Cannonball

Single Barrel...and...single barrel

One Finger at a Time

Learning to take advice, that requires trust. This is scary ground.

Going about my Life

I tie so much importance into my interactions, over concerning myself with the affect of my processes on everyone else's liberties. I cherish my personal freedom above all my possessions, and work to honor others rights in such respects. Though I find ,under closer examination, that worries of this nature only succeed in confining me to my conscience. A weight I can no longer bare. So here, I propose this to myself, if no one else. That it shall, from this day on, be my goal to fill my worried mind with only that which concerns me. For if my heart is true I can do no harm. Wish me well dear friends, for you are the benefactor!

D.S. Haney

Wierdo

As if life didn't already have tendency enough toward complication, I like to sweeten the pot by making up little rules by which to abide. As I was preparing my bed for a warm afternoon nap by dressing it with fresh clean linen I notice the need for new pillows. The thought excited me. Which led to thoughts of a new bed. Which then led to thoughts of women. Then to thoughts of sex, to dirty sheets....back to stained worn out pillows.
The next thought was a rule, or challenge/game. I had to find an actual girlfriend before I bought new anything for my bed. Then I realized how silly and useless the whole lot of it was.
So here I reconsider my thoughts: think less, smile more, take that nap, and for god's sake buy some damn pillows....good ones.

Five Year Plan

Coming from a poor southern white trash family the future was a dark desolate place that you feared to tread. Hope cared not to shine in our direction. So it was best to keep our heads down and stay in our place, out of sight and out of mind. Though at age ten hope crashed the pity party and shipped our down trodden family off to a middle class living on an airbase in Georgia. As would be expected we all fought the change tooth and nail. Though it did afford us the first view of the well lit future that did not shine on the poor. Who would work the shit jobs if they knew they didn't have to? It was from that lofty perch that I found a skateboard, and a dream. I set my sights on a better life and never again looked back. Over a decade later I stopped to take a breath and realized I had reached my destination. Where to now? Best to make a plan...
Fearing the world would snatch my dream away at any time as the punchline to some cruel joke for which it had been building anticipation over the past fifteen years. I stashed away every cent I could scrap together. Depriving myself of all pleasures aside from the skateboard which had carried me to this pinnacle. All work and no play had built quite a nest egg, but what to do with the contents? Plan my retirement, with a five year ticking clock. I had already buried my nose in real estate as a frying pan for my omelette. So that was to be the start: Year One - buy a house with my savings, Year Two - harvest the equity and buy an apartment building, Year Three -repeat step two three more times while finding a wife with which to build a family, Step Four - retire with the woman of my dreams and build said family.
Year one went well. Found a lovely two story house on a bike path three miles from the ocean in Los Angeles. Year two was a bit of a set back due to having to refinance instead of harvest but year three found me right back on track buying a four unit building only two miles from the house in a blooming residential development. Real estate, that was the easy part. Women are far more tricky. After the first heart breaking potential wife disappointment and a good nose for the bubble about to burst in the market. I sold the house for more money than i could have imagined and restructured the plan a bit. Travel for a year and buy a bar on the beach and retire in Costa Rica. Wife is sure to follow.
Got close again with some slight adjustments. Bought beach front property and built a hotel, only in Nicaragua, not Costa. Found a beautiful woman and was set for retirement after a year of globe trotting with the soon to be Mrs Haney. Once again, however, a woman's inability to be honest and my unrealistic expectations got in the way.
This time I had not interest in restructuring any plan. It was party time! I buried my head in a bottle and almost five years later am just sleeping off the hangover. What to do now?...
Another five year plan is tempting, though I suspect retirement is a good long way off regardless of financial positioning. I do want kids and a wife, an open minded one would be nice. Though if there is one thing I know for certain, the world will do with you what it wishes. We are just along for the ride. So I will not plan, but I will pray, to the powers that provide each day. Pray for peace and pray for smiles. Pray for happiness as I pass the miles. Pray for dreams that may or may not come true but know that it is those dreams that carry me through.

