Talk About Head Games, Ne?

Alright, so I just finished reading this book called Shutter Island -- they just made a movie out of it earlier this year. I don't know how true to the story the movie is, but the book is one hell of a ride. 

My one sister and I have this running joke that's going on between us. I was an assistant coach for my niece's cheerleading squad, and she and I were making shaking bottles for the parents to help with some of the cheers. We were talking about something, and all of a sudden, I go: "I'm just your imagination." I have no idea what we were talking about or how all that came about, but it just came out all of a sudden. Anywho, we were talking about how I really was just in her imagination. We concocted this whole big elaborate story about how she dreamed me up and why she dreamed up and how the whole family was going on  with it because the doctors said that it would eventually go away. And we were getting really scared about the whole thing, because we psyched ourselves out into believing that I really was just in her imagination. 

Even just thinking about it now freaks me out. And when I want to freak her out of play around with her, I'll start talking about how I was never really born -- how she just thought me up and my entire life is all in her head. And then we have to sit there and think of ways that solidify the fact that I'm really alive and breathing and real. But what makes the whole thing so scary is that no matter what it is we say that should be proof that I'm really here can somehow be twisted into me being just in her imagination. So, for example, I go to college. That should seem real enough, right? Yeah, no. As soon as she said that, we looked at each other, and we were like, yeah, but you could just be imagining the fact that I'm in a college that you pass(ed) on a daily basis. Just because I'm surrounded by people doesn't mean that I'm actually there. Just because I answer questions in class doesn't mean that I'm actually there. In fact, no one could see me and when I'm answering questions, everyone else could be reading something or looking something up or doing work. 

When you stop and think about it, it's really scary. No matter what you say to try to prove yourself existing, it can always be twisted into you not existing.  

 And that's sort of like what this book is like. The ending -- I'm not going to give it away -- makes you think. It's sort of like those books where you can choose what happens -- you know, like the if you want little Suzie to do this, turn to page 42. I don't know, it's just weird. On the one hand, you can believe this one thing. On the other hand, you can believe that one thing. Either he's this or he's that. It's the very last chapter that makes you rethink the last 40 or so pages of the book. Were those pages really "true"? Or was it all part of the "game" or "joke"? 

 

Decide whatever you want to decide, because after all, your choice is my choice, because, hey!, I'm just in your imagination... 

Randomness-ness-ness

Why can't we sneeze with our eyes open?

Why does the label on children’s Tylenol tell you not to operate heavy machinery or vehicles when it's for CHILDREN!?

If your plan is having no plan, do you have a plan?

  Have you ever thought what life would be like if your name was Anonymous? You'd get credit for everything nobody wanted credit for?

Why is the name of the phobia for the fear of long words Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia?

The Blind Lover's Tale -- OR -- A Pathetic Go at a Love Poem

Once upon a time, not so long ago

There lived a comely girl who longed for love so.

She looked here and she looked there

But try as she might, she couldn’t find love anywhere.

So she traveled far and wide and across the distant sea

To a city where she thought love would be.

The girl was smart, but she was blind

To the man she saw only as a friend that she left behind.

It wouldn’t be hard for her, she thought

With her fair face, raven hair, olive skin, and given lot

To find a man to be hers forever

But she wasn’t so cleaver.

As she left on her trip

A small piece of his heart she’d clipped.

She was so excited, though – love at last!

Oh! Her world was moving by so fast!

She couldn’t wait to get to her city

Where everything was so beautiful, and she’d look so pretty!

She’d be sure to find her Casanova – the greatest lover of all

Even if she had to scour the city with buildings so tall.

And so the tale begins

But a warning to all: sought love is always thin.

When she stepped onto Venetian soil

She was ready to start her love-looking toil.

It was strange, the city

Something new to her – a shame her friend couldn’t be there – what pity!

But it didn’t change the fact that her heart was at a steady race

She was sure to find love with her Italian face.

She began to walk what few street there were

And several heads turned to look at her.

She was flattered

At all the attention she had so early on gathered.

Nothing like this had ever happened before

When she was out with her friend for hours or more.

She batted her eyes and gave quite a smile

And invited one to sit and talk for a while.

He was handsome and strong!

Surely he couldn’t do her wrong.

But then came a girl

With hair so blonde and teeth white as pearl

To take the man away

Off somewhere else to play.

So ended her first day

With no love yet, much to her dismay.

She began again anew

The next day with men numbering more than a few.

Men of every size and shape

Would turn their heads with mouth agape

As she would walk by

And wink at them, or bat her eye.

