In late December, I requested an Uber ride up to the store. A handsome, middle-aged gentleman named Moises picked me up. I began a conversation with him, because I loved his accent, but couldn't quite pinpoint the origin. He told me that he was from Iran and that he was a movie director who made a film that that government did not like. For his trouble, he spent a year in jail and, afterward, it was hard to make a living doing anything.
So he legally immigrated to America and is now essentially a taxi driver, after being a creator and visionary. He told me he missed his family and that most of his money goes to them and to save enough to bring them over to him, hopefully next year.
I advised him to go to Mexico or Canada before it was too late. His optimism and faith in the way the United States is supposed to work was heartbreaking.
Ever since I heard the news on the Muslim ban, I can't stop thinking of Moises. It's much more personal when you see the soul-rending results of the decision of an extremist mad man sitting pretty in the White House, ruining lives with the flick of a pen.
I'll only be posting a fraction of the images I took whilst in LA, but you can click this pic to access all of them, if you wish. Also, the original size pics are only a click away from the pics I posted here, so get that mouse to moving!
Our only two forays into Touristville was our trip to the La Brea Tar Pits museum (the Mother Unit and I went to the pits last year, but did not go into the museum.). I don't think I've ever been in the presence of so many bones and fossils. It was awesome.
Then Andy needed to go to the Harley store to get his sister-in-law a shot glass that said Los Angeles on it, so we found ourselves battling the cast of thousands on the streets, who oblivious to nothing but the stars embedded in the sidewalk, and legendary locales like Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. I stayed in the car while Andy ran his Harley errand. I would only have slowed him down, and the clock was beginning to tick by then.
After escaping the tourist traps, it was off to House of Pies. This is a great hang-out place, and my biggest regret is not actually getting a piece of actual flipping pie from there! There’s always a next time, and a slice of blueberry cheesecake with my name on it, trust me.
Now, I was under the impression we were meeting only Paul, because Richard was in Las Vegas. When I got a text on the way to the restaurant informing us that we were on for 3 PM, I thought it was Paul. Andy and I got there a little early to get us a booth and, shortly thereafter, Paul showed up. I was taken aback a little, because I had forgotten he’d shaved, so I was expecting the furry edition of the beleaguered Jack Cucchiaio. We gleefully chatted for a few minutes and Paul and Andy got acquainted, when Richard Gale showed up, which surprised the fuck out of me. I figured we wouldn’t have a chance to meet him, because he was out of town, and all. He even brought me a Ginosaji spoon, which is the last thing I expected, because I contributed without requesting any perks. The perk for me is to see this film come to fruition. If I had my way, the people with the real talent, in my opinion, which is the only one that matters, would have endless funds for their projects, frighteningly organised promotional work, everything they need at their fingertips, and 100% creative control of their own work. It was the only way to change the music business, which we’ve seen on almost every level, and I believe that’s how it’s going to end up in what we still call “Hollywood.” Anyone with any shred of talent, and imagination, and a Tribe that will back them up no matter what will eventually own the world. Jeff Lynne found that out initially at Hyde Park. He’s still being shocked by it all. It couldn’t happen to a better person, except people like Barry Andrews and Richard Gale.
The Spoon of the Ginosaji has found a place of honour next to my baby dancing Groot. Behold the oddest couple in fandom!
Our early dinner lasted longer than expected. We talked movies, film-making, music, and general tomfoolery until it almost ran Paul and Richard late. I thanked them for being two of about ten people on this planet to make me genuinely happy and laugh since 2011. That means more than most everyone can possibly realise.
Richard introduced Andy to the wonders of Uber, which saved our butts as far as getting to the Hollywood Bowl in time, we took an awesome picture, courtesy of the kind cashier at House of Pies, and reluctantly parted ways, promising to do it again soon.
Both Paul and Richard are funny, talented, delightful souls, filled with stories about what it’s like to live and work in Los Angeles. It was deeply insightful, none of which I’m sharing here, because I haven’t asked permission to share, and there are some things that just shouldn’t be public without the consent of the persons to whom it happened.
I will say that the Ginosaji movie is progressing nicely and is beginning to live up to its description as epic on a level that’s hard to imagine. Impressed doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel about the project. I can’t wait for it to all be a reality.
Before heading back to the apartment, Andy wanted to go get the tee with the space cat invaders, so we hied down to the shop to find it. Whilst there, I found a shirt that was so anti-this trip, I knew I had to have it. I’m not one to buy frivolous stuff for myself, but I knew this would always conjure the memory of the grooviest birthday I’ve had so far whilst incarcerated in this current veil of tears, and it was only $10, so I took my chances, in more ways than one. They only had the one shirt, and it was a woman’s medium. Since I’m still having problems figuring out what can and can’t fit me, I decided to go for it anyway. Luckily, it fit perfectly, so I wore it with my galaxy pants, because you can’t go to an ELO concert without having the cosmos nearby for their spaceship to have a place along which to triumphantly coast.
Jumping into our Uber with a tad of time to spare (we would have been woefully late, had it not been for Richard’s suggestion. Thank you for that!), Andy and I were on our way to what I believed would be a defining Life Moment, and Andy was keen on a concert at the Hollywood Bowl. He specifically said that he wasn’t tingly like I probably was.* Since I tend to try to keep my emotions in check, my tingle factor was definitely present, but I did my level best to keep it together as we hunted for our seats, which was relatively. The folks who work at the Hollywood Bowl are quite courteous and helpful. They’ll also read you the riot act and not give you entrance if you have a camera that even vaguely looks professional. Mine does not, but I didn’t want to take the chance of losing my camera, so I took my iPhone, which has a very good camera, so I wasn’t too very lower-lippy about leaving the camera at Brian’s apartment.
Andy’s phone had very little charge and he was responsible for the Uber ride back from Hollywood Bowl, so it was up to me to get as many decent pictures as I possibly could. I even managed to get part of All Over the World, which was personally important, since it was Xanadu that officially introduced me to the Electric Light Orchestra.
The concert began with the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra, conducted by unspeakably cool Thomas Wilkins, playing pieces from English composers, like the lush Nimrod by Edward Elgar, which thrilled Andy no end, considering it’s one of his favourite pieces and and he can play it on organ. I wish I had that kind of talent.
