Live Blogging My Detox Diet a.k.a Bataan Death March

The Bataan Death March (also known as The Death March of Bataan) took place in the Philippines in 1942 and was later accounted as a Japanese war crime. The 60-mile (97 km) march occurred after the three-month Battle of Bataan, part of the Battle of the Philippines (1941–42), during World War II. In Japanese, it is known as Batān Shi no Kōshin (バターン死の行進?), with the same meaning.

The march, involving the forcible transfer of 75,000 American and Filipino prisoners of war captured by the Japanese in the Philippines from the Bataan peninsula to prison camps, was characterized by wide-ranging physical abuse and murder, and resulted in very high fatalities inflicted upon the prisoners and civilians along the route by the armed forces of the Empire of Japan. Beheadings, cutting of throats and casual shootings were the more common actions—compared to instances of bayonet stabbing, rape, disembowelment, rifle butt beating and a deliberate refusal to allow the prisoners food or water while keeping them continually marching for nearly a week in tropical heat. Falling down or inability to continue moving was tantamount to a death sentence, as was any degree of protest.

Those guys had it easy! For true hell come join me on my detox diet as once again I'm at the mercy of heretical lunatics forcing their religion down my throat - literally. But I say piss on you bastards who say 7-11 doesn't provide the five major food groups, to wit:

Corn Dog


Fritos


Apple Fruit Pie


Oreos


Cherry Slurpee

If those pictures don't scream out "Nutrition!" to you then you must be some sort of fanatic. As if the goddam capitalists aren't bad enough, I'm also forced to live with the maniacal Spanish Health Inquisition. That way, after my long hard day of forced menial labor I can have nothing to look forward to but a celery stalk and baby carrots. Not to mention daily doses of powered vomit alleged to help clean me out.

You know the difference between a smoothie and a turd? Neither do I - I just know I don't want either one in my mouth.

To a health store I was taken, a place not even holding out the hope of a quick, merciful death:

Your local health
care professional

In the darkest pits of Mordor I lay abandoned, lightless and forgotten. Scanning the landscape, my hole just another black crevice in cragged ground untended by neither Man nor smelly Orc. I could think of escape but there's no place to escape to, the sun hiding for all eternity.

What curse of nature is this? Only by happenstance does any creature pass this way. And when chance does come, the creature is both murderous and foul, free to roam unmasked in this most unrepentant of lands. Oh, hell! I hear footsteps of agony approach! The Orc sees me and hisses in delight at my victimhood. Reaching a hairy hand into its soiled, oily sack, it brings out an aged pill of fuzzy mold and dread rot. "Take this!" it fairly giggles, "It will help you live longer!" Then I hear its over-large feet stomping away, gleeful at having extended my torment of living.


I'm even denied the most basic of human needs and rights: bread! Upon hearing this I quite rightly pointed out for centuries all of Europe used bread as a staple and even had revolutions over it! To which she pointed out compensatory items in their diet and other inconvenient facts I refused to accede. I stood my ground: "I'll deny all truth and turn Republican before I give up my bread!"

Now I have something in common with an
18th century French peasant: no fricking bread

Like a condemned man forced to make his own rope, I too was made to fabricate and fund my own demise, purchasing all sorts of left-wing, touchy-feely fruits and vegetables no beer-drinking, BBQ-loving Texan would be caught dead with on his plate. Watching the girl pass each embarrassing item over the scanner ("Oh jeesh, don't stop to look up the bar code for the fruit!"), I imagined all sorts of smart remarks she would pose to me afterwards: "Would you like a Barry Manilow CD with this or are you just going to chant?"

Luckily, she remained quiet and I avoided a manslaughter charge.

But when I started noticing hot flashes and cold sweats the next day, I returned with a vengeance! "This gay diet you put me on has given me PMS!"

"Oh, you already had PMS!"

"If I turn gay I'm coming back and fucking your boyfriend!"

That actually annoyed her. "Oh, shut up!"

"No, you shut down!"

At that point, I high-fived myself, waiting weeks for someone to tell me to shut up so I could tell them to "shut down". But like all glory, it was fleeting - especially when I realized I could celebrate my victory with nothing but grape juice and organic walnuts.


...Three days in and the end is nowhere in sight. Staring at the top of my cardboard abode, I ponder the meaning of life: there is none. It's shit and more shit until you die. The universe spins around me in quiet discontent.