Somewhere Along the Way

My ability to keep up with expensive electronics is less than awesome. So in an effort to maintain my track record of costly forgetfulness I lost the electronic key to our rental car on our first evening out in Ybor City. This forced me to abandon the car and catch a ride back to the hotel in a uhaul cargo van full of drunk skateboarders, wild times!
The next morning....mmm, afternoon, I caught a cab back down to deal with the mess I had left. This meant getting the car towed to the closest dealership to purchase a new key and have it programmed, two hundred bucks. Not sure what the tow cost yet but the experience was surely more valuable than the burn marks on the card.
Steve was the driver who picked the car and I up. He was a bit slow to warm up, though once he got going it was non stop amazement that came out if his mouth. Steve had been a military man who parachuted, hungover, into Grenada on some mission or another. During this little fiasco one of his band of brothers got hit by a sniper. Being the man he is Steve hopped into action, springing in to save his comrade. He took three shots in doing so. One grazed his left shoulder and two blasted into his lower abdomen, almost "blowing off his pecker" as he put it. In the end Steve saved his buddy and lived to fight another day himself. Though with those injuries the government no longer wanted him fighting for them. Seems a close call to the pecker makes you a combat risk. So it was back to the states for this hero. Where he found gainful employment in a factory, what perks! It was in that factory that his trail of bad luck sent him into the path of a run away one ton bundle of cardboard that pretty much crushed him. Broke his collar bone, crushed his sternum, broke off his lowest right rib, broke his arm, and crushed his right leg. If that doesn't put him in the misery hall of fame then having his wife bowled over by a car a year later surely should. That accident didn't kill her either but it did leave her with enough brain damage to get her a permanent spot on the short bus.
Now Steve spends his days rescuing retards like myself who were actually born with good sense though never figured out how to use it.
I try not to complain about my mental handicap. A tart ass lemon can be made into one hell of a sweet refreshment with a little work. With that being said Steve should be starting up a lemonade juice bar franchise. He sure as shit straightened out my sour situation, both physically and mentally. Twice retired and still saving people. Good to know that sort of sweet strength, bravery, and positivity still live on such a cynical Lemon.

*

Night night

Thenjoylife!

From Hell's Heart

I watched the game through the window, Arkansas holding LSU to just a field goal at the three yard line midway through the third to maintain the lead. Then as Arkansas started a strong march back into Louisiana territory Mallet throws a pick. It was right then I realized not only did I not care if Arkansas won, I was actually hoping they lost! My broken heart sent me straight into bed with the enemy. A team which up to that point I had detested above all others. Now, that mattered not. If they could deliver even half as ferocious a blow to those stands as I myself had been rocked with then they just found themselves a new supporter.
Anger, nothing I had wanted to hold onto. In fact I had sequestered myself to the dungeonous quarters of my room watching SnL reruns on VH1 in order to avoid even the slightest contact with the game. Knowing any connection would put me that much closer to the pain that was sitting in that stadium. It was hunger that had summoned me to the kitchen. A need for hours I had tried to sleep away, expecting the game would have surely concluded. Though through that narrow opening between the kitchen and den I had full view of the gaping wound I had tried to bury in the basement. The horror I hadn't wanted to face. I have no desire to hate, but it is with even less request that I wish to hurt. My allegiance is to none above my heart. So with that delicate chamber's charity I pray, bring me blood o' mighty Tigers.

How to Make Weed Butter

California now recognizes marijuana as a legitimate medicine, and rightly so. The "pot", as the youngsters refer to it, has several well-documented beneficial effects. Among these are: the amelioration of nausea and vomiting, stimulation of hunger in chemotherapy and AIDS patients, lowered intraocular eye pressure (shown to be effective for treating glaucoma), as well as general analgesic effects (pain relief). Where as the side affects ( cotton mouth, laziness, and tar from smoke) are pretty acceptable when compared to the typical pharmaceutical laundry list of heinous baggage ( rectal bleeding, dizziness, depression, death, ect...). Obviously things aren't that cut and dry but why rock the boat? Let's paddle ahead instead and see what shores we may reach. First let's toss the tar overboard. Smoking of the weed, ceremonious as it may be, would have to be the largest objection to the use of cannabis. So why not cook with it instead!