Being raised on various Classical composers (like Antonín Dvorak and Johann Strauss) along with the Beatles, the Carpenters, and early Electronica like Popcorn by Hot Butter, I was eating the opening act by the orchestra up like a thirsty dude in the desert who just found a water fountain.
When Jeff Lynne and his band finally took the stage, it was nothing short of a religious experience, especially since the opening song was Tightrope, which is one of the closest songs you’ll ever get Jeff Lynne to being cynical. Even then, it turns out in the end. Yes, I admit, I got teary.
All of the songs the band played were their classics, and they were played with precisions. The only exception was the single release from the new album, Alone in the Universe, When I Was a Boy. Despite his hearing the new album prior to the concert, Andy was very deeply impressed with Jeff Lynne’s autobiographical opus.
After the concert, I said on Facebook, “No words.” Honestly, I’m still having problems putting into words the experience I had at the ELO concert. It turned me into Ellie Arroway, no doubt about it.
I had a suspicion he might do All over the World, but knew there was no hope for Xanadu or the title track from Eldorado. Jeff just doesn't consider Xanadu to be his best work, and Eldorado is just too obscure for your "basic fan", whatever that means.
There was one song that brought me by surprise, and that was Wild West Hero, which they did with the a cappella in tact. I thought I was taping that portion of the concert but, unfortunately, I screwed that up big time. Wild West Hero is my second favourite ELO song, specifically because of the a cappella portion of the piece. You can hear the breath, albeit very slightly and you need headphones, in between each phrase in the song. It makes it real. It makes it human. It makes it breathtakingly beautiful. Anyone interested in seeing the concert, along with this exceptional performance, you need only click the embedded video here, with the masterpiece in question beginning at 50:30:
As Richard and I had discussed earlier, the subtly of sound makes all the difference in anything, be it music or film. If you can’t appreciate that, you’re losing a completely vital portion of your creative process. Unless it’s a silent film or sommat, then you have to be living in the 20s or be Mel Brooks!
I must freely admit that it was during this song that I lost my shit. I never expected to hear Wild West Hero live. Ever. EVER. EVER EVER EVER. And that harks back to my initial statement that you never know what’s going to happen in this crazy existence. Ten years, I never expected to be in England meeting one of my heroes. Ten years later, I never expected to be in the presence of my first ever hero singing a song that only hardcore fans know by heart and audiophiles need a cigarette after hearing it.
Just as I’d heard from concert goers from previous concerts, there were moments Jeff would forget the lyrics. None of that mattered, though. The audience, most of us who had already forgotten what we had for breakfast that day (except for me and the Popeye’s Breakfast I’m craving like crazy right now), filled in the blanks for him. Besides, it showed that Jeff Lynne is human and aging along with his fans, both older hardcore fans, and his new generation. It shouldn’t be held against him for interchanging the occasional lyric the man wrote 40 years ago. We should all just be lucky he’s willing to get up there and sing it live for us, when none of us expected to ever see him on stage again, especially not in this capacity.
His typical banter in between songs was “Thank you so much,” with his thumbs in the air. This wasn’t surprising, coming from a man who said four words after being cornered in a studio back in 1979, that made me fall in love with him. He was ambushed by an interviewer who asked why the band were named “Electric Light Orchrstra.” Jeff’s reply, short, sweet, to the point, was, “Uhm...well… why not?” Right then and there, I wanted to be an eccentric recluse. Got my wish. Haha! What surprised me was that, even after all the concerts he’s done since Hyde Park, and the worshipful reception he’s gotten every single place he’s played, he’s still shocked and humbled that so many of us are there for him, singing with him, celebrating his life like he never expected it would be.
Paul saw the band at their lowest point in 1986. I wish he could have been there to see how drastically times have changed that ebb in their career, and see how the band was always supposed to be seen live. Even though always called Electric Light Orchestra, the orchestral part would still be lost to the electric instrumentation, despite the sound department doing the best they could with what they had to work with at the time. Technology has finally caught up with Jeff Lynne’s vision, and we who never got to see the orchestra during their supposed heyday, got to see and experience something that is unique and miraculous to our times. We got to see ELO the way Jeff Lynne always envisioned it. There were live bands, then there were bands whose light shone brightest in the studio. What Jeff Lynne finally got to do was bring his fans into his studio and let us see, at least in part, what he sees in his mind when making the music we so adore.
Prior to the concert, Andy asked me what I thought their opener and encore would be. Getting it completely wrong, I suggested Last Train to London and Mr. Blue Sky. As mentioned above, Tightrope opened and the perfect marriage of Rock and Classic closed us out with Roll over Beethoven along with perfectly-timed fireworks.
It took us a while to get out of the area, and it was such a relief to get back to the apartment and just lie there, basking in the glory I just had the honour of experiencing. Even though I was exhausted, I didn’t sleep the entire night. My inner vision was too filled with astronomical imagery, and my inner song was pure harmony. I figured I wouldn’t sleep the night of the concert, so I had it in my head to do all the laundry and perform any other duties to ensure Brian’s apartment was exactly as he had left it, or at least as close to that as possible. The problem was, I didn’t know where the washer and dryer were and couldn’t find them. Texting Brian, I revealed my intentions, but he would have none of it. So I limited my restoration to cleaning everything I could, and triple-checking everything I could think of… I haven't heard any complaints, so I'm hoping we left Brian's uber-groovy pad just as fabulicious as it was when we arrived.
*I would like to note that, by the end of the concert, Andy admitted to being more than a little tingly. HA!
I write this statement as if I am a scientist on the verge of proving this theory, but I am not; however, I am an individual who has experienced this phenomenon many times over throughout my life.
On the night of my 49th birthday, those odd occurrences that remind you that there is Something the Fuck Going On culminated in a concert that had been proclaimed for decades would never happen.
At the beginning of the year, it was announced on the official Electric Light Orchestra mailing list that Jeff Lynne would play three consecutive shows at the Hollywood Bowl on Septembers 9, 10, and 11, and to be on the lookout for the announcement for when the tickets went on sale, ‘cos they’d probably go quickly.
I wrote every friend I had to let them know, to see if anyone would be interested in seeing this concert enough to buy tickets, with me making arrangements for everything else, from travel to lodging to food. One of my oldest friends and most fun faux musical nemesis, Andy, opted in. Not long after, the tickets went on sale, and I went to work making arrangements, which included couch surfing with Brian, the man who plays the spoon-wielding demon, the Ginosaji, himself.
