Ankle break, week four: Home Depot Project Gone Wrong
I visited my doctor a couple of days ago to get my splint taken off and a cast put on my little broken wing. The X-rays were a little disheartening. That's my fibula on the left that looks like a Home Depot project gone wrong. I picked a pretty red cast as my color option. I was going to go with a bright pink, but Ernie looked at me like I had grown a second head. Everyone's a hater. August 16 is my target date (which is also my mom's birthday), because that's when I get to switch over to an orthopedic "boot". I'll at least be able to walk around. yeaaa.

Do you believe in Gosh?
"The thing that's depressing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I'll never be as good as a wall. I played a wall once. They're fuckin' relentless."-Mitch Hedberg (1968-2005)

Mitch died and I didn't know it. It made me sad, because he was probably the most original comic that I'd seen in a decade. His material was like the diary of a madman and his delivery, that of a poetic stoner. Mitch was a free spirit, a genius, and unforunately, an addict. Why do those three adjectives always seem to go hand-in-hand? You never hear of a sensible genius who blesses us with his presence and lives a good, long life. The part I hate most of all is that he died in March and I didn't discover it until this month's issue of Entertainment Weekly. I wanted to share some of his genius with you in the hopes that you celebrate the memory of his originality with me. Please don't read the quotes below as just mere jokes or you may miss the fact that there is a man who is questioning his existence in a very surreal manner. These are read almost as extended spirtual musings or a raunchy haiku, and that's what makes Mitch so amazing to me: he was more co-dependent Walt Whitman than thoughtful Jerry Seinfeld.

Last week I helped my friend stay put. It's a lot easier than helping someone move. I just went over to his house and made sure he did not start to load shit into a truck.

My apartment is infested by koala bears. It's the cutest infestation ever. Way better than cockroaches. When I turn on the light, a bunch of koala bears scatter. And I don't want 'em to. I'm like, Hey! Hold on, fellas. Let me hold one of you. And feed you a leaf.

Alcoholism is a disease. But it's, like, the only disease you can get yelled at for havin'. Dammit Otto, you're an alcoholic! Dammit Otto, you have LUPUS!

I haven't slept in ten days. Because that would be too long.

I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to, too.

Ankle break, week one: Ground Zero
I broke myself. I couldn't believe it when it happened and I'm still struggling with the concept. Kids: don't run in the parking lot while you're wearing your cleats. I slipped when I tried to stop and now I'm on the DL for probably two seasons. I started screaming before I saw that my toe was pointed at the ground while I sat holding my knee trying not to pass out or throw up.

I'm struggling to move past this moment. It's become too painful to recount and I'm trying to adjust and figure out my options professionally and recreationally. It's going to take a year to recover from this mishap. I was going to go back to massage therapy school in September. I may never play tennis or softball again. I may walk like Festus on Gunsmoke. Dear Lord, it all happened so quickly. Did I appreciate it enough before it was over? I hope I did, because I miss it already. What would have happened if I just walked to turn off my car instead of jogging. It's all over for me right now and it's a big void. I'm not sad or depressed, it's all happened too quickly. I'm still screaming.

Lions, tigers, and zombies! Oh my!
Just heard on the radio that zombies are real! Scientists at a Pittsburgh university have figured out how to bring a dead dog back to life. I thought it was a joke when I first heard it on the radio, but they went on to explain how they did it. Apparently, you have to use a freshly dead dog. They drain all of the dog's blood and inject it with a saline solution. Then they drain the saline solution, inject the dog with fresh blood, and shock it back to life. I was stunned when I heard this stuff.

The goal will be to use this technique on soldiers on the battlefield, but all I could think of was Stephen King's novel, Pet Cemetary. If you bring something back from the dead, who do you really bring back? Is it the man or is it something else? People die and stay dead for a reason. I found the article which talks about this process, because I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around it. I keep waiting for the punchline. I started researching the organization and the scientists who pulled this off.

The organization is The Safar Center for Resuscitation Research of the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine and the man responsible is Dr. Peter Safar (1924-2003), the Father of CPR. The research is real, the doctor is real, and I just keep getting more and more creeped out. I guess truth is indeed stranger than fiction.