The Fat Lady Sings

Michael Jackson + Addiction – Life at its Most Unfair (UPDATE)

 

I'm getting really pissed over the tenor of all this media coverage - and I'll tell you why.  It's the whole prescription meds angle.  Michael Jackson likely died due to an overdose of pain medication.  Christ!!  Every time some celebrity either dies or gets sent to rehab for using prescription pain meds as a route to getting high - my doctors get squirrely over treating my chronic pain.  I've a hard time getting them to treat the pain in the first place (why is it women are always told to just ignore severe pain?  As if that were possible!).  But as soon as the media gets in an uproar pontificating over all the supposed people lining up to abuse pain medication – doctors become loath to prescribe anything – no matter how badly needed.  And I need them.  Badly.

So I’m royally pissed.  The only people I ever hear of using pain meds to get high are indulged celebrities.  The rest of us barely get our pain treated at all.  And I am always in pain.  Always.  Every fucking minute of every fucking day (including the last few, which have been a nightmare).  The meds I am rationed only ease it enough so I can manage to walk across the room – they never really alleviate it.  And that under-prescribing is not about addiction, actually.  You don’t become addicted if the meds relieve real pain (or so my doctors keep telling me).  It’s the Puritanical belief that pain is something to be endured.  Just suck it up and move on.  Well the people who believe that have never lain writhing on the floor unable to breathe because they hurt so damn much.  Sleep?  Pffft.  Not likely – and when I do – I experience pain in my dreams.  So I never really escape.  My pain is always there.  It greets me in the morning and I shake hands with it every night. 

So now we have Michael fucking Jackson and his medicated trips in and out of Neverland.  Great.  Fucking great.  I’ll be needing my prescription renewed soon – and I anticipate trouble.  The last time Rush Limbaugh got caught with fake prescriptions – the pain clinic I was attending decided to cut patients meds in half.  You’ve no idea what it’s like to sit in a hospital waiting room listening to some poor sonofabitch cry himself silly because he can’t get any relief for his cancer pain.  Me?  I weep every day.  I weep every day 'cause I hurt every day; that's my life.  So yes, it’s terrible that Michael Jackson died.  Really.  I’m sorry for him, for his family and for his kids; but this talk of policing Anna Nicole-like over-prescribing will not have the effect people are looking for.  Wealthy celebrities will still be able to buy Oxycontin and Methadone any time they damn well please – while the rest of us (those who really need pain relief) – will have one hell of a time getting the occasional Vicodin.

But then I guess life is never fair.

Here's Michael in better days - when it was only about talent and ability.  I've noticed something, by the way - as I've watched the endless streaming videos: Michael Jackson was one angry fella.  Seriously.  There's lots of violence and destruction to be had in every one of his mini films.  I’d say Michael was mad at the entire world.  Maybe he had good reason to be – I don’t know.  Pity it got him in the end.  RIP, Michael.  It wasn’t your fault - not really.  No one was ever looking out for you, I guess. 

Well - the FDA just pulled Vicodin and Percocet off the market because they contain Tylenol, and Tylenol causes liver damage.  I'm sure this is a knee-jerk reaction to all the over-prescription hysteria running rampant in the media at the moment.  Thank you Michael fucking Jackson.

So that's it, folks - I'm screwed.  No more pain meds for me.  Oh - I'll call my doctor tomorrow and see if he will prescribe an alternative....but my hopes aren't very high in that quarter.  Frankly - I don't know what I'm gonna do at this point.  The chronic pain I suffer has spikes that are off the chart even with the pain killers.  I cannot even begin to imagine how bad it will all get if I’m left to cope on my own.

What a fucking mess!