Detox Dreams

At 4:35 AM I woke up on the verge of a heart attack. My dreams were killing me and someday I could very well die in the dark. All those things my conscious mind keeps propped up during the day come crashing down at night. It's like sleeping during a firefight on the battlefield - that's not time to sleep but you've got to do it sometime! Even now the pain is modulating within, festering desires pleading for hope that cannot be.

There are some - very pointedly - who've questioned the validity or even the existence of my pain. I write about it in allegorical terms but rarely in a way that can be directly connected back to me. You see, you are supposed to question my pain, to doubt it - and then go about your way. You may be many things, dear ones, but you are not to be trusted. I've seen what your ideas of a solution are and you are quite literally mad. So I'll take death on my own terms if you please.

The last point I remember of my dreams I was driving around DFW with a girl, but it was more like we were driving in a map. She was not a romantic interest - a cousin or a co-worker more like - but I still needed to impress her. I took a chance and blew smoke about how she must be lost being new to the big city and how vast the area was. She took the bait and duly noted my ability to navigate the crisscrossing highways and byways. I had to do something to score since I carried no real self-respect for myself.


So then I got the chance to "make it", the illusion was becoming real. I need only ride some old helicopter to gain full acceptance to the world. Only that chopper was in no condition to fly and I kept telling the guy in charge to stop putting gasoline in it, it was going to blow if he tried to go up in it. My words were not acknowledged and finally I got so upset I left, which was very difficult to do since the pull to stay and be accepted was very, very strong.

So that made the pilot and the co-pilot very angry with me as I ran away into the countryside, fearing them to come after me. I came up on a very nice estate, people with money, but here I was a fugitive. God, I'm so tired of always being on the outside of everything. My heart needs a place to rest - it's telling me so even now. Finally, I was branded a loser and put back in school in the loser class, trapped and bound to hell.

I recognized my fellow classmates, kids with no interest in "the system" whatsoever, all wearing the "Loser" branding from the "responsible" teachers. The teachers' mantra was simple: "Follow rules, good. Don't follow rules, bad." These kids didn't follow rules, they saw only their lives and where that led them and they were justly defiant in that. But I could see in their eyes the self-doubt from the constant branding as failures. I didn't see them that way at all.



I could play both sides of the fence. I had enough traditional smarts to play the game but I also knew the wisdom of living life. The price for walking in both worlds was I was committed to neither and had no possible life myself. And while those kids had no hope of ever making it in the folly world we've created, they had more of a life than me, making me feel the biggest loser.

Each day a teachermeister took us around to various places in the building and at the end was this weird sort of test. A number was secretly assigned to each of us and we had to "guess" who it was that day. I noticed right off the code could be cracked but I feared to do so since I was already in the world's dog house. But one of the girls with a very strong personality noticed the numbers were sequential and thereby we could determine who was going to be "it" next. She was very excited by her discovery and when the teacher came back in the room she proudly him told she figured out the answer for tomorrow and gave it to him. The teacher blew up with rage, assured by his own insecurities she had cheated. Always, always, always life was a no-win situation.

***

When I decided to suppress myself as a child, to die and become a loser, it had many repercussions. One of them was in 7th grade I tormented my English teacher all year long in class with my yelling out of smart remarks. By this point I had learned the fine art of walking the line, of never going too far to get in official trouble. By the end of the year, though, I had her so frustrated she took me down to get a swat for my cumulative effect. Next year I found myself ousted from accelerated English and in the lowest rung of classes.


It was weird and shameful to leave my usual crowd of accelerated classmates and do time in there. But though I felt smarter in one sense I felt dumber where it really counted: in life. These were party kids, living life of a Rod Stewart song. So what if they couldn't spell so great. I agreed with them. What did spelling ever do for me? What I really wanted was that girl sitting behind me. Guess I'm stuck living that moment forever, the dreams of tonight never letting me forget.

***

In my next Goupil installment, he's forced to put down roots and in doing so is forced to start facing himself. As he attempts to let go of his self-destructive ways and the insanity they bring he finds out something very scary and unexpected: more fear than he ever knew. His self-destruction had been his security blanket, imminent doom providing him with the out he needed before having to face reaping what he'd sown all his ill-gotten life. It's a madness consuming the world with its pretty propaganda of only speaking half of what it sees. It's so funny that people don't realize they are as much defined by what they don't say as what they do.

So as I struggle to do the "right thing" and take care of my health, I lose my acid reflux but gain heart attacks in the night. My decisions have been poor and I'm hanging by my fingernails as more and more of my past determines my future without me.

Take A Tour Of Cowboys Stadium!