Step one, break up the green you are planning on cooking. It is best to use trim or shake due to the fact that it is slightly less smokable than buds and much easier to break up. Hell it is already broken up, pretty much the definition of shake or trim. Either way you wanna get what ever you are working with ground down to fine bits. Grinders, scissors, or even nimble little fingers work.











Step two, take some measurements. This time around we have 0.3 grams of marijuana and three sticks of butter. That is a tenth of a gram per stick for all you math nerds. Feel free to measure it out however you like. Best to start off small if you are used to chiefing as opposed to chefing. The pot packs a powerful punch when ingested and tends to come on slower and last longer. As always, patience is a virtue so take your time speed racer and the ride will be way more fulfilling.




Step three, melt the butter. Place your butter in a reasonably sized sauce pan over a medium sized fire until in a liquid state. You yourself should be in a state as well, one where this process is actually legal.





Step four, add the herb seasoning. Once the butter has melted and the green has been added turn the fire down and let the simmer session begin. This is an important step so take your time and do it right. Let your mix simmer until it takes on a dark green or brown color. That indicates a lovely union between your two ingredients.













Step four, strain your main vein. Now that you have cooked out of the weeds essence the actual plant matter has no use, other than maybe fiber but that is why you are eating your Wheaties right? So do yourself a favor and keep the chewy green out of your soon to be sweet treats. This is easily done with any sort of fine strainer and a appropriately sized container. We used a measuring cup which if going straight from this step to baking you are advised to do so as well. that way you can easily pour the amount you need and save the rest for step five.






Step five, let your concoction cool. What ever you have left at this point should be poured into a container which can be used for easy consumption in the butters solid state. Congratulations you are done. Now go cook something and eat your way to happiness!

Slow Down, You'll Get There Faster

Three weeks ago yesterday I suffered the worst, or at least the most gruesome, injury I have ever sustained. Considering the extensive list of calamity this body has endured, broken bones, torn muscle and ligaments, ripped and shredded flesh, the top of the heap is a bit of a climb. Amazing how fast that ascent is made though. In the slip of a step and the blink of an eye.

There is a Baz Luhrmann song I am very fond of and a line from it echoes through my head with a profound ring as I recall a moment just before my life changed, "Don't worry about the future, or worry but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blind side you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday." Well, I am very seldom idle due to the constant calculations in my "worried mind", and it was a Wednesday at 10:30am as I stood below a rickety ladder just before opening time at Enjoy but a blindside the likes I hadn't seen since my father was murdered when I was 19 awaited just a few steps skyward.

There I was, buzzing around the building like a bee cleaning and setting up a lighting system I had hoped to test at Enjoy's noon yoga class. Which was still over an hour away and the mid week resting point for my over active brain. Why I was in such a hurry to slow down I still can't quite grasp. Must be the snow ball affect of a 34 year over achieving decent towards death. Barreling down the mountain greedily grabbing everything life had to offer. Never seeing from an outside perspective all I had collected and the speed with which it now carried me. How slippery the slope and how abruptly the ride could end. BOOM, there I was, stopped! It lasted but a split second, the freezing of time. Suspended in disbelief. Like a humming bird that ceases it's frenzied flutter feeling the horrifying affects of gravity for the first time. I fell, dropping out of the cluttered confines of my mind. The weight of the world slipping away momentarily to leave but one clear thought, I want to live!

Enjoy is a life style center started as a means to bring direction into my existence. Though, instead of being a cure for mania it only has served to focus that idle energy and send me speeding off in one direction as opposed to burning holes in the earths crust from the circles I relentlessly spun.

The lights I had been arranging had power cords that needed to be hidden in the drop down ceiling en route to a junction box also hidden in the ceiling where it opens out over Enjoy's mini ramp. There is a mobile wooden fun box made for skating that sits flush next to the ramp. Up to this point I only needed to reach the cords from the height of the ceiling, moving it one tile at a time toward the junction box which could be reached through an open section created to accommodate the ramp and the head room needed to skate it. With only one tile separating the cable from the box all I had to do was reach in through the open section to grab it. Though in order to achieve the necessary height the already unstable ladder had to be placed on the fun box. Not a problem. The box is a 4x8 ft rectangle that would easily accommodate, if it had been moved just a few inches. Though in it's current location the ladder had to be placed precariously close to the edge in order to reach into the ceiling far enough. Sizing up the situation my cranium quickly cracked off a few cock-eyed calculations backing up my belief that with my balance and dexterity I need not take even a moment to rearrange for more stability. I mean, what's the worst that could happen, I fall? I did that for a living for years, piece of cake.