I got into town first, in amongst about 30 surly homeless people who were arguing with the police. You gotta love Greyhound! Making my way to the airport, I waited to Andy, fetched him, fetched the car, then off we went to Brian’s, who was just getting home himself. He had weekend for luxury in the desert. After a while of visiting, Brian gave us fierce hus and went off on his own adventure, leaving us to it.
After a late dinner at the House of Pies right down the street, Andy and I crashed for the night with tentative plans to explore some better known areas of the city – at least better known to us Gen X’ers – and soak up some architecture.
Up early the next day, we went for pancakes (Andy) and eggs and tomato juice (me), then set to figuring out where we wanted to go and how we were going to get there. GPS is a thing of wonder.
Andy at Melrose Place (I think?!)
First was the Ennis House, which is closed to the public, but that doesn’t stop people from lurking up and down the winding road upon which it rests. Although a famed Frank Lloyd Wright creation, it is also known for being the location for many movies, not the least of which is the original Vincent Price film, House on Haunted Hill. Even though it only has two bedrooms and three bathrooms, the structure is huge. It has some amazing windows, from what we could see from the road, and I simply fell in love with the gate. There was a massive, heavy chain blocking the gate from the road, but that didn’t stop me from shimming underneath to get a blurry picture of LA through the intricate design. There was a camera trained on that particular area, so I’m probably a wanted woman by now. I don’t care. Come get me.
Afterward, we headed to the Griffith Observatory, but could find no place to park, so enjoyed the drive and scenery up, took a couple of pics , then back down, going next to another Frank Lloyd Wright home, the Hollyhock House.
I called Paul when we got back to make arrangements to meet the next day. We decided on House of Pies at 3 PM, as he had a film showing to attend in the area a little while after that, and we needed to be at the concert venue about an hour prior to the concert beginning. All seemed in order.
We then crashed. Hard.
Come 10 September. Another early day, but we both seemed more energized than the day before. Extended travel, no matter what form, can suck the life out of you like Cadmus Pariah snacking on the first two rows of an audience at a Magnificat concert.
On Paul’s suggestion, we ate at Mel’s Drive-In, which is a 50’s style diner in the style of Pulp Fiction, which was something Andy was jonesing to experience. I opted for a Popeye’s Breakfast, a super vitamin/protein shake made of spinach, kale, beets, and parsley.
Just a guess, but I’m thinking Andy was wondering what the draw vegetarianism has for me, so he ordered – and I may be wrong about the name – eggs verde. It was primarily green in colour, with tomatoes, corn, soft-boiled eggs, and toast. Even though he wasn’t impressed with the taste (non-vegetarians seems to need to get accustomed to the rich flavour and aroma meat can add to any dish), he later admitted to feeling really energized. When food is no longer a major priority, taste isn’t that much of a thing, but fuel is. I think it kept him going a lot long than the day before, and he admitted to not feeling as weighed down or as sluggish. One note before I move on to our next adventure, Andy went down for coffee before we began our day, and spied a t-shirt in a window of cats in UFOs attacking dogs, which he had to have. This comes into play later.
After breakfast, we drove downtown to stare menacingly at the Cecil Hotel, which is now called Stay on Main, but everyone still calls it the Cecil because of its notorious reputation. Richard Ramirez and Jack Unterweger both stayed there whilst on their festive killing sprees. Being one of those big honkin’ donkey Sith girl cowards, I was satisfied taking pictures from the car, but was fortunate enough to get pictures of the famed water tanks, one of which contained the two-week old body of Elisa Lam, whose decomposition made the hotel’s water black for a short time. If you haven’t heard the strange story of Elisa Lam, you really should do yourself a favour (or disservice) by watching what happened with this unfortunate Canadian tourist, who thought it was a good idea to party in a bad part of town whilst staying at a hotel that offers amenities like hostel shared bathrooms and showers, and a death or two.
Despite our long and deep friendship, Andy and I had radically different interests in the story of Los Angeles. Our themes, other than meeting friends and basking in the glory that is Jeff Lynne, were architecture and gruesome happenings. Opposites attract indeed.
To be continued.
Okay, y'all are probably gonna get sick and damned tired of this post, but it's one of the most important things in my life ever, so please be patient with me. I have spent 36 of my life waiting for this moment, which means I was just 12 years old when I discovered the genius that is Jeff Lynne. So here goes.
Hold on Tight to Your Dreams
Hello. My name is Tracy Angelina Evans, a long-time fanatic of Jeff Lynne/Electric Light Orchestra since 1980, who is, is thanks to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Andrew, and I are going to to go to the Hollywood Bowl concert in Los Angeles concert on my birthday, 10 September 2016. To see ELO growing up in the Southeast of the US, with little money to make long distances to get to the venues the band were playing, I never had the chance to see the band with their wonderous spaceship and special effects, especially for that day. Now that I am living in South Diego and one of my dearest and olded friends' bucket list is to attend a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, it woud seem that the stars are finally aligned to make mutual dream come true, as well as getting to see one another in many years. I will be turning 49 years old on September10th 2016, and wanting to seeing Jeff Lynne playing his greatest songs of all time since since the age 13, I can honestly say that this is is at the very top at my Bucket List.
In addition, Andy and I will have the honour of meeting the cast and crew of 'Ginosaji: The Horribly Slow Murderer with the Extremely Ineffiencent Weapon', all for whom I have promised drinks for the multitudinous abundance of laughter and joy they have brought me over the years, which means more than they can possibly conceive. I owe them too very much, upon facing some of the bleakest time of my life.
So that said, living on a fixed income, it would be an incredible amount of help for my friends to assist me in a decent tee shirt and and some souvenir fundage to make one the most important moments of my life, as well as help to offer thanks and appreciation to my best friend Andrew and my new incredible friends the Ginosaji posse, who are intent on persisting again, again, and again!
As soon as I can start acquire the moneys, the more appreciated. I hate having to ask for help in this way, but if it weren't one of my most important moments in my life, I would not be asking. And I promise that, if I can reciprocate in the future, you can can count on me.