When opening day came for the Cowboys' new stadium I was there. I didn't pay to get in, but I did wander around to capture it from the outside. So when I got the chance to wander around inside I took my camera and invaded the premises forthwith.

A couple of notes: do not take the self-guided tour. The VIP tour is ten bucks extra but it's five times what you get on the cheapo tour which is still $17.50. Or, you can do like I did, pay for the self-guided tour then mingle in with the VIP folks. So I actually took two tours by the time I was done. But if you want any real access to the place, you have to go the VIP route.

First, here's a few shots of the outside from a previous trek I made:

To start the tour, head into the Pro Shop where after you buy your ticket they let you up a magical set of stairs and into 1.2 billion dollars of concrete wonderland. From the stair level you walk over to get your first views of the field:



Look up from the field and you see the much talked about video screen, basically a small ocean liner as a Hi Def TV.



The weight of the screen is 1.2 million pounds. Might hurt if it fell on you. Operators work inside it during the game but are not able to leave. They gain access by climbing up a ladder that is lowered from within. Someone asked if there are bathroom facilities inside. The answer was no. [Insert own joke here]



Once on the field you can see the famous star. There is a crown to the field that I tried to capture as it slopes from mid-field to the sidelines. It was very steep in old Texas Stadium but not so pronounced here.









This is a field level suite, considered the most primo suites in the house. Now, you might think they are a rip-off what with the players, coaches and media on the playing surface blocking your view. But the first two rows of seats you see up above are reserved for the suite holders. They also get some inside parking spots to boot!



This is from me standing almost underneath the video screen, thinking about how much it weighs.



Moving back to the level from where we descended, we find a giant club room which can be rented out for an undisclosed price. If you will notice, you observe a theme of football shapes throughout here and elsewhere in the building. Jerry's wife did the interior design work.





From there we went up to the highest level suites.







You also have a good view of the infamous party pass levels. These are SRO areas for the price of a $29.95 Party Pass. They overflowed on opening day, tempers flared, people were arrested - not pretty. The Cowboys have since agreed to limit the number sold but it's still something like ten to fifteen thousand.


(Note the Dr. Pepper level, we'll be there soon)

This is what you see of the field from a Party Pass level 13 paces from the edge.



We also passed by some massive ductwork. The Stadium was closed that day and it was very pleasant. The place can be cooled down the same as any house can. Average electric bill? $500,000 per month.



Here we are on the Dr. Pepper level party area. Long way to fall from here.







But you can get some munchies up here - for a price! The city of Arlington agreed to chip in $350,000,000 towards the building of the stadium which was half of the projected cost. But they very wisely stated that Jerry had to pay any overages beyond that, which came to total more than $500,000,000. Maybe that's why there's over 800 concession stands.



Now, you see all them there cup holders?? Those are removed to create extra capacity. The seats are anchored to a lateral pole and without the cup holders present they can be squeezed together to allow for another 20,000 places. All I can say is you better like the person sitting next to you and hope they're wearing deodorant.



I got a shot of the roof before leaving the upper levels. It opens and closes relatively quickly but each side must remain equal distance from the middle during the process or it would warp the sucker.



Next we go all the way back down to field level to the Miller Lite Club. And why is it so special?



Because it's through here the players enter the field, allowing fans to get an up close and personal view. Shamelessly commercial but an awesome idea!


From out of here...


...and onto the field

But where did the players come from? Time to visit the inner sanctum of the locker room!





As expected, most of the room is lined with lockers such as these:



You can try the stuff on if you want and have someone take your picture in it.





A look inside the facilities.



To get back to the field you go through concrete tunnels wide enough to allow the players' Hummers to get through.



And once back out on the field, we remember what it's all about:



Yes, we are in the Bible belt in Texas but we are of two religions here. So if someone asks you how many people have walked on water in the history of mankind, you better answer two: Jesus and Roger the Dodger. Hallelujah!

Click here for a more in-depth walkthrough. Just too many details and places to list here. Ya'll come back, now!

Goupil: An Assassin In Love

[Recap: After a furious forty eight hours, Goupil has fled America and retreated to a roadside cafe in the German hinterlands on his way to Russia. His mind racing as his car had down the legendary Autobahn freeway, he stopped at last to take stock of his situation, his life, and himself. He feared going forward into the "Russian black hole" but his options had dwindled with each bad decision of his life.

But he loved European cafes with their sense of instant community for any wandering soul (well, not so much for tourists). And at this point Goupil was desperate to connect to anything. If only he could stay in that cafe forever as he flashed back to the genesis of his path...]