Money – It’s a Crime

Hollywood justice strikes again.  Singer Chris Brown was given no jail time after pleading guilty to assaulting his girlfriend.  Rihanna turned up to testify (unwillingly) – only to learn it wouldn’t be required of her.  The deal was done.  The sentence?  Community service.  Along with washing graffiti off walls - Brown gets to talk about the evils of battering woman bloody to other batters who also got nothing more than a slap on the wrist.  To make everything worse – the judge had to enforce an order of protection.  Not against Brown as one might think; but to ensure Rihanna’s the one who stays away.  Evidently she wants to re-start the relationship (she’s been calling him).  How sick is that.  

In a word?  Appalling - just across the board appalling.  Had Chris Brown assaulted a stranger in the street - he'd be going directly to jail.  But because his victim was a woman he'd had a relationship with - he gets a freebee.  So what's gonna happen the next time he does this - 'cause you know he will.  Maybe not Rihanna - but whoever he's dating will feel that bastards fists, you can bet on it.  I know.  I've volunteered in women's shelters.  They always do it again.  Always.  An interdiction now might have made some kind of difference (jail time + counceling) - but all this tells little boy Brown is throw money at any situation and you can make it go away.

I think I'm gonna be sick. 

David Carradine – Suicide at 72 (2 Updates)

 

I met David Carradine during the 1976 Academy Awards.  His brother had just won the Oscar for best song (‘I’m Easy’ from the film 'Nashville').  The entire family was there - from old papa Carradine on down.  His father had even brought his own Oscar with.  There they were - something like 8 sons, all lined up, circling the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.  Old man Carradine went up to everyone he could find, introducing his youngest son, shaking everyone's hand (his own gnarled from arthritis).  I’ve never seen a prouder man in all my life.  He was on fire – his arm around his son, comparing statuettes.  I actually got to touch an Oscar that night.  It was quite surreal.

David was there along with all the rest.  He stood a little off to the side.  Happy, yes; but not really participating.  I noticed he was a bit shorter than his brothers (definitely shorter than the old man).  I shook his hand too - told him I was a huge fan (I was).  Frankly – he and his father were the ones I was interested in.  I hadn’t liked 'Nashville' – and I thought the song sucked (sorry Keith).  David was a huge TV star.  ‘Kung Fu’ had been one of my favorite shows.  I appreciated the chance to tell him so.  He was quite gracious (as was the entire family).  I gushed, he smiled – then he lit a cigarette and moved off with the rest of the clan, maybe a step or two behind.  I wondered at that.  It was the look in his eyes – a look I was all too familiar with.  That look of not quite measuring up.  So I wondered whether or not David wanted it to be he who won the second family Oscar – not his younger brother.  Not envy mind – just a tinge of sad regret. 

Maybe I was wrong.  I’ll never know.  I am sad that he's gone.  He's the second person I met that night to commit suicide, by the way - Margot Hemingway being the other (she literally saved my ass that night).  How odd is that?

R.I.P. grasshopper.  You’ll always be Kwai Chang Caine to me.

 

***Note: I know old John only had 5 sons (I looked it up) - but there were more than 5 family members with him (as I remember).  It looked like a sea of tall, thin men in tuxedos.  I was overwhelmed by the sight.  No one in my family would have turned up like that for me.  I envied both David and Keith the love that support represented.

Update:  There's evidently some question as to whether Carradine committed suicide or not.  Auto-erotic suffocation (a la Michael Hutchence) is now a distinct possibility.   Whatever the truth - his family, friends and fans are devastated. 

 

Second Update: It looks like the FBI is getting involved upon request of the family. 

Disapproving Birdies

 

 

  

 

It seems rabbits aren’t the only disapproving creatures in the universe.  These baby birds look mighty pissed at something, if you ask me – especially Mr. Hunchback over there on the left.  I have no earthly idea why they disapprove so mightily (or at what).  Mommy and daddy bird provide loads of nice crunchy buggies (wasps seem to be especially tasty).  Even the accommodations could be considered roomy (for five baby birdlets, that is).  So what’s the beef?

 

Every spring I am treated to swallows nesting in my porch eaves.  They are always welcome - disapproving or not!