back and forth over some piano strings. An old blue police box appeared beneath some trees. The door opened with a creak of protest, and a young man with mussy hair, wearing a long brown coat and burgundy trainers appeared.

Closing the Tardis door behind him, the Doctor stood and sniffed, gazing about. “You there!” A gruff voice behind him bellowed. The Doctor whirled around, astonished. “Who me?” He said, with wide-eyed innocence, pointing at himself. The man he faced was a young and burly looking bobby. He was accompanied by another policeman, wearing a safety vest and cycling helmet, astride a mountain bike. “Don't see anyone else about, do you sir?” The Doctor raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the two policemen. The officer with the bicycle sighed. “Besides the two of us, he means sir.” The Doctor took a moment to glance around. “Erm—no, but, is anybody really here?

The burly policeman narrowed his eyes. “Two people, a man and wife, disappeared yesterday. An hour ago, someone found a piece of bloody clothing belonging to the husband, floating in the canal.” He looked pointedly at the Doctor. “Are you carrying any weapons, sir?” The Doctor raised his other eyebrow. “Just my mind—and, my words. A good friend of mine once said that 'words are loaded pistols..” He said quietly. The policeman snorted. “Words, a weapon?” He looked at his mate and murmured, “better check with the mental hospital, and see if anyone's turned up missin'.” The bicycle officer turned aside and quietly spoke into his radio. The burly young officer turned back to the Doctor and smiled politely, “I see then sir, soo—you think you can harm people with words?”

The Doctor caught the word 'missing,' and became suddenly serious, “Have others gone missing then? When was this?” The policeman seemed skeptical. “You mean you don't know, sir? It's been all over the tele and the papers this morning. Where have you been? And, while we're at it, just what were you doing in the old police box, over there? Maybe we should take a look, yeah? What do you say?” The Doctor didn't like the turn of the conversation. He glanced worriedly at the Tardis. The Doctor preferred to keep a low profile and he knew that wouldn't last long, if either of the policemen got a look inside. On sudden inspiration, his hand dived into his coat pocket for his physic paper. Alarmed by the sudden movement, the policeman reached for his pepper spray and sprayed the Doctor full in the face. The Doctor merely sneezed. “Oh, that cleared the ol' sinues, thanks...” but then fell over, having been given a sharp rap on the head with the other officer's baton. The two officers looked down at the unconscious Doctor, the big young officer nodded to his partner, “You'd better call in for the van.”

Jean-paul Sarte once wrote that "acting is happy agony."

It is, that. I suck like a Hoover at acting. Can't open my internal Pandora's box, you see? Can't even do it in writing, most times. That's why I know in my heart, I could never truly be good writer--I can't open the box all the way, let the things out, that need setting free--despite that they may make me feel like rubbish inside, might even destroy me.

A couple of posts ago, I tried to open the box...but there doesn't seem to be the words to say what I'm really thinking and feeling.

So, I'm going to close the box now. At least, for a little while. Sorry if I upset anyone. Thanks for your kind words of encouragement. I don't feel I've earned them, but they are appreciated.

It does kind of take you aback, when a favourite song you'd liked as a teenager, is suddenly being played on the "oldies" station.

My neighbour just came knocking on my door--he found my paycheck lying on the floor of the hall...the pay envelope must have fallen out of my pocket, when I was digging the key to the aparmtment out of my jeans. Thank goodness it was him, and not one of his drug-addicted relations.

Still, in the last month, I've paid the wrong bill, sent my rent to the wrong person, and lost my paycheck. I'm very, very deeply disturbed, I can't tell you how much, and I doubt most of you can begin to fathom how I feel, right now.

You see, where I live--it's just me. I'll I have here, is me. And if "me" can't sort my own life out soon, I am afraid I may really go off the deep end..and not come up again. I need help...but not the kind in a bottle of pills, or what some bored and sleepy public health thearapist can give me. I need a flippin' minder, is what I need. Of course, that's like saying I need to win the lottery, or I need to get a career, or I need to move to someplace nicer---what I want or need...well, it might just as well be made of air.

This ain't no Frank Capra film. There's no such things as fairy god mothers, no leprecauns with lucky rainbows or magic geneies in a bottle. And God ain't no mystical fruit machine, either. Say three prayers and pull the lever. I don't think so.

No super hero is gonna' save me, na-uh. No one is going to come along and take me under their protective wing and help me get better and put my life back together...I might be not all there of late, but I'm far from delusional. I figured out ten years ago, that the only one that can help my life get better--is me. But, I've failed-apparently quite miserably. And now, I am a tad out of the picture. I'm becoming increasingly---I don't know. Something's wrong, but I'll be darned if I can put a finger on it. I just know that my life is done--I mean, it genuinely does feel that way. Done, finished. I just am more and more lacking the energy and motivation to care.

I don't know how else to explain it--how can you put this kind of sinking, tired, scared, hopeless feeling into words?

I suppose people don't want to hear this--I don't reckon anyone on the planet knows how I feel about myself right now, and I don't expect anyone to understand.

I wanted to have a purpose in life. I just wanted to be good at something, and wanted for something, I wanted to give, but all I have done is take--or push away. I wish i had something to hold on to--I dont' even really have Dr who anymore--that bubble was sort of burst last June--which I suppose wasn't entirely a bad thing, in hindsight. I hate to say this, but some days...I'm just waiting for---nothing. Never mind. It's not important I suppose.

You don't have to reply to this, I just needed to get this stuff off of my mind.