Hold On Tight To Your Dream
My name is Tracy Angelina Evans, a long-time fanatic of Jeff Lynne/Electric Light Orchestra since 1980, who is, is thanks to one of my oldest and dearests friends, Andrew Welchel, I are going to to go to the Hollywood Bowl concert in Los Angeles concert on my birthday, 10 September 2016. To see ELO growing up in the Southeast of the US, with little money to make long distances to get to the venues the band were playing, I never had the chance to see the band with their wonderous spaceship and special effects, especially for that day. Now that I am living in South Diego and one of my dearest and oldest friends' bucket list is to attend a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, it would seem that the stars are finally aligned to maker our mutual dreams come true, as well as getting to see one another in many years. I will be turning 49 years old on September 10th 2016, and wanting to seeing Jeff Lynne playing his greatest songs of all time since since the age 13, I can honestly say that this is is at the very top at my Bucket List.
In addition, I will have the honour of meeting the cast and crew of 'Ginosaji: The Horribly Slow Murderer with the Extremely Ineffiencent Weapon', all for whom I have promised drinks for the multitudinous abundance of laughter and joy they have brought me over the years, which means more than they can possible conceive. I owe them too very much, upon facing some of the bleakest time of my life.
So that said, living on a fixed income, it would be an incredible amount of help for my friends to assist me in a decent tee shirt and and some souvenir fundage to make the most important night of my life, as well as help to offer thanks and appreciation to my best friend Andrew and my new incredible friends, the Ginosaji posse, who are intent on persisting again, again, and again!
As soon as I can can start acquiring the fundage, the deeper I will appreciate it. I hate having to ask for help in this way, but if it weren't one of my most important moments in my life, I would not be asking. And I promise that, if I can reciprocate in the future, you can definitely count on me.
My name is Tracy Angelina Evans, a long-time fanatic of Jeff Lynne/Electric Light Orchestra since 1980, who is, is thanks to one of my oldest and dearests friends, Andrew, he and and I are going to to go to the Hollywood Bowl concert in Los Angeles concert on my birthday, 10 September 2016. To see ELO growing up in the Southeast of the US, with little money to make long distances to get to the venues the band were playing, I never had the chance to see the band with their wonderous spaceship and special effects, especially for that day. Now that I am living in South Diego and one of my dearest and olded friends' bucket list is to attent a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, it woud seem that the stars are finally aligned to make mutual dream come true, as well as getting to see one another in many years. I will be turning 49 years old on September10th 2016, and wanting to seeing Jeff Lynne playing his greatest songs of all time since since the age 13, I can honestly say that this is is at the very top at my Bucket List.
In addition, I will have the honour of meeting the cast and crew of 'Ginosaji: The Horrible Slow Murderer with the Extremely Ineffiencet Weapon', all for whom I have promised drinks for the multitudinious abundance of laughter and joy they have brought me over the years, which means more than they can possible conceive. I owe him to very much, upon facing some of the bleaking time of my life times.
So that said, living on a fixed income, it would be an incredible amount of help for my friends to assist me in a decent non-tee shirt and and some souvenir fundage to make the most important important of my life, as well as help to offer thanks and appreciate to my best friend Andrew and my new incredible friends the Ginosaji posse, who are intent on persisting again, again, and again!
As soon as I can can start acquire the moneys, the more appreciate, I could appreciate it. I hate having to ask for help in this way, but if it weren't one of my most important moment in my life, I would not be ask. And I promise that, if I can reciprocate in the future, you can can count on me.
- Sun, 19:31: Hello. My name is Tracy Angelina Evans, a long-time fanatic of Jeff Lynne/Electric Light Orchestra since 1980, https://t.co/WrmJmBaLmd
- Sun, 19:33: who is, is thanks to one of my oldest and dearests friends, Andrew, he and and I are going to the Hollywood Bowl in https://t.co/ga07eo5KkM
- Sun, 19:36: I recommend #TallTweets by @labnol for writing tweets longer than 140 characters. https://t.co/D6wTmL72Aj https://t.co/ESJq5cNEit
- Sun, 19:52: Please help with my @JeffLynnesELO Lynne b-day fund.Any amount will do.Thks https://t.co/7WDSEaSnwn #ELO #PLSRETWEET https://t.co/MQHTaW5Qwo
- Mon, 14:19: I'm raising money for Hold 0n Tight to Your Dreams. Click to Donate: https://t.co/UDhVD7t7oi via @gofundme
- Mon, 14:20: Hold 0n Tight to Your Dreams https://t.co/W3Mo57OrwQ
I am obviously from a burgeoning Internet Old School, particularly when it comes to blogging or social media. I tend to be honest. Some people don't appreciate that, especially on Facebook. I'm not changing anything here on Live Journal because this is my place, and I will do as I fucking please. But, as far as Facebook is concerned, if any personal matters must be addressed, I'll just link them here if they aren't full of fucking rainbow vomit. Deal?
The only problem with this is that some news may need to be shared there, in the event of some unfortunate occurrence. So, does anyone want to be my Walter Cronkite, if the need arises? I'm kind of looking at you, Michelle, xevokitty, or brujah. Any other volunteers are more than welcome and met with gratitude.
In the meantime, let's just have fun dissing politics and listening to great songs and videos on Facebook until the world blows the fuck up. When it does, I'll do my best to let you know, if you even want to, that is.
You know, the time before last (which was three days ago out of desperation from migraine pain), when I seriously tried to commit suicide, within a week of getting to the house, I was offered a stay in England and in Australia. When I was in serious danger of losing the place Smidgen and I live, I was offered a place to live, at least for Smidgen, which is my first priorty.
All this started in 2014.
I have gone nowhere and still have no home for Smidgen.
This is why I have trust issues with people. They will say anything if it makes them think they will with either help and things will get better or I will choose to live.
The hopelessness of my chronic pain only seems to get worse with every passing day. I live in isolation in this room in a house with people who hate me.
The harness is easily prepared for idiots like me who never learned how to tie a knot. It'll be fast and no one will notice. I'll be taking Smidgen with me, since no one wants her.
When will this happen? I don't know. Probably on the spur of the moment, when I have enough money to get to the park. Sometime in July, probably. All I know is that I'm sick of the exasperation I receive when I have to go anywhere, even the doctor. I'm tired of being treated like a criminal because of the illnesses I have. I'm tired of being tired and not being able to sleep. And I'm tired of being placated to just to keep me alive, when no one really wants me alive. It's a reflex. What's the point in living when there is no one and nothing to live for? I'd rather just have honesty and be told that, yes, I am a throaway who was only ever loved by Aunt Tudi.
