The Cynic Gazette

To quote one of the greatest fictional characters of all time, Gob (Jobe) from Arrested Development:

“Oh COME ON!”

There’s a *new* reality show on Lifetime which pits American “psychics” against each other in a challenge-format entertainment show called America’s Psychic Challenge. For any other skeptics out there who just thought to themselves “oh my sweet zombie jesus on a crud cracker,” all I can do is say “I feel ya, dog.”

I want to say, “who cares? It’s Lifetime. It’s entertainment.” I can’t.

While I find the concept of this show to be ridiculous fodder for the local vomitorium, we’re going to watch it and find out what alternate title is most suited to this show:

• America’s Best Guesser
• America’s Crappiest Testing Criteria Challenge
• America’s Cold Reading Challenge
• Make James Randi Cry
• America’s Shameless Fraud Challenge
• Will Women Freak Out if Sex And The City Isn’t On For An Hour

We’re hooking my laptop to the TV to watch episode 1 tonight… right after the new episode of Bones.

Joisey Mike Skepticism Americas Psychic Challenge, Crap, Fraud, Psychic, Skepticism

I guess my recent experience of my dad passing away’s started a little obsession with death, and mixed with my rampant skepticism of the more woo-woo beliefs people have, I want to quote this little probability calculation from Brian Dunning’s Here Be Dragons:

• There are 105,120 5-minute intervals in a year
• If you only know 10 people (family, friends, celebs, etc) who die each year…
• And you only think of each of them once a year
• There’s a 1:10,512 chance you’ll think about one during the 5-minute interval in which they die.
• But since there’s about 300,000,000 people living in the USA right now,
• That each year about 28,539 Americans think about someone during the 5-minute interval in which the person they’re thinking about dies.

Not so spooky anymore, is it?

Joisey Mike Skepticism Skepticism

My being aches because I don’t get to go to work tomorrow. I don’t get to commute through some of the more medium-rare neighborhoods of Baltimore with Meg tomorrow morning, pop into Wholefoods for a bagel and glare menacingly at the homeopathy aisle. I don’t get to say “good morning fellas” to Matt and John, log into my computer, skim the morning emails and then go get a cup of coffee to fuel the beginning of my work day. I don’t get to go to a weekly department meeting and talk about my projects and give feed back on others. I don’t get to IM jokes over to the next row. Not yet.

Tonight I’ll be playing Spore until my bloodshot eyes can’t stay open another minute, or reading until I pass out with a book in my hand, or keeping Meg awake watching 3 episodes of “How It’s Made” in a row. This is my new ritual which sends me into a feverish sleep full of not getting comfortable and having those half-dreams you have when your mind’s demanding that your body explain itself for wanting to lie there. My mind won’t let me sleep if it can be avoided, working itself overtime just trying to handle all of the emotions lashing out at each other.

This is a lot harder the second time around. I hate the fact that one or two of you know exactly how this feels, and thinking that the other people I care about will have to feel this one day. I can draw a few drops of solace thinking this will help me to help others make the transition into the parentless phase of life, as I was able to be there for some of you who’ve experienced the devastation for the first time, in the way only someone who’s been there can be. 

I can’t call him every few days to talk about my career, or the marinade I used grilling steaks last night, or to tell him there’s a new picture I posted to Flickr I want him to see. I can’t listen to him list off the 5 new cars he’s decided would be perfect replacements for the Infiniti once his lease is up. We can’t laugh about the latest movies we’ve seen on DVD, and we still never got around to playing Grand Theft Auto 4 online together (yes, my dad owned a PS3). I don’t get to hear about the hot streak he hit playing craps at the Santa Fe Station, or get lectured about my finances. He’s really gone.

I’m not screaming that it’s not fair, and I don’t ask what I did to deserve this. I’d rather have the pain than just a void. The pain. There’s no shortage of that.

I know some of you are on my friend list and we don’t really know each other, and some of you could write my biography without having to ask me anything. Some of you just randomly show up and only know me for my writing and pictures. There’s a few of you who even though we’re out of each other’s lives forever, you check in from time to time to see what I’m up to, even if you’re just hoping to get a laugh from someone you used to know. I leave my profile and blog open because I welcome you all into my life.

So this is for everyone. This is about the loss of my dad. This is about the loss of one of my best friends in the world. This is about the loss of the man who knew me best. This is about the second and final time I lost a parent.

Fuck.

Joisey Mike 4th Wall Dad

I’ve played some personal news pretty close to the chest over the last 3 weeks, partially because I wasn’t ready to begin to deal with the reality, and partially because I wanted to spend some time only talking to you about my engagement to Meg, the love of my life.

Two and a half weeks ago, on Friday 8/29, my Dad, my cousin Randy and I had ourselves a night out. We went to the Red Rocks Casino and saw the new Batman movie in IMAX, played more than our fair share of Craps, and drank damn near everything we could get our hands on.

