Entombed

Social Science is the opportunity for adults to drink in a children's environment. At least that was my interpretation. Neither me nor my mother drank, but we had a good time.

The Science Museum of Minnesota closed its doors to the public at 4pm yesterday to prepare for the event. It started at 6 and we strolled in at 6:30 and we're I.D.'d by the police to get through the doors. Neat.

We were greeted by a gigantic space man that towered over everything. Mom was hungry so we proceeded down to the third floor where we were told was a restaurant and where we could hear a large dance party in progress. As it turned out, it was an empty dance floor and a table with a lone D.J. whose name was, I believe, Sasha DuJoúr, or Sasha of the day in English. The music was loud.

We ate and started our tour with dinosaurs.

Allosaurs looked like velociraptors to me so I took this picture. I wonder if these former rulers of the world actually stood around with their mouths agap, or if this look is created to strike fear in the observer.

This is not a turtle. Actually it looked more like a pig than anything. I don't recall it's name, but it was pretty cool-- my favorite fossil.

This here is fossilized Dino poo. Somewhere exists a picture of me taking this picture. It was the most popular display by far of the dinosaurs.

These are holograms. I couldn't get them to look 3D on my phone camera until I actually took the picture and my mom stepped in and it appears as if the picture lept out and grabbed her face.

And then there were mummies. We each paid an extra $8 to see this exhibit. I had mixed feelings before I walked in. I mean, how much could I learn from a dead guy in a blanket?

These are skulls of adults whose heads were bound as children. Yes, people actually wanted their heads to look like butts 2,000 years ago.

His whole life story was written over the body in hieroglyphics. You didn't need to be rich or famous to have an elaborate tomb, this was very common practice back in the day.

This one really got me. I stated for minutes. It's just a head. But one day, this head held thoughts, talked to and loved people and his family. And years later, he was ripped to shreds by grave robbers looking for treasure. His head was torn off and discarded with no respect or remorse. His eye sockets were empty, but I envisioned a stream of tears cascading down his gaunt cheeks.

Here's another one I couldn't walk away from. This is a very lifelike recreation of an Egyptian boy who was entombed thousands of years ago. D.N.A., X-RAY, and some acronyms I can't recall were used to estimate his features. I had a minor acid flashback. Synesthesia kicked in when my brain told me this was a real person even though I knew it wasn't. I saw a flicker  then I know I saw his eyes move. Colors started to change around me. I was locked in.

I looked closer into his eyes. We started at each other for a full minute. I swear I heard him breathe. I could see pores on his skin, each one with a micro-hair protruding. The detail was phenomenal. I nearly got sick because of the effect it had on my brain. No joke. We left.

Upstairs we found the place where you can bring things in to trade. Things you find out in nature. They assign a point value to what you bring then add on points for what you know about it, then you find something worth that many points. These agates are an example of what you could bring in or leave with.

And finally, I discovered I could put my face and name on the space man. It's the coolest thing I've ever seen or done. I'm an astronaut now.

In the long run this was a  important night. Aside from the unexpected L.S.D. flashback, it was an opportunity to be in an environment where normal people were drinking normally. I didnt have any urges to sneak off and find a private place to down a quick beer or empty out a pop can and fill it with wine. I had a fun time and paid attention to the exhibits, not the people. Another small success for me.

The Cruise Part 1

As with most events in my life that weren’t dated with a mugshot, or a stack of legal paperwork, I have no real idea when I went on my cruise. It was more than ten years ago, and it wasn’t last week. I was a drunken mess the whole time, and I nearly drowned. Also I saw a monkey.

The few pictures I have from the cruise are only around because, for some reason, MySpace still survives. I can’t log into my account, but I can copy pictures from my page.

This all started when a girl I was dating suggested we go together. We became close very quickly, and after an only brief friendship, began dating. It was a disaster, and only a month in, it all fell apart. Here’s the thing, we still had Caribbean Cruise tickets, and mine was worth over $2,000 alone, so we were going. I almost wish I hadn’t.

I had started drinking only a few weeks before the trip after nearly five years of sobriety. I was depressed because I was single again, and had lost whatever happiness I had found after years of finally making the right choices. The point is, that I had picked up where I had left off with drinking, and almost immediately started drinking to blackout every night. I’ll get to it:

We left Rochester at 4am for the Minneapolis airport, I had parked my car at a friend of Angie’s (the ex) and she would drive us to our flight. Blah, blah, blah… We arrive in Florida, wait for two stupid hours for a shuttle to take us to a line that we stand in for two more stupid hours, and finally we board the ship. One person at a time, over 2,000 people. F.M.L. Finally, at 6pm we start the safety whatever meeting where we all learn how to use life jackets. It was like an hour-long version of the seat belt speech on an airplane. 7:30, we hit the road. The road made of water. 