So, as expected, climbing too high and leaning too far caused the later to shift and without even a fraction of an inch to give that ladder slid off of the box and took me with it. Also as expected the fall landed me square on both feet nimble as a cat. The unexpected part was the little hidden screw that kept a large chunk of my arm meat for it's trouble(the left over slab resembling a chicken cutlet is pictured to the right). This i did not realize until what looked like a full cup of blood had been dumped onto my feet and the floor around them, "how odd. Why would someone leave a perfectly good glass of blood hanging about in the ceiling?!" Unfortunately for me they hadn't. It was MY liquid of life plummeting like a red waterfall. Following the cascade to the source I looked up to see not just blood but muscle, fat and bone hanging out of a canyon sized hole. It was easily the most mortifying thing I had ever seen first hand, disbelief! This MUST be a dream, that can't be MY arm, I can't be seeing straight! Frozen by fright. No time for denial now though, something MUST be done about my tricep hanging out of my body and the steady flow of blood so horrifically framing it. I just wanted it to go away, to wake up from the nightmare. In the passing of milliseconds rational thought sends my right hand in aid of my left arm, to catch my muscle should it not still be connected, to shove what was left back into my arm if need be. Covered in fiberglass from the ceiling insulation I quickly realize my hand fails to qualify as a suitable safety net. What I needed was some sort of tourniquet and fast.

Enjoy opens at 11am so I was still a good half hour from the hope of any assistance showing up. I had a car but how much damage had I done? Could I bleed to death? Would I make it driving? Should I call an ambulance and hope they made it there in time? These thoughts jockeying for position as I ran for my shirt laying on the counter at the front of the shop. Using my mouth and fiberglass covered hand I fashioned a tourniquet from my excess clothing. Pulling it as tight as my teeth would allow. This bandage made time for my brain to form semi-clear thought. I looked down at the mat by the front door envisioning myself dying in a pool of blood while waiting on a 911 rescue. Iphone earbuds already in place I reach up to voice dial my mother while grabbing my car keys from the office wall, that coincidentally hung from one of those hateful little screws. No time for grudges now though, I've got a life to save.

Mindful enough to lock the front door as I head for my car, mom in my ear directing me as to which hospital to meet she and my step father, Dallas. Direction, check! Now I need a copilot. Since Jesus and his pops are hard to get on the horn I reached out for a mortal connection. Ginny King, a close, calm, understanding and reliable friend, via the phone she accompanied me on my journey, making sure I was talking and aware as my arms went numb and blue dots filled my eyes.

At the emergency room drive through my mother was waiting outside as I pulled up. She parked the car while I strolled in covered in blood with my shirt holding back my blood and innards. Dallas had already informed the staff of the situation so there was no waiting involved. For the first time ever I was actually rushed in to be seen. It didn't take long for the ER doctor to decide he didn't want to deal with the mess. He took one step into the room, had me lift my arm to show him what we were working with. He nodded and walked out. I was shipped off to surgery shortly there after. The photo to the left shows the gap my surgeon had to close. Apparently it is normal to dump large amounts of blood from a hole that size. The main artery was exposed but not severed, lucky me. Not that i remember any of the process. I was anesthetized you see. A dreamless black curtain protected me from the conclusion of this horror story. However the tale doesn't end there. I got to sleep through the surgery but was left with a "to be continued" wrapped around my arm. I fell asleep with a gaping wound and awoke to a bandage that had to stay put for two days. Talk about suspense! What the hell was under there!?

As it turns out Dr Rooney must have been a damn fine surgeon. Humpty Dumpty might want to give him a call next time he goes tumbling off a wall. He hemmed me up with nineteen staples and didn't even have to barrow any of my ass meat to do so. There will undoubtedly be a disfiguring scar but all my function is still intact. This frees me up to get back to barreling down the mountain at the same pace I left off at. My only hope is with that big a reminder of the perils of impatience, I won't!