She's dead now. What's the point of anything? I am constantly in pain, these migraines are getting more frequent, no hospital or doctor but Sharp will give me any relief, there's no point in continuing like this.
Your Review View business Between Scripps H. and Tracy E. Back to your inbox Tracy E. Tracy E. San Diego, CA 27 4 Your review of Scripps Mercy Hospital San Diego 1.0 star rating 6/16/2016 I've had a migraine for 5 days. The third night, after two visits to this hellhole, I tried to hangng myself because the pain was so bad and I just wanted it to end. Almost succeeded. These people are a joke. If you are in pain, even severe, they treat you like a criminal junkie. The only thing that helps my migraine is 2 mg of injected dilaudid (pill form come back i\up because of nausea and vomiting). All they gave me was toradol (when I told them it doesn't work, phernergan (which gives me severe restless legs, and reglan to counteract the phengern. I did get some sleep for the first time in days, but I woke up myself up pooping on myelf. excessively, and still had the migraine. Turns out reglan causes massive diahrrea. So I had to clean myself up, after no food for days, still with the worst migraine ever. Decided to go to out of network and went to Sharp. They gave me my shot, and after 2 hours, no pain. Screw Scripps. Their title "MERCY' is in oxymoron. They'd rather have people suffer and even commit suicide than risk an addition. DON'T GO HERE. If you have a network that accepts only this, go out of network until you can find a decent medical network that doesn't treat you like a lying piece of trash.
"Scripps H. Scripps H. Manager Block & Report Owner Scripps H.'s comment on your review: Hello, Tracy, Thank you for taking the time to review your experience. We are happy to hear you are no longer in pain. It is our mission to provide the highest quality service and medical care to our patients and we are sorry your experience at Mercy San Diego did not meet these standards. We value your feedback and would like to learn more. If you are interested in speaking to a patient advocate, please respond to our private message. We appreciate your time and look forward to speaking with you directly. Sincerely, Your friends at Scripps Scripps H. Scripps H. Manager One hour ago Block & Report Owner Hi, Tracy, Thank you again for reviewing your recent experience at Scripps Mercy Hospital San Diego. We understand your concerns and would appreciate the opportunity to learn more and help, if possible. To speak with a patient advocate, please reply to this message with your full name and phone number; an advocate will reach out directly. Of course we understand not everybody wishes to have further communication, and if that's the case, we respect your decision. Whatever your choice, please know we value your feedback and have already shared your review with management. We wish you good health and a great weekend. - Your friends at Scripps
Tracy E. Tracy E. San Diego, CA 27 4 52 minutes ago What do you mean I am no longer in pain? I had to go back to my PCP who did did little to help me until I can get into pain management. I'll most likely have to visit SHARP again before I get to see the doctor on Friday, at $75 a pop, which I DON'T have. You wasted me five pairs of panties from explosive diarrhea, did NOTHING for my pain, gave me medication I said did not work and will probably charge my insurance for it, probably "prayed" for me, like so-called mercy-givers do, gave me not only restless legs but restless body from from the phenergen. Do you know what it's not like to not be able to stop moving when you have a severe migraine? My doctor couldn't even get blood from me today because I am so dehyadrated from not being able to hold anything down. I TRIED TO HANG MYSELF THREE DAYS AGO BECAUSE I COULDN'T TAKE THE PAIN ANYMORE. Unfornunately, I did not succeed. When my enrollment period comes up, I'm going to try to get as a far away from SCRIPPS "MERCY" as possible. I don't know why you're congratulating yourself for helping me with my migraine, but it was SHARP who did it, NOT YOU. And I'll probably have to go back to them before Friday, so thanks for exacerbating my poverty. Right now, I would LITERALLY DIE than darken your medaeival doors again. If your definition of mercy comes out of the middle ages, perhaps you should rethink your line of work because, right now, you're costing people sanity, sleep, relief, and EVEN LIFE. You're not my friend. If my head begins to feel it explodes, I'm coming to you, just so you get to feel the nice warm goodness of my untreated headache. I hate you.
Let's a wee survey, just for shits and giggles...
NAME: Tracy Angelina
NICKNAMES: Tinhuviel, Tin, TinTin, T, George, Dumpling, Darth Shriek
STAR SIGN: Virgo-sun, Libra-moon, Sagittarius-rising
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Aesthetically, straight. I’m very attracted to the male form. In actual practice, I’d have to say I’m asexual, as I’m just not interested.
HOGWARTS HOUSE: Sytherin
FAVOURITE COLOUR: Green
TIME RIGHT NOW: 3 PM Pacific Daylight Time
AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Maybe around 3, if I’m lucky.
LUCKY NUMBER: 5 and increments there of.
LAST THING I GOOGLED: Solar flares
FAVOURITE FICTIONAL CHARACTER: Tom Hardy. Yeah, I know he’s not fictional, but he’s damned close, in my personal canon.
NUMBER OF BLANKETS I SLEEP UNDER: One, but it’s really thick.
FAVOURITE BAND OR ARTIST: I have five. They are: 1) Shriekback 2) Electric Light Orchestra 3) XTC 4) Oingo Boingo 4) Concrete Blonde.
DREAM TRIP: One way to England.
DREAM JOB: Writing in various capacities.
WHEN DID YOU CREATE THIS BLOG: 3 June, 2002.
CURRENT AMOUNT OF FOLLOWERS: 282
WHAT DO YOU POST ABOUT?: Anything and everything. If I’m able to write about it, I’ll do my best to do just that, here on the Cliffs.
On 3 June, 2002, a fellow Shrieker and longtime tribeswoman sent me an invitation to join LiveJournal. Fourteen years, and an assload of comedy, tragedy, weirdness, and wonder later, I am still here.
The only thing that will stop my association with LJ would be my death.
Or The Alpaca Lips.
Five Problems with Social Media
- Grammar and spelling. It wasn’t, and generally still isn’t, that evident on social media sites like LiveJournal and Dreamwidth, but social media sites that limit the size of posts have the unfortunate side-effect of encouraging people to make spelling and grammatical shortcuts, in order to get the most bang for their posting buck. Twitter, I’m looking at you, here. Sadly, it’s beginning to bleed over into “real life” writing habits, breeding a new generation of illiterate morons who will spell wait as w8, even when they have no word or character limits.
