Failed Pilot

I’m guessing that on Sunday, and I’m guessing that somewhere in my apartment, I was bitten by a Brown Recluse on the heel of my right foot. For two days, things began mild enough. I wore shoes, I walked in slight pain, I believed that whatever this was, it would pass. I had recently allowed a new pair of shoes to tear my feet apart, and incorrectly assumed that the trouble spot was an infected blister. The blister had healed two weeks ago, leaving a rough area. When, on Monday morning, the rough area had calloused and started to swell, I was very confused. By Tuesday night, I was limping, unable to wear any shoe, and the pain was beginning to reach an excruciating level…even as I sat or lay down. Not realizing that the first stage of a Recluse bite is hardening/callusing, I went to have the “infection” lanced or drained at a local clinic known as The Church Health Center. This establishment provides general medical services to Memphis residents lacking health bennies. As such, the wait is long, the treatment sometimes questionable (keep reading), and the environment is consistent with the discomfort experienced at any chain-operated, urban doc-in-a-box. The doctor or doctor-in-training that examined my foot found no signs of infection, and did not identify the sore as a spider bite. She nonetheless gave me a free round of antibiotics “in case an infection occurs.” The next night (Thursday), the swelling had increased so that it looked as though there was something about the size of a B-cup underneath my skin, and the pain was brutal. The bite itself was not draining, but would do so if I prodded close by or contorted my foot in different positions. I simply freaked out. The vein areas leading up my leg, right above my ankle, were sore to the touch, and this is a sign of minor blood problems, such as what occurs if you poison yourself by scratching too many mosquito bites. Fearing the worst, I went to the ER. The nurse that checked me in, taking my blood pressure and temp, said, “Yep, that’s a bite.” I took two Lortabs and waited for five hours until, with four parties still in ahead of me, I left at two in the morning. I planned to revisit the Church Health Center at 7:30AM. A few hours of sleep was essential…I had not been sleeping. Plus, upon climbing onto a bed in the ER, I was potentially signing up for a massive hospital bill. I am currently working odd jobs while once again trying to make this writing thing happen (in some context). That bill would have been issued a go-fuck-yourself-until-further-notice treatment. I awoke at 8AM to a decrease in the pain and swelling. I could walk, sort of. What this means is that the original round of antibiotics had finally kicked in. Friday, I slept a lot, did a little writing, and my foot produced A LOT of cottage cheese. The flesh around the bite has died into a dime-sized, white and black crater that continues to void itself of nastiness. At the apex, I rank the pain as some of the worst, right behind broken ribs. This can be attributed to the bite’s location, an active area - one has to try and get around. It was a mental and physical hassle that, at one point, approached a minor breakdown, probably because it hindered everything that I was trying to accomplish over a two-day period. Avoid this situation.

I dreamed that Todd Solondz rode his one-trick pony into the world of original Sci-Fi Channel ecological/critters-strike-back films, and this happened:

“Guiltasaurus” – Because real life can’t do it, you once again need a 46-year-old perpetual indie rocker to expose how screwed up things are. Special guest writer/director Todd Solondz (”Happiness” “Storytelling”) crafts a ride designed to simultaneously thrill AND make the viewer feel like complete crap. A nebulous, flesh-starved beast circumnavigates the sordid white underbelly of the suburbs, devouring hard-working, big-hearted souls only to possess the bodies of white-collar date rapists, closet gay bashers, molesters of wheelchair-bound high school girls, and fourteen year old boys that torture and kill neighborhood pets. Sprinkled with Solondz’s “unique” I-shouldn’t-be-laughing-at-this black humor, “Guiltasaurus” stars Treat Williams in a challenging role as the confused protagonist. Filching Oxycontins from his cancer-ridden wife and jerking off into his son’s baseball glove, Williams tracks Guiltasaurus through crowded back-to-school sales and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder recovery meetings. Also stars Indie Stalwart #49 and Indie Stalwart #12. More fun than Monday morning in a Planned Parenthood waiting room!!

J.T. Leroy is the pseudonym of an aging lesbian. Whenever a public appearance or photo op is needed, publicists and agents prance out some innocuous Terry Richardson/Ryan McGinley hard-on-in-the-tight-jeans fodder.

J.T. Leroy edits the Da Capo Best Music Writing 2005 collection. I got the ARC in the mail. Hope you like lots of “my momma woulda said” heavy-handed hill country nonsense used as a tool to describe music. Drop it, pal, you wear the affectation like a giant foam #1 hand. This is where music criticism is going, and unsurprisingly, there is an essay by Dave Eggers.