Like Mike

You have probably heard by now that Michael Jackson has died. I have a few words to say about it. What, you may ask, could a one man judge and jury like Texino possibly add to the wave of feedback generated by the passing of the self styled King of Pop? There are, after all, hundreds of writers covering every inch of the story in search of horrid detail. Well, as it turns out, I am uniquely qualified for this assignment. Why? On the one hand, I have studied emergency cardiac care for nearly 30 years both as an instructor and care giver in the field and on the other I suffer from chronic pain due to a series of lower back injuries going back to Vietnam and culminating with my work with the fire/rescue service. Unlike Jackson, however, I control the pain with RX Methadone tablets which, while relieving the pain, do not give any sort or euphoric feeling such as produced by other narcotic analgesics i.e.
Demerol, Morphine or Oxycontin. I have tried the other drugs and found that I quickly became addicted to Oxycontin and Codeine. It was hard to stop using those pills because not only was I getting them from my doctor, but found that I needed to get them on the street as well which was very expensive. My situation is much better now and though I am sure that my use of the methadone has become an addiction it controls the pain without making me high. So from a drug users standpoint, I would say that MJ was hooked up with a tame Doc who would keep him feeling up by injecting Demerol as needed.

Now the heart attack scenario. Sudden cardiac death is not uncommon in seemingly healthy males over 50 yrs. I went to the hospital in 2000 because I had a funny feeling in my neck which went away after I took a nitroglycerin tablet. I was admitted and a test showed my coronary arteries to be extremely occluded with the most important one about 93%. What that meant was I was very close to having a severe and most likely fatal coronary event. This type of myocardial infarction can be fatal even if it happens with a room full of doctors. Bypass surgery is the life saver there. So MJ could have something like that, but it would have been obvious in the autopsy. Since no one has mentioned that, it now becomes possible that Jackson went into cardiac arrest as a result of an overdose of Demerol. Demerol is usually given as a IM injection as an IV shot can cause abrupt CNS depression with the patient becoming unable to breathe for himself. Two scenarios present themselves here. One: The shot was given as an IM and accidentally hit a vein or Two it was given by an IV route too quickly causing respiratory depression leading to cardiac arrest. Now whether it was #1 #2 or a combination of both there is an easy way to reverse the problem and that is with the narcotic antagonist "Narcan" (Naloxone™) This drug given IVP (fast) will completely reverse the effects of the narcotic immediately putting the patient into withdrawal and possible seizures. Never the less, it works and anyone who is treating a patient by injecting narcotics should have a good supply on hand as the half-life on the Narcan is shorter than the narcotic meaning the Narcan may wear off and put the patient back in respiratory arrest. In general the patient can be handled by maintaining respiration until the effects of the drug moderate. When I was on the job, we often did not wake the OD patients up because the reaction to the withdrawal could be dangerous. We just inserted a breathing tube and kept IV access and monitored the heart rate and oxygen saturation.


So here in my opinion is the issue with Mike. He had a Doc with him 24/7 Supposedly a cardiologist and the guy does not seem to have had the necessary
drugs and equipment to manage a cardiac event. If this was the case, then it is an awful over site, but it should be remembered or made clear to the public in general that doctors in private practice are seldom aware of the latest advanced cardiac life support protocol. I have a feeling that the fact Jackson's MD went missing for a while is to figure a way to cover himself for not having the proper set up which may have easily saved Jackson's life.
We will see. It's all cheers and sorrows, Texino

Roz

OK, here are some photos of the photogenic naked row boater Roz Savage. She is a handsome woman and her handler Nicole would like to get her into playboy magazine...? Oh well Roz is still rowing but she is not saying much about where she is headed or when she expects to get there. She spoke quite a bit about that during her last row which made for interesting reading. Oh yes, Roz posted another picture of herself naked today, but you can't see her breasts. OH well, I'm probably not going to write too much more about Roz Savage™ Nicole, is keeping my comments from reaching her, so there is little chance of give and take.
Cheers and sorrows,
Texino

My Pal Roz

You really ought to check out Rozsavage.com and read about the adventures of this intelligent and capable woman who is rowing the Pacific Ocean from San Francisco to Australia with stops at Hawaii, Tuvalu and then AU. it self. Roz has an interesting story to tell about how she left the business world to become an adventuress and now she seems to do rather well giving motivational speeches between rowing. Between rowing is the issue. Roz first rowed the Atlantic in a east to west "race" and it was during this soul stripping experience Roz decided her new career path. She would write a book and give talks. Also, since no woman had solo rowed the Pacific E-W, Roz set about gaining sponsor-ship for such a venture.