- Keyboard Warriors. Not everything on Earth or in the virtual world is a fucking trigger. Get over yourselves and stop making everyone who is unfortunate enough to attract your attention miserable.
- Selfies. We’ve all made them, yes. But you don’t have to make them every day, much less more frequently. Instagram has got to be the best thing to happen for narcissists, and the worst thing to happen for everyone else, in the history of Teh Intarwebz.
- Emojis. This kinda ties in with #1. On many social media sites, you don’t have to use words to express how you’re feeling anymore. You need only post an image of a thing with a face that best represents you at that moment. Even though it comes in handy, when you don’t have the ability to say “I’m feeling a little sniffly right now. I may be coming down with a cold”, when you are able to write out how you’re feeling, using emojis so much may dull your ability to go beyond adding what is essentially a cave painting to a message board.
- Lack of Fact-Checking. I’m guilty of this just as much as anyone else, even though I try to be as attentive as possible. In a world where anyone can claim they are a journalist, and images can so easily be manipulated, you really can’t completely trust anything you see, especially on social media. The problem is exacerbated by people blindly reposting misinformation, based solely on the headline, often without even reading the article itself, much less double checking what’s being reported.
Last Tuesday, I officially ended an almost 30-year friendship that unofficially ended when I was thrown into grief over losing Aunt Tudi. It would seem that suicidal depression and self-isolation clears the room every damned time. I’m not saying anything further about it, because there’s nothing more to say, except for one thing. The friendship could often be very toxic but, because of who we were and how we were treated before we met, the two of us always ended up back together. It won’t happen this time. There are too many miles, tears, and life-changes between us now. I will miss him but, honestly, I’ve been missing him since he moved across the country back in the 90s. It’s time to accept the inevitable.
In other loss news, I’m still reeling over the death of Prince. From the moment I heard and saw him in the Controversy video, I was in love with his music and in lust with him. From 1981 until his death, that never changed, and it never will. After so many losses of beloved musicians so far this year (fuck you, 2016. fuck you hard.), I’m pretty much walking around in a combination of stunned grief and abject fear. Why the fear? Well, there’s Shriekback, Barry Andrews and Carl Marsh in particular, with whom I’ve developed a good friendship/acquaintance and a fine working relationship over the years. Then there’s Jeff Lynne, who’s resurrected ELO I’m supposed to finally get to see in concert after ages of dreaming. If any of them passES this year, I’m going to lose my fucking shit. I’m not exaggerating here. I can barely handle thinking and writing about it.
Whitley Strieber is now channeling his dead wife Anne and, if you subscribe to Dreamland (the portion of Unknown Country people have to pay for [I almost subscribed years ago!]), you can learn more about her messages from beyond. I can't decide if he's completed his journey to the Cuckoo's Nest, having lost the woman he so clearly adored, or if he's ramped up his charlatan side and decided to steal a little thunder from the likes of John Edward. At any rate, when someone starts claiming that they're talking to the dead, or having the dead talk through them, my respect for them is gravely damaged. I've always supported Whitley Strieber, even when what he's saying borders on kooky. I believe he experienced something and that the Greys were involved. 'Communion' touched me in ways I can't even properly express in written or spoken language. But this "my dead wife is imparting great wisdom through me" schtick is going a bit too far, even for me.
The last time I lived in Asheville, the year was 1981. What’s so odd is, I’m more homesick now than I have been in the 35 years I’ve been gone. Last night, I browsed images of the Blue Ridge Parkway, Craggy Gardens and Craggy Dome in particular, since that’s where Aunt Tudi’s and Granny’s ashes are scattered.
I don’t know why I do shit like that to myself. I know it’s only going to serve to make me feel like someone has patiently and carefully picked out my solar plexus with a dull spork, yet I do it all the same. I posted some of the pics I found on Facebook last night, and the response they received was as I expected: awe and wonder on behalf of those who took the time to take a gander.
And that is how it should be. The sights available on the Blue Ridge Parkway are a feast for both the eyes and the soul. Add to the mix the deep connectedness of loved ones whose last physical presence was designated to be amongst the rhododendrons and Faerie structures partially hidden in the silent mists of the Smoky Mountains, and you have yourself a perfect recipe for mental chest-clenching and a losing battle with that giant lump in your throat.
I haven’t been able to suss why I’m more homesick now than I was just a year ago until now. I believe it’s because, even though I’ve been gone from Asheville for decades, I still had the comfort of being able to visit at least every once in a while. I no longer have that option. Asheville is almost 2500 miles away from me now, a far cry from the 75 measly miles that separated Duncan and the Land O’Sky. Even when I could no longer drive, I still had more of a chance and opportunity to return home and visit Craggy Gardens.
Now, that lifeline has been severed. I really am a stranger in a strange land. That said, I have decided on something just today: in the very slim chance the Mother Unit passes before I do, I'm going home. I'm certainly not staying in San Diego with Matt. I know he'd be as dead set against such an arrangement as I obviously am.
A Facebook friend and fellow hedge Witch, Granny Kate, posted a link to an independent movie project called Asheville: The Movie. Here’s a little bit on the story. Click the image at the top of this post to read more about that and the company instrumental in making the film a reality.
A story about a young man’s journey into the cultural creative world of Asheville, NC. John Craft is a middleclass community college student from the Midwest who is studying business to prepare for a career in his father’s paper company. He hears about a free spirited town in the North Carolina Mountains called Asheville. It is where the new age/indigo people of America are going and John wants to check it out before settling into a life of running the family business.
After a series of coincidental messages, John packs up and heads to this conscious town in the land of the Cherokee. When he arrives he finds himself at the Friday Night Drum Circle. A young raven haired free spirited girl name Star Seed, pulls him out on the dance floor and after some exotic inspiration, influences John to let loose and join in the tribal festivities.
John is invited by Star Seed to stay at a community house called “The Vortex”, where he meets 10 eclectic young adults and one wise elder who shows him the way of “Fully Living and Being Aware.” The house is full of unique characters who each share their passions and metaphysical/progressive beliefs.