Forever one of my favorite pictures. This was taken on the first night from either the bow, or the stern of the massive ship. Whichever one of those terms means the front.

The ship was colossal; I can’t think of a better word for it. And, it had everything you could possibly want or need. Several casinos, a hundred themed bars, too many restaurants, some free some not, a full gym, swimming pools, various clothing shops, duty-free stores, and more. The first night we just walked and walked, taking it all in. I grabbed a Foster’s and that became my theme as far as beer went for the extent of the trip. The first night, I didn’t black out.

Day two was all ocean. We took advantage of what the ship had to offer, for me that was sitting by pools with colorful drinks the size of fishbowls, and getting some sun. Sun+booze= Derrrrrrrr. I know I took a nap because I was told by somebody that I should be presentable for the formal dinner that evening. Well, I wouldn’t want to make a scene.

Taken in one of the never-ending hallways of the cruise ship on the second night just before the first formal dinner.

The formal dining hall was, and still is, the most charming, elegant setting I have ever eaten in. Seating was assigned, and we were placed with other Minnesotans for the three proper dinners of the trip, it was pretty cool. Lobster, beef tenderloin, other things, stuff, it was all delicious. And I only had a glass of wine because I was classy. A few hours later I was escorted back to my room because I was found blabbering in a hallway well after everything had shut down for the night. I woke up with my tie still on in the morning.

Day three: Mexico. I remember very little of Mexico because they have Tequila. I love Tequila. I love Tequila. Did I say that?

I love this picture. This was my view from a bar stool at the port bar in Costa Maya, Mexico.

We went on a four-wheel excursion where we saw a monkey in a tree from restricted vehicles. I mean, these things wouldn’t go over 30, and they still made us wear helmets. Also, I had to pretend not to be drunk at 11am, which is stupid, because I was hammered drunk because they sell drinks everywhere!

This bar is where Angie opened up and told me that not only did she never want to get back together, but she had found somebody else. He was married, and had a kid on the way. Also she had been with him while we were briefly dating. Also she had been with her ex-boyfriend.  “Camarero, uno mas, por favor!”

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I'm Still Not Perfect

What the fuck is wrong with you? You know who you are. You turned onto University Avenue this morning and I had to slam on my brakes. Then you proceeded cautiously at roughly 20mph, no more, no less. You probably saw me in your rear-view mirror throwing my arms up in the air and gesturing to you in a manner suggesting that you should fournicate with yourself. If you had the ability to read lips, you might have been upset for a good portion of the rest of your day because I had some ideas of what you could do with your ass.

Didn't you all get the memo that I'm the most important driver on the roads? Surely I tell people through my body language and aggressive driving tactics. And did you know that it is my sole responsibility to hold you to the highest standards of what I think driving laws are? It's a tough job, but I think I do it well.

Here's an example of how I teach others the rules of the road. Let's say you see an opening in traffic so you take a right and I happen to be behind you at whatever distance. What you didn't know is that I saw you turning and I sped up so I would have an opportunity to slam on my brakes to teach you a lesson. Now that's pretty nice of me. Had I been the one turning, and a car came up too quickly behind me, I would have proceeded at roughly 20mph to teach them a lesson about speeding.

Does this all sound a little fucked up? Great! You're paying attention. This is an example of what I've been fighting since childhood: Perfectionism, which is a controlling behavior. I wrote a paper on the subject in treatment in prison, and I've come a long way. But I'm still not perfect.

Perfectionism isn’t exactly what you might think it is. You see, I hold myself to the highest standards when it comes to, well, anything. And when those standards aren’t met, I blame it on something or somebody else. Here’s the thing, I also hold you to the highest standards. I need you to do everything perfectly, or I’m going to let you know about it. Not through direct communication, but again with body language like sighing or visible frustration.

This is just one of the many things that has come up while writing out my fourth step. I’m taking my personal inventory, something I did in a different fashion in prison, but there appears to be some leftovers. I’m okay with it though. Already I’ve been making changes mentally in my thought process, and I’ve been able to let go of a lot of baggage and anger. I still have two weeks left of this fourth step workshop I’ve been attending, and this week we are going to go over our sex inventory, something about which I’m a little nervous because I haven’t thought about it for years. Quite candidly, I’m not even sure what the process is, or what I will have to spell out, but I will know tonight.