But still she felt empty, hollow

And was left in her torment to wallow.

The third day brought more luck

This one seemed more then just a passing buck!

“Bella,” he called her, hand extended

And on one knee, bended

Asked her to dine

And so she did – it was simply sublime!

But she found her thoughts straying

To the man she left back home praying

For her safe return

And news of her love-life – or lack thereof, he hoped – to learn.

And she looked to the man with whom she ate

And suddenly realized her fate!

She tried to see his face

But saw her friend’s in its place.

But she was blind as night

And ignored true love’s light.

She continued to eat

Sure that this illusion she’d beat.

What was wrong with her, the silly girl?!

This new revelation threw her life in a whirl.

She politely excused herself and ran home

Where she promptly dove for the phone

Her fingers raced over the buttons

Hungry for his voice – oh what a glutton!

But she stopped on the third ring

What could she say – she couldn’t think of a thing!

So she slammed the phone down

And her fine face was graced with tears and a frown.

Her sleep that night was fitful with nightmares

That he just wouldn’t care.

But finally it was time for her to leave

And she hoped that he would believe

That her love rang true –

Something she’d never seen but somehow always knew.

As she stepped back on her home-soil, she threw her arms around his neck

And gave his lips the tiniest peck.

“My Casanova, I love you,” she said

Her heart was filled with dread

That he wouldn’t return her love

And she would be left alone with her friends, or lack thereof.

But she was answered with a chaste kiss

A message that even she couldn’t miss.

“I love you too, mi armoire,” he whispered in her ear

Just to make his meaning even more clear.

There was no reason for this love, she knew

But wouldn’t mess it up like all the other chances she blew.

So the moral is clear: love without reason

Is always and forever in season!

Really...?

All I can say is that this completely dumbfounds me. Really, it does. If any of my nieces or nephews were sick with pneumonia, I would have rushed them to the hospital right away. I have a nephew who is about the same age as poor Rebecca when she died, and if he were sick like that, you can bet that he would be at that hospital -- not the doctors' office, but the hospital. When he was throwing up about a year ago -- uncontrollably -- he went to the hospital. Turns out, the babysitter gave him veal and he got food poisoning (because giving a two-year-old veal stew is a great idea), but he still went right to the hospital. My brother and sister-in-law picked him up after work, stopped over at the house on the way home, and he started vomiting all over the place, violently and several times every few minutes. After about fifteen minutes of seeing this - and that it wasn't going to stop because he was seriously ill and not just an upset tummy - we got them a bucket or bag or something, and they went right to the hospital. The poor thing was dehydrated and sick as a dog. 

Now, food poisoning isn't quite as severe as pneumonia. Because of that, wouldn't it make sense for this girl's parents to take her right to the hospital -- especially if they already **knew** that she had pneumonia? 

Right now, I've got a bad cold myself, so I can empathize with people being ill. But this happens to me every time the weather changes. I feel like shit, can only breathe out of one nostril at a time -- or sometimes neither nostril -- and a bit of a cough. Sometimes a fever on and off, depending on how often/what medicine I take -- which usually consists of Zycam or Nyquil/Dayquil or Alka Seltzer or something. Being sick royally sucks ass, and I hate it. I'm miserable to say the least. But I know that I'm not at Death's door. And if I were to get any worse or something like that, I would take myself to the doctor's or to the hospital or to urgent care. Because I listen to my body. 

And because I'm an aunt, I also listen to the bodies of my nieces and nephews. And when one of them gets sick, I spazz out. I have mellowed a little with the older kids -- being in their early/mid teens -- but the younger three, I completely spazz. And everyone laughs at me, but I know that if they got any sicker, they would take the kids to the doctor/hospital, no matter what age they are. 

My middle niece threw-up in the car once about a year ago -- or maybe less. I can't remember the exact date. But anyway, admittedly, I just wanted to get out of there. I don't like dealing with "adult-food" throw-up. So I sat up front on the way home. And when we got there, what was the first thing that my sister did? She called the doctor -- very good, boys and girls! And made an appointment ASAP. If I remember correctly, she had a 24-48 hour stomach flu, I think. Don't quote me on that, because I can't remember for sure if it was 24 or 48 hours, but it was one of those.