Now I should mention that these ocean rows are done in highly specialized craft which are safe as they can be made to be and barring being sliced in two by a liner or falling overboard unattached the rower can expect to survive quite a bit of ill nature.

My issue comes from the rather long interludes between the hops. In fact the way things are working out, while the Atlantic Row was filled with hair raising adventure and the first attempt of the pacific row ended in having to abandon the good boat "Brocade" making the second attempt a dramatic race against the real possibility running out of water and all of us giving Roz the big cheer as she rowed into the Waikiki Yacht club. Now 6 months later step 3 has our gal pulling toward the Internet nation of Tuvalu (.tv) and while the previous two steps have had everything you would want as far as adventure, so far part 3 has been totally a matter of poor Roz's sore bum w/pictures.
OK, now here is a woman hoping to make big change giving speeches to cube dwellers or whomever has to sit through this sort of up lift, and I Texino happen to mention that "metaphorically" this row is falling as flat as the "El Mariachi" trio of films and Roz goes crazy on me. I don't know, maybe she needs to rant about how this is real life, but we are both sitting behind key boards and Roz knows nothing about my years at sea, my wartime service or career as a Fire/Rescue Officer. I figure it's only a matter of time before the her inbred British insults start and I get called a "Dreadful Little Man".

The whole nutcase problem here is I'm just making some points. I'm not trying to demean Roz Savage in any way, I just fear that she has picked up all these newbie followers who are so heavy with the saint paint that she may lose sight of the true southern cross.

Be safe Roz- that has been the tone of my twitter tweets since day one. If she needs a whipping boy to stay strong, I can take anything she snaps up.
Check it out for yourself. T

Fuck it

I don't care if anyone reads this blog or not, so I'm not going to harass my online friends into joining another list. I really hope someone reads me because I think I say some decent words of social commentary and if you listen up you could get ahead of the flow and not worry about idiots making you look unaware. think about it.

So how come I'm still writing?

Well I can't say for certain. I thought that I needed the support of Novelist Mary Moon in order to test my mettle, but I guess that was just an illusion provided by my sponsor- Mr.Insecurity. Now, I'm still a big fan of Mary Moo, I guess I just don't need her help as much as I thought and I suppose I can get by the loss of friendship the same way a person gets over other such disappointments. So it comes down to this. I'm sorry but I am going to continue this blog even though I have no idea if anyone reads it. It is just something I have to do.

You would have thought differently

So The "Grasshopper" ends up doing the ultimate jerk off in a town well known for it's sexual delights and kills himself in the act. I must say this disappoints me because I figured that a guy like David Carradine would have had this sex thing figured out and even at the age of 72 have some sort of Tantric method or special Kung Fu discipline keeping him up, so to speak. But no, instead of surrounding himself with girls and boys Viagra, he goes for some cheap auto erotic asphyxiation trick in a closet no less. Jesus Christ. I mean I've seen people who have hung themselves and it's gross. Snot comes out of your nose in a long string and other messy stuff happens. Also as far as this auto erotic asphyxiation issue goes, it seems a mighty dangerous way of getting off. The least someone could do is make some sort of kit that would allow the project to go forth with some bit of safety in place. I'm not totally hip on the procedure but as an old man who is losing his spark, I might need this at some point and I'd hate to make the ultimate screw up. Like, I already invented an anti overdose syringe that has a secondary dose of naloxone (a narcotic antagonist) that will auto inject if a junkie doesn't disable it within a certain time after he or she shoots up. I guess I should investigate how this deal works so I can invent a safetly device. I'm not sure of it's worth, since my anti OD kit may save lives but since it tends to put the user right into withdrawal, I don't get too many thank you notes. Oh well, it's still sad about old Dave. The guy went about spouting the wisdom of the ages and it comes down to the same old sad Hollywood bullshit.

The tragedy of uptown.

First and then.

the reason I don't write any more

Every writer needs a person who will stand up for them as well as to them. If you don't have that sort of relationship to provide ballast to ease your voyage through the questionable sea of words that can destroy you as easily as allow you to shoot the rapid to keener pools of prose, you will end up painted in some ugly corner of flickering fluorescent tubing. I've lost my anchor. A person whom I thought was chained to me by the gold of friendship turned out to be connected by sacrificial Zinc; an element which leaves in its own time with little notice or evidence of ever being.