Ayahuasca even plays into the film’s plot, which is monumental, considering I’ve been doing extensive research on that and DMT and their potential to help heal psychologically and spiritually broken people like myself. Yet another one of those inescapable interludes of synchronicity.
The film is currently in production. I’ve saved the webpage so I can keep up on its progress and when/if I’ll get to screen it. This is definitely a must-see in Tin’s World.
In other news, I stumbled across a picture of
Adolf Hitler Donald Trump that reminded me of a cute puppy I’d seen before. I’m not saying Drumpf is cute, because he’s not. He never has been, never will be, and he needs to have that orange thing he calls a face removed by an industrial belt sander, but the resemblance in expression is eerie. Judge for yourself.
One final word about home, here are some of the images of Craggy Gardens I posted on Facebook last night. To see the larger image, just click on the ones here. If you aren’t spiritually moved by the supernatural beauty of found in these photographs, you might want to see a psychiatrist.
After the past 36 hours of pining for Asheville, North Carolina, like never before, one thing is certain:
I NEED TO GO HOME.
Why do people ask you to pray for them or others who have lost a loved one to death? What good does it do? It’s not going to bring the person back. It won’t comfort any of the living, unless they’re delusional, which may be a good thing. Being delusional during a time of great loss can ease the pain because you’re fucking delusional. But prayer isn’t going to do shit for anyone. God isn’t going to speak to anyone, except for the ones who stopped their meds during this time of grief. It probably doesn’t exist and, in the slim chance it does, it’s too busy inspiring other delusional fuckers to oppress and kill their fellow Earthlings.
Fuck that noise.
How many times did people say to me “I’ll pray for you” after Aunt Tudi died? A lot of them, the Christians and xtians mainly, didn’t even ask for permission. They just told me how it was going to be, whether I liked it or not. Thanks for the support, assholes. I got to where I was pretty aggressive about telling them, “no you won’t. I don’t want your prayers. I don’t want anything like that, and I don’t give you permission to speak to your imaginary friend on my behalf. You’re not my representative. If you were, I’d ask you tell your pal in the sky to go fuck itself.”
Yes, I’m still angry about it. Every time I see someone make a prayer request for someone who’s suffered the death of a friend or family member, it makes me want to take a sledge hammer to anything that will break under the weight of my rage.
I don’t want to hear how everything happens for a reason and that god is good. I didn’t in 2011 and I still don’t. Keep your Wiccan candle-lighting and “in Jesus’ name”’s away from me. I don’t require sitting shiva, nor do I need any petitions to Allah on my behalf. The same goes for any other religion, god, prayer, or rattle-shaking.
Someone has died. No one will ever speak to them again. The ones who feel the pain the most don’t need the condescending clichés that infect our modern grieving process. In my case, and in many others’ if they’d be honest, it just makes things a thousand times worse. When you’re grieving, you don’t hear god. All you hear is the buzzing drone of inconsolability. If you’re too selfish in your personal beliefs to respect that, and still feel compelled to bring a deity into the mix, then fuck you, get out of my life.
The faithful condemn, they condone persecution,
as the suicides plummet with nowhere to turn.
For, if Christ cannot love them, then why should they live?
And, if God won't accept them, then they'll just have to burn.
There is only one faith and one road to be traveled,
which leads to that mountain where Man may find love.
But there's only a handful of rich men and preacher men
Able to lie and reach Heaven above.
So the suicides have to be burning in Hell now
and those of us left are just souls lost in sin.
And we're told by the faithful how evil we are
and that we must give them money to be born again.
But I can't help but think that, if Christ came to Earth now,
a pauper, hippie, a heretic man,
the faithful who worship him would crown him with thorns again,
call him a sinner and drive nails in his hands.
And we who have wandered a world without meaning
would find there a martyr who, for us, his life lost,
then our children will reign in some bigoted future
and impale the same outcast on the hypocrites' cross.
©Tracy A. Evans / 31 August, 1990
I haven’t done one of these in about 10,000 years, so let’s get this show on the road.
1. Full name: Tracy Angelina Evans
2. Nicknames: Tin, Tinhuviel, George, Darth Shriek
3. Birthplace: Asheville, North Carolina USA
4. Birthday: 10 September, 1967
5. Where Do You Live Now?: San Diego, California
6. Parent(s): Father Unit has passed. Mother Unit is here in San Diego.
7. Sibling(s): ZERO
8. Looks: Better off invisible.
9. Favourite Animal(s): Anything non-human, except for millipedes and centipedes. Like humans, they can go fuck themselves.
10. Favorite TV Show(s): Impractical Jokers, Better Call Saul
11. Favorite Kind(s) Of Music: Most everything but Country and Opera.
12. Favorite Movie(s): Sci-Fi, Unusual, Conceptual, Foreign
13. School: Some college, focusing on English and Veterinary Assistance
14. Future School: I’m too old for this question. The Chapel Perilous
15. Future Job: Testing new, effective sleep aids.
16. Boyfriend/Girlfriend: nah
17. Best Buds: I’m a bit of a hermit these days.
18. Favorite Candy: Milk Dud
19. Hobbies: Music, reading, writing
20. Things You Collect: Grudges, CDs, movies, moments in time.
21. Do You Have A Personal Phone Line: Yes
22. Favorite Body Part Of The Opposite Sex? The eyes and brain
23. Any Tattoos And Where Of What?: Red & Black Triskele on right hand, Green Shriekback logo on left hand, Mwanza Flat-headed Agama with green and blue hues instead of pinkish and blue.
24. Piercing(s) And Where?: not anymore
25. What Do You Sleep in?: clothing
26. Do you like Chain Letters: aw HELL NAW.
27. Best Advice: Reality is peripheral.
28. Favorite Quotes: Hope for the best, expect the worst. - Mel Brooks.
29. Non-sport Activity You Enjoy: sleep
30. Dream Car: A transporter
31. Favorite Thing To Do In Spring: Avoid the sun.
32. What’s Your Bedtime: Whenever I’m lucky.
33. Where Do You Shop: Wherever I can.
34. Coke or Pepsi: Cheerwine
35. Favorite Thing(s) To Wear?: Something loose that will allow me to blend into my surroundings.
36. Favorite Subject(s) In School: English and Creative Writing
37. Favorite Color(s): Green, Red, Black
38. Favorite People To Talk To Online: People with brains and a wicked sense of humour that has set them on the road to Hell.