And just a little while before that, my oldest niece had a syncope spell while my sister was cutting her hair. She freaked out because she thought that my niece was really, really sick. Fainting shouldn't be taken lightly at any time. But it was the middle of summer, and my sister was cutting my niece's hair when my niece just kind of passed out and knocked her head on the table, I believe -- or maybe the counter. I wasn't there, so I don't remember which it was. Anywho, she called 911 and then she called us at our house and told us what happened while the medics were checking her out. It was really just a fainting spell because she was hot, she was standing still for a long time with her head at a strange angle. My niece had a headache and a bit of a bruise from where she knocked herself on the way down, but she was ok. 

And then her brother, my oldest nephew, got Impentago, which is sort of like MRSA but a bit more easily treated with antibiotics. He has sores all over his hands and face and torso, and he spent a stay in the hospital while they figured out and treated him. He got home from football practice one day, and my sister noticed that he had this odd sore on his hand. They both thought it was a blister from doing some of the practice things that they did that day. The next day, he was covered in sores, and my brother-in-law took him to the hospital. They were able to treat him successfully, and he doesn't have any scars or any other outbreaks. He washes his hands more, I daresay, but he's a perfectly happy and healthy 15-year-old. 

So, what I'm getting at is this. If Rebecca did have pneumonia and did die from it, that death could have been prevented. I watched the trial about this on TruTV, and the testimony said that supposedly the parents had appointments for the little girl, but they never took her because it was the "next day", and when that day came, it was the "next day" again. So, if this little girl was so sick that she died from it, wouldn't it make sense that they took her to the hospital or the doctor's or something?! She was found dead just inches away from her parents' bed, covered over with a blanket with pickish-red fluid coming out of her nose and mouth. She basically aspirated -- or choked on her own vomit, suffocated, and died. So, even if the poor little girl did have pneumonia, it wasn't an unforeseeable death. If her parents would have taken her to the doctor's office at the least, she would still be alive today. They could have treated her. They could have sent her to the hospital, and if the parents didn't want to take her, the doctors could have called DCSS - the Department of Child and Social Services, and then they could have had her flighted or ambulanced to the hospital.

It's stupid and messed up that this girl had to die. It really and truly is. If your kid is seriously ill, take them to the hospital. They can't turn you away because you don't have insurance. They can't kick you out. They'll help you, and they'll help your kid. It's bull-shit that they didn't take her to a health care professional. It's bull-shit that that beautiful little girl had to die. It's bull-shit to the nth degree that the father is saying that it's an unforeseeable death. Screw that. Screw that. If your kid is seriously ill, it's your duty as a parent to try to find a way to get him or her to a doctor or a hospital. Ask a neighbor. Call an ambulance. Do something. Do anything. That child should be the most important thing in your life. I don't have kids and I know that. And I do that in my own life. I'm not the most patient person when it comes to dealing with kids -- younger/youngish kids. But when one of the kids is sick, I'm there. Right now, I don't want the kids around me because I have a cold and I don't want them to get it, but if the roles were reversed, I wold be right there.

So, don't you ever dare to say that an ill child's death was unforeseeable if you didn't do everything that you could do. And in this case, Rebecca's parents obviously didn't do everything they could have done if indeed she really died from pneumonia. 

Below is a blurb from TruTV:

 
Brockton, MA - From the time Rebecca Riley died in December of 2006, defendant Michael Riley has denied any responsibility for his four-year-old daughter’s death.  But despite those denials, Riley was charged with Rebecca’s murder, and ultimately ended up on trial in a Brockton, Massachusetts courtroom.  Prosecutors believe they have a strong case against Michael Riley.  But what is his response?  Basically, Riley’s defense seems to be founded on three core arguments:

• Rebecca Riley died a natural death.  According to Riley’s defense, Rebecca’s death was not caused by the overmedication of prescription drugs – particularly clonidine – that she was regularly given.  Instead, according to the defense, the child died of an acute case of pneumonia, something that neither of her parents could possibly have foreseen and for which they bear no criminal responsibility.

• Carolyn Riley is the one who administered the drugs.  According to this argument, even if one accepts the Commonwealth’s position that Rebecca’s death was caused by the large amounts of prescription medications she was regularly ingesting, Carolyn Riley was the parent who gave the Riley children those drugs.  Michael Riley claims that he was not personally involved in that aspect of his children’s lives; that duty, according to the defense, was strictly Carolyn’s.  Since Michael didn’t know what his children were taking – or exactly how much of it they were taking – and never personally administered it to them, his defense argues that he can’t be held responsible for any abuse or misuse of those medications.