All music starts with the heart:

"Love is real. Heaven does exist. If I become one with her, my body could die and yet I would live forever..."
Goupil thought of nothing but Diana. He dreamt of conversations with her, of long walks in the warm evenings, of exploring her every inch in innocent wonder and devouring passion. She completed him, an answer he never knew he sought. This touch of tenderness, this delicate flower of light graced his life and brought sweet nectar to his long starved lips. As the longstanding miasmic mist evaporated from his eyes, Goupil gazed wide-eyed at the harmonies of the world he'd been missing. Where had his head been all this time?

"So strange this string of events...I thought God was avenging my deadly deeds, but could it be...is the universe conspiring to save me?"

Though he admitted it to no one, the nightmare arrest brought a curious relief to Goupil, ending a way of life he secretly - even to himself - tired of and loathed. How else could it have ended? If one plays a game, one should expect to lose sooner or later. C'est la vie! But the "sex offender" label irked him to no end and his judge, jury and therapist condemned him to life in the lower depths with their closed-minded contempt. But were these not the same events that led him to Diana, that freed him to find his one true love? His one moment of human failing caused the chain reaction that led to her doorstep. "Thank God for getting caught" - words Goupil thought he'd never utter.

"But could she possibly feel the same way as me? That is too much to ask. She has not lived a bent life such as I."
Like many unfound souls, Goupil kept his life compartmentalized, headed on a collision course with revelatory reality. Asleep in the night, one compartment spilled into another with no regard for any concern of Goupil's, his image dissolving in an irreversible mess. Diana's love pressured him with a new desire to become whole. The life of "glorious nothingness", once his most trusted friend, showed itself as the true enemy it was. But this new direction towards intimacy was one for which he not prepared - Goupil was losing self-control and turning into the kind of sucker he'd so long despised.

Today is the day. Goupil knocked on the well-inlaid door holding his dreams. So many barriers between him and her! He imagined the moment once more - the moment of telling her true. He was walking on the clouds - but who would believe such a thing is possible!

"I have something I want to tell you."

The spirit affair had progressed to the point of dubious trust, each wanting to know the other as a matter of life and death. She did not speak, giving him the space for courage he seemed to be needing.

"I love you."

Diana instantly covered her irrepressible smile with her hands to hide her reaction. But she knew one thing Goupil did not: her fidelity was not just to her husband but also to her weaknesses. What were her feelings for him but a threat to her life? Her pride, her vanity, her need for approval separated her from her dreams.

"But you don't know me."

"I know what's important!"

"But you don't need me."

Goupil stood back, stunned. How could she say such a thing? Is she merely wishing to deny me and my feelings? I must not show her how I feel! Goupil lost his conviction, doubting the wisdom of his attempted confession. He stammered and staggered his way out the door, sure he'd made a fool of himself, a coward revealed.



During the infamous lost-in-time drive back, Goupil's world cratered in on itself, his garden of life dying before his very eyes. "No! This is not happening!" he wailed even as he knew it to be true. The petals of tenderness fell forever through his fingertips and his lifeless body was heaped upon the world's pile of dead lovers that waits only for time to end.

Separated forever...must cut all ties to survive...and i have what to offer...just nothing...but our love was true...i could never explain my past life anyway...or my sex conviction...she who needs so much approval...yes i was right to run away...but i must give something to her!...she is everything...i'm only good at one thing...she did not marry love but her love of selfishness...her banker husband, mr. bonus man, feeds the greed...but i shall free her...my parting gift...for this she will thank me

***

CHARLOTTE (AP) Joel Hanssen, a 43 year old banking executive was killed execution style just yards from his office building today. Onlookers say the gunman appeared out of nowhere, surprising the victim and firing two quick shots to the head with a handgun. The shooter focused only on Mr. Hanssen and fled the scene immediately afterwards. Police are attempting to draw a composite picture but accounts are conflicting as to the shooter's appearance. Anyone with any information should contact the Charlotte police department.

Department spokesman Lyle Linkler refused to speculate on a motive at this time but some wondered if this was a vigilante killing and a backlash against the banking industry.
***

Goupil looked up from his early morning coffee as a tall, loud Romanian walked into the cafe with an Othello board, challenging all customers. Jesus, the people who wander in in the middle of the night! But was this strange man's entry real or just more of Goupil's imagining of the surreal movie his life had become, where assassins fall in love and dream they are loved back. And perhaps this fleeing to dreaded Russia was some sort of unconscious self punishment. Goupil looked at the fingers of his hand and wondered of the spirit that made them move...

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