Aztec Gods, Needles in a Foot and Hand Torture, Oh My!


I’ve been pretty lazy about the look of my blog. Previous banners have been hastily cropped images of my MRI scans or some such thing. So, I set about to remedy the situation by creating a banner representing my “injourney”. Though it may look precariously thrown together, I assure you that each object represents something very meaningful. I’ll start with perhaps the most powerful being on the banner. The colorful fella in the right corner is Huitzilopochtli,the Aztec god of war and the sun. I’ve a tattoo of Huitzilopochtli on my right shoulder blade –


What struck me was, if you say “war” and “sun” back to back very quickly, it almost sounds like “Wilson” – and as you know, Wilson makes top quality sporting good products, and is my last name.
I jest, although not one of his defining divine powers, he’s also associated as being the guide for journeys, having led the Mexica  (Aztecs, though don’t let Huitzi hear you say that, he was against that nomenclature – thought it sounded too much like “ass-tech” and didn’t want people thinking they made fancy toilets or other such things) from Aztlan to the site that would become Tenochtitlan, the Azte…err, Mexica capital city. It is this quality that convinced me that his likeness should appear on my right should blade for the rest of my days. He would always be near to guide me.
The colorful dude on the other side is Xipe Totec, which means “He of the colorful commode”. As you can see, he’s sitting, almost squatting, on a very colorful chair. This is actually a toilet. He was fine with name “Aztec”, thought it’d be a good opportunity to spread the word about his sacrificial, butt guillotine commode. While pooping, a blade slices off the bottom and flushes it straight to Templo Mayor in Tenochtitlan to be offered up to the gods.

Again, I jest.

Xipe Totec or “Our Lord the Flayed One”, is the god of, among many other things, the cycle of life-death-rebirth. You see, I’ve come to consider May 22nd, 2009 (the approximate date of my hemorrhage), as the date my old self died. I was reborn when I had surgery to remove the cause of the hemorrhage.

Getting back to the mortal realm, the little girl in the yellow shirt and headlamp is my darling daughter, Quinn. I go to the gym, and therapize myself that I might get to be more active with that little fireball. The headlamp is for what I call “technology spelunking”. I wear it when I need to fiddle around inside my computer case or complete some other task without adequate lighting.

The hand in the vice is a not so subtle reference to occupational therapy and its toils. Not much more to be said about this – if you’ve ever wanted break off your aching hand and use it to give someone (esp. an occupational therapist) a bloody slap across the face, then flip the bird with it, then you understand that image.

Rounding (more like ovaling) out the left side is a MRI scan of the top of my head. The white dot in the middle is a marshmallow I shoved up my nose when I was seven. Since that time, every time someone asks, “What’s that smell?” I invariably answer “marshmallows”.

Come to find out, the marshmallow passed through my digestive tract the same as if I’d eaten it – as such, it has long since done the thing that biological things do, whose name esca…DECOMPOSED (!) in the bowels of some sewage treatment facility.

The white