• Dr. Kifuji is the real villain.  According to this line of defense, neither Michael nor Carolyn Riley had any way to know the potential dangers of the large amounts of prescription medications that Rebecca was regularly ingesting.  That responsibility, the defense says, rests solely with Dr. Kayoko Kifuji, Rebecca’s psychiatrist – a doctor who certainly should have known of the potential dangers of overmedicating a child, who blithely wrote prescription after prescription for the Riley children, and who never made an effort to either wean the children off their medications or follow up on the potentially dangerous side effects they might be experiencing.  If there’s someone who’s ultimately responsible for Rebecca’s tragic and unnecessary death, this argument goes, it’s Dr. Kifuji – not Michael or Carolyn Riley.

It’s interesting that prosecutors for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts agree at least in part with the defense’s opinion of Dr. Kifuji’s actions in this case.  While they still believe the ultimate blame for Rebecca’s death lies with her parents, prosecutors feel that Dr. Kifuji’s alleged negligence rose to the level of criminal responsibility.  A grand jury, however, disagreed, and declined to indict her.

-Michael Christian, In Session Field Producer

Not Your Average Monkey

Kay, so not too long ago, I just finished watching a pretty good B-movie whose major sponsor is the WWE. Weird, I know. Usually, these B-movies are nothing but sex, screwing, bobbies, and bum. But this on actually had some pretty decent horror scenes in them as well as just enough of the actual psychopathic stuff to make it seem quite believable. 

So, the movie was called See No Evil, and the biggest star in the flick was Kane, the wrestler from the WWE. If he ever wanted to give up wrestling, I think that he could have a pretty decent career as a horror movie actor. (Ok, so generally, he'd have to play either the huge monster slayer or the huge monster, but whatever; he was really great in the movie.) 

The basic plot of the flick was that this co-ed group of juvies agree to help out at this run-down hotel so that they can get time off of their sentences. The cop who viewers think killed this crazy axe-murderer guy about four years ago is one of the guards on the trip. Viewers also get a sneak peak at why each of the teens are in jail, everything from possession to aggravated assault. One by one, they all begin to get picked off at this hotel that they're fixing up to be a homeless shelter. And it's all by this guy that the cop-cum-guard thought he killed four years ago. Who survives? Who dies? What's this guy's MO? And what is the twist? 

I'm not going to give that away. I don't like spoilers that much, and I don't like ruining it for people to actually want to watch this movie. (For those of who who don't, I suggest Google or Yahoo or something. Ruin it for yourselves.) 

Anyhow, I thought that the movie stayed pretty true to the who psychological and psychopathic elements of the creation of a serial killer -- or kind of just a killer in general. If I had to pick a place for this guy on the Most Evil scale, it would probably be somewhere between level 17 and 22. I'm not sure how sexually motivated his killings are, but if I had to say, sex -- and sin in general -- definitely play a major role in his motivation.     

Not to mention, there's just enough show of abuse to turn your stomach. It's the general killer MO -- if that makes any sense. It's like it could be any person who turned into a killer. It's the nitty-gritty stuff that no one wants to talk about because you know someone, somewhere is going through something like that. It's actually the birth of a killer. So, whoot to the script writers or directors or whoever on that aspect. Great job staying true to form. 

And the murder scenes were great. There was a great amount of blood and gore and whatnot. And it looked pretty real -- real enough, at any rate, to give my father nightmares. (Although that's not saying much, but still...) It wasn't like you could tell that the blood was fake -- it wasn't too runny or too thick or too red or not red enough. But I really think what I liked the most was the film distortion -- think about the music video for "Closer" by NIN (seen below):

Or even parts of Rihanna's video "Disturbia" :

I don't know, but I really think that that's the most interesting and, daresay, beautiful part. It's beautiful because it's disturbing and so artfully placed in the movie that it makes you want to turn your head away. (I'm not your normal female: I won't coddle into your shoulder at the scary parts. I'd be there munching on popcorn and totally engrossed in the movie.) You want to turn your head away, but you can't because there's something there that won't let you. And it doesn't matter what that thing is -- just that it's there. And you watch. And you're slightly ill to your stomach and sickened by the fact that you know there are really people in the world like that, but you still watch because something compels you to. 

Am I making sense? Or am I just babbling? Who knows, but I thought that this movie was great for a B-lister. That, and Kane was awesome in it too... the best actor in the whole movie, and I can count the number of lines he had on one hand. So, it wasn't his speaking ability -- rather, it was his presence and his size and his ability. Pretty cool, ne?