The next morning we joked about how hung over we were as I was getting ready to pick up Meg from the airport. He said he just took a dip in the pool to try to swim off his hangover and was just freezing cold… he couldn’t warm up until I got him some blankets so he could snooze away the afternoon while I was picking up Meg.

The next morning, he came outside and hung out with us as we just got out of the pool and told us his hangover still hadn’t gone away–he really felt like shit. On a whim he took his temperature and saw he was running an almost 102 degree fever. When you have COPD, a fever’s bad news. Hell, a normal cold’s bad news. 

About COPD: Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease manifested itself as a cocktail of issues my dad has. Chronic bronchitis and emphysema, pulmonary fibrosis (scarring covering half the available space in his lungs, rendering it useless), and some related heart problems. According to his doctors, it’s ALL from being a smoker.

Anyway, Meg and I convinced my dad to call his doctor, who told him to high-tail it to the ER. Everything after that blends together for the next few days.

Admit to ER.

“You’re not going anywhere till we get that pneumonia taken care of.”

Move him to ICU.

“Low blood pressure’s got me worried…”

Nose canula turns into oxygen mask…

Oxygen mask replaced with larger high pressure mask…

“If you’re not better in 2-3 days, we might have to move you to a ventilator…”

The morning after that last quote, the ICU called me to come to the hospital. They wanted to intubate him (put him on the ventilator which would breathe for him) but he refused until I got to the hospital so we could go over everything I’d need to run the house over the next however long. You know, just in case. We had to have a very hard conversation where… well, lets just say the phrase “quality of life issues” came up a few times. My dad made himself pretty clear about his wishes, while my sister’s family raced to the airport to get on the next plane. And in went the breathing tubes.

The last few things he wrote down minutes before he was intubated haunted me:

The odds are low. I refuse to live like this. If no improvement, pull the plug.

The next 9 days all blend together into one long visit… trying to figure out what my dad was trying to tell us when he was a little awake from the haze of sedatives (you can’t talk on a ventilator), checking all the machines for improvements in the numbers, getting doctor and nurse updates. Hoping. Worrying. Taking turns being optimistic and realistic.

On ventilator day 10, two and a half weeks after he entered the hospital, my sister called me from the ICU waiting room. His doctor and lung specialist came to their conclusion: he’s not going to get better.

Our family all took turns visiting with him one last time yesterday, and then we signed off that it was time. The hospital removed all of the medicines and plugs and tubes except for a minor oxygen mask, a heavy morphine drip to keep him in a comfortable snooze, and the monitors.

Meg and I stayed with him for the next few hours watching the numbers slowly drop, holding hands, waiting, whispering to him that my Mom was waiting for him and everything was going to be ok. Around 1:30 a.m., exhausted, we decided to give him some privacy, and go home and sleep for a few hours.

Two hours later my sister knocked on our door… the ICU called to let us know that my Dad had just passed away.

Right now, my sister, her husband, Meg and I are sitting around, making phone calls, and arranging what we can, making final arrangements and so on. We’re all understandibly dazed at the moment. 

Goodbye Dad. You’ve been the best father, counselor, in-law, in-law-to-be, best friend, and example of how to be a good person we could ever wish for.

Joisey Mike 4th Wall Dad

“I know what would make a great picture… here, put this on.”

*shock*

“Meg, I love you more than anything in the world. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!!!”

Joisey Mike 4th Wall Engagement, Marriage, Meg

I’ve had this video stuck in my head for the last few days since Song referred to me as “Ready For The Pit Mike Snyder.” When I said that if anyone dropped change, I’d have it under control, Jay thought I was making a jewish joke. I guess it works on a few levels. 

Anyway, after AF/Madball with Mr. Snutz on Tuesday, I’ve had this video stuck in my head. So thus, I share it here (joke explained at 1:31):

Joisey Mike 4th Wall Hardcore

Excellent.

Joisey Mike 4th Wall funny

I still hate Garfield, and love finding anything that turns it into anything other than the inane drivel that Jim Davis blows out his ass onto a canvas.

I found this link on neatorama.com, which goes to a page of Garfield comics which are translated from English to Chinese and back. It’s not as funny as the Garfield-Minus-Garfield site which features Garfield strips with everyone by Jon removed, but it’s work a look… I made lulz at the phrase “I goes strong man!”

Joisey Mike 4th Wall funny

OK, so we’ve established that nobody felt like commenting that they believe in palm reading… surprisingly nobody emailed me sand said they did but didn’t want to comment publicly either. I’m not trying to paint anyone green and put then in charge of an army of flying monkeys, I just want to know.

How about astrology? Do you believe in astrology? 

I know at least one of you* has to because you post daily bulletins about it, so the count here is at least one. So lets hear it. 

*You’re counted, you don’t need to comment if you don’t feel like it.

[This was originally a myspace blog entry, and it refers to the comments there]

Joisey Mike Skepticism astrology, palm reading, Skepticism

But really, smart-ass answers aside, do you believe in palm reading?

[This is from a myspace.com blog entry, and refers to the comments there]

Joisey Mike Skepticism palm reading, Skepticism