39. Root-Beer or Dr. Pepper? Root beer
40. Do You Shave? I’m too old for that bullshit.
41. Favorite Vacation Spot(s): I don’t do vacations. My favourite place to BE is England.
42. Favorite Family Member(s): Smidgen
43. Did You Eat Paint Chips When You Were a Kid? WHAT?
44. Favorite CD you own: Currently Without Real String or Fish by Shriekback
45. The ONE Person Who You Hate The Most: Going with an old standard here and saying Pat Robertson.
46. Favorite Food(s)?: Potatoes
47. Who Is The Hottest Guy or Girl In The World?: I have a very short list.
48. What Is Your Favorite Salad Dressing?: Bleu Cheese.
49. When You Die, Do You Wanna Be Buried or Burned Into Ashes? I don’t care, as long as I end up on Craggy Dome.
50. Do You Believe In Aliens?: Absolutely.
51. If You Had The Chance To Professionally Do Something, What would You Do? I’m already a Professional Misanthropist.
52. Things You Obsess Over: Various artists, ideas, philosophies, theories, general weirdness
53. Favorite Day of the Week: Don’t bloody care.
54. An Authority Figure You Hate: The Feudal Mistress still tops the list.
55. Favorite Disney Movie: Bambi
56. What Is Your Favorite Season? Winter
57. What Toppings Do You Like On Your pizza? Cheese, with extra cheese, and cheese on the side.
58. Do You Like Your School Food Itself (As In The District Food): I never ate it.
59. If You Could Live Anywhere, Where Would You Live? Avebury, Wiltshire, UK
60. Favorite Thing(s) To Do On Weekends: Sleep, if I can accomplish it.
61. Favorite Magazine(s): Don’t have one.
62. Favorite Flower(s): White rose
63. Favorite Number(s): 5
64. Favorite Ice Cream flavor(s): Ben & Jerry’s Wavy Gravy
65. What Kind of Guys/Girls Are You Attracted to?: Dangerously intelligent, beautiful, talented, and hilarious.
66. What’s Your Most Embarrassing Moment? I inadvertently introduced myself to someone as his wife.
67. If You Could Change One Thing About Yourself What Would It be? I would be fearless.
68. Do You Eat Breakfast First Then Brush Your Teeth or Brush first ten eat breakfast: breakfast first.
69. Favorite Time of Day: Whenever I get to sleep.
70. Can A Guy and Girl Be Just “Best Friends?”: Why not?
71. Do You Ask The Girl/Guy Out Or Do You Wait For Them To Come To You?: I don’t go there anymore.
72. Do You Mind Paying For Sex? I never would.
73. What’s The Most Important thing In Someone’s Personality: Sentience
74. Do you have a pager or cell phone? Cell
75. Favorite Sport: Flambodious Butt-walking
76. What Was the Best Gift You Ever Received? Love
77. How Long Did This Letter Take You To Finish?: Not very long.
78. What Did You Listen To While Completing It?: Electric Light Orchestra’s Alone in the Universe.
79. Are you or would you like to be married in the near future (next 5 years)? NEGATIVE
80. Don’t u just hate how psychics never win the lottery? I hate it more than I don’t win the lottery. I hate psychics, especially the ones who claim to talk to your dead relatives. They’re grifters who should be drawn and quartered. The End.
Today was doctor day. I went to see Dr. Harrington at 11 and my new primary care physician at 2:30. In between appointments, I slummed at Starbucks and surfed the Internet, but only after I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and fell, seemingly to my death, only for the sidewalk to catch me - and my computer! Thankfully, the comp wasn’t damaged.
Anyone who tends to be mega-clumsy, has seizures, or is prone to passing out, needs to switch to the Mac because their computers are tough as fucking nails.
Anyway, I hadn’t seen Dr. Harrington since September. It was my intention not to really get into anything, just get my prescriptions refilled, and be on my way. Considering I’d just gone through another horribleday without Aunt Tudi, I wasn’t in the mood to rehash crap. Somehow, though, he got me to talking about when the Parental Units broke up and what happened with me in the immediate aftermath. I’m tired of talking about that. When I go back to him, in July, I’m not walking down that road again. There’s no reason to go there.
The new doctor was very thorough and took his time. He concluded what I already had, that I had acute bronchitis. I’m on a 5-day regimen of prednisone, and he wants to see me again on Monday, if the cough is no better. I like him. He does have funny hands, though. They’re shiny and hairless. He’s not particularly shiny anywhere else, but those hands would gleam in the sunlight. I have already dubbed them Mannequin Hands.
I’m back at the house now, and thoroughly exhausted. I have not been out for so long since in the first of the year. Did I like it? Can’t say as I did, being a hermit and all.
Finally, after being the second sickest I’ve ever been, I got up enough strength to shower and go out today. It was my intention to get a haircut, since my hair isn’t growing the way it used to, and my thyroid is causing some thinning. Short hair seems to be my option from now own. Unfortunately, I forgot that it was Easter, so the haircut did not happen, since all the shops were closed. The Mother Unit swung me by the grocery store to pick up a few things, we went and got Slurpees, and came back to the house. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to try to get that haircut again.
Aunt Tudi has been on my mind a lot, more so than usual, these past couple of weeks. I hate it. I want to turn off my brain, but I can’t seem to. It would be okay, if the memories I had were just of the times we spent together, good and bad. The laughter and tears, the fights and the impromptu comedic moments, the times that make up people’s everyday lives.
But they’re not.
The memories are interspersed with the sharp flashes from the days she was on life support to the day she was taken off. I don’t remember it all. I was in a haze. But I remember enough. I have some very vivid memories of those horrible 96 hours.
To remember her failing on every level to learn the Electric Slide from Johnna, then instantly see her lying there with tape over her partially opened eyes, is unbearable. I miss her so much, and I still feel the burden of responsibility for having put her in such a dehumanizing situation in what would be her last days. She would hold my hand when we crossed streets in Asheville, but she didn’t hold my hand back when they took her off life support. She wasn’t there, I know, but the gravity of the moment was very present, and it still is for me.
It’s like it was just yesterday all that happened, even though it’s now going on five years. My brain will not stop with the incessant barrage of pain, and I have no solution to remedy the problem. I just want it all to stop.