Labor Day's a Crazy Day

I can honestly that this past Labor Day was really pretty fun. We had a cookout on Sunday because that's usually when we do the celebrating because the kids don't have school the next day, and this lets them stay up late and have some fun with everyone around the fire in the backyard and make s'mores and goof around. And before that, we usually play games and stuff -- like bad-mitten and a bunch of food and the girls do some cheer stunts and the boys play some football or baseball. And my siblings and I sit around the table on the deck and bullshit about... well... bullshit. 

So, it was pretty cool how my family was able to turn around my mood a complete 180*. I had had a pretty crappy day at work, and it didn't help any that it was the oh, so very infamous "that-time-of-the-month". 

Anyway, so we were sitting around the fire later on Sunday night, and we were just being stupid. And then someone brought up the topic of each of us telling a line of a story. There are a couple ways that you can do this little game, and the one that we did was where you have to repeat the whole story that came before -- so you repeat what everyone else said before you add your whole line. The last person then has to say the whole entire story before saying their line. 

Anywho, it was finally my brother's turn to make a story, and he added another "rule" to the story games. The last word that he said, everyone had to make a rhyme with that one word. And all of us who were around the fire were playing, so we were coming up with some pretty weird crap, considering people ages 40 to 9 were making things up. (My parents were playing it safe and sitting up on the deck just listening to the babel that decided to spew forth from our mouths.)

And my brother started the story, and this is the insanity that we came up with:

 There once was a dog who had a big butt
He pooped out a turd, it looked like a rut.
He got really angry and punched in the gut
Because he had an affair with a dirty mutt
They did it inside of the Pizza Hut
And tried to close the door but it wouldn't shut
'Cause the door really led to the tomb of King Tut
Inside, there was a snake with a golden nut
But this is really a movie and as the director, I say: CUT!

And this, folks, was only the beginning....

A Word of Advice...

Anywho, this aunt takes in her troubled nephew who is 16. That right there is a major tip-off. It can either go one of two ways: the nephew can turn his life around and make something good for himself due to the horrific events that he saw, or he can turn into this deranged killer himself from hanging out with the killer who was already named in the beginning of the book. 

Ok: So I think that we all know already that I love to read. I think that we have had that well established. Anywho, the point that I think I'm going to make is that if you're going to write a book, you should really make the book so that the reader can't figure out who the killer is within the first few chapters of the book. (Although that may or may not be the point I'm making. I think that I'm just rambling to ramble because I feel like hearing the oh, so comforting click-clack of my nails on the keys of the keyboard.)

It's one thing to say who the killer is, but it's another to have another killer and not name him or her and the reader is still able to figure out who the hell it is.

That's what's happened in the book that I'm reading right now. I mean, it was pretty good while I was still in the dark about who the real killer was, but as soon as I figured out who this killer was, the book just kind of went down hill from there. And I know that everyone has different opinions about what makes a good book and what doesn't, so I'm not going to tell you how this book ends on the off chance that you'd want to read it. Like I said, it's not a bad read; but I already have it figured out. (Come to think of it, I won't even tell you the name of the book, but I'll tell you who the killer was.)


It really has nothing to do with the fact that it's a male, that he's troubled, or that he's 16. What it really has to deal with is the fact that his actual parents treat him in the classic sense of how parents treat the kids who grow up to be killers. Like Jeffery Dahmer or John Wayne Gacy, just to name a few. And this kid was treated in the same way that these parents treat the people who grow up to become killers. And she gets points for sticking to the truth -- the different ways that one can grow up to be a killer: the hate, the abuse, the transference of that hate for a person onto an animal, which goes into the control of killing the animal, which eventually goes into the control of killing another human that fits the same criteria of the person(s) who originally created the seed of hate inside their bellies. But this chick -- her name's Eileen Dreyer -- she put it way too in the open. Not only does she tell you who the first killer is, but she also gives away the fact that it's this young kid who looks up to and idolizes this sick guy.

Or maybe this is just me. Maybe I was the only freak who was able to figure out who the other killer was just by reading the first few chapters. I think that I got to chapter 6 when she gave it away. I was like 60 pages into the book when I figured out that she was keeping the killer right under her roof and whatnot. But hey, that's just me. There were a couple lines that gave it away, and I don't want to quote them because that means that I'll have to tell you the name of the book. And I don't want to spoil the book in case it happens to just be me who was able to figure it out. Because I'm strange like that.It takes a really good mystery or thriller to keep me guessing. And that is why I would never be able to act in a movie; it would kill me not being able just to blurt it out halfway through. And not just because I would know who it was; mostly because I would forget who the hell it was and re-figure it out again as the movie goes on.

But I'm just saying....