I drove home from work today without even so much as thinking a bad thought about a fellow motorist. I didn’t even look in my rear-view to make sure the guy turning in behind me used his blinker and changed lanes appropriately. Traffic was bad, but I just listened to the radio, and that seemed to distract my mind for long enough to get home.

One thing I am constantly working on is the thoughts that go through my head. I need them to be more positive, and they are becoming that way, but I still find myself saying bad things in my head about people like my boss, and the poor man at the Arby’s that didn’t seem very bright. None of those thoughts made this world a better place.  From now on, I will focus on what I can do to help others. I will be less selfish and self-centered. And we will see how that goes for a while.

Jobs Part 9 (On the Inside)

St. Cloud Prison, as I’ve written before, is a terrible place to live. Not too shocking, I’m sure, that a prison wouldn’t be the ideal place to rest your head. Unfortunately for most people stuck there, there’s very little time spent outside of the cold steel cells. I was very fortunate to be one of the few selected to be a swamper in B house. I worked with three other guys from 2-10pm cleaning the giant concrete room that housed nearly 200 men, most of whom didn’t care much about cleanliness. Thankfully, our work rarely entailed going inside cells to clean, rather walking by with cleaning caddies and offering the supplies to the offender to clean their own space. It got me out of my cell for half of the day, and I think the best part was that I got to shower by myself most days.

I got to know some of the Corrections Officers pretty well while I was there. Nothing personal because asking questions would be taboo, but some of them had a sense of humor or at least saw the humor in things there, and we got to chat about that. It was nice for me because it seemed like I was talking to normal people even if for only a little while. It was the only place during my incarceration where a few of the C.O.’s seemed like normal people.

That all changed when I was moved to Moose Lake in preparation for Boot Camp. I would spend the next four months there as a seamster, sewing the crotch flaps together on men’s briefs. According to this Word document, seamster isn’t a word, but that’s the term we devised for ourselves as we worked nonstop under watchful eyes for 50 cents per hour.

More than a few times, a C.O. walked over to me and a co-worker to tell us we were talking too much while we were working. It wasn’t disruptive, and we were working while we were talking, but they wanted us to know that they were watching, and that they were in control. We had to fill out a production sheet every day and I was told that I needed to do 200 sets per day or I could lose my job. 200 required me to basically stare directly in front of me at my machine and go, go, go. We were given breaks, but only for standing head counts, and one for lunch. I was never eligible for a raise, but I could have made up to $1 per hour if I had stayed on, never more. Of course if I had applied to sew cases for MyPillow, I could have made minimum wage. Of course, at 50 cents, or minimum wage, the prison took their share of what we made. Thankfully, I was relocated out of that dreadful place to C.I.P. where I started out as a laundry worker, but very quickly traded that job in for one where I would have a little more quiet.

Quiet: Non-existent in every prison atmosphere. But for an hour a day at the Challenge Incarceration Program, I walked the halls of the chemical dependency treatment building where all was as still as night. There were groups meeting, and employees meandering about, but I wasn’t allowed to look at them or talk to them without permission, so I just kept my head down. I wasn’t allowed to use a vacuum, so each day I would start by sweeping the carpet on to the bare floor, then sweep all of that up, then mop. After that, I would clean the bathrooms which were only used by staff and scrubbed twice per day so they weren’t really ever that gross. And at the end of my shift, I would gather up all of the recycling and trash and take a nice slow walk to the pole barn where I would deposit it all in its place, and make the walk back to ask permission to carry on for the day. I did that for five months, and I don’t think I could have had a better job there.

That brings me to now, and I have already written about the laminating job.

Looking back over the years, and over these nine posts I see some patterns. When I’m sober, I am an honest, hard worker who tries to give every day. When I’m not, well you better lock up the expensive dinnerware, because I will absolutely take it.

And that’s it, folks.

Oh, I’ll be away from the blog for a few days while I write out my fourth step. I need to be focused and dedicated to this thing or it might not take. And for me, this is the most important thing in the world, this recovery. If I don’t give it my all, I will likely relapse, and you’ll never hear from me again. So, I’m not sure how long it’s going to be, but I think under a week. You’ll know as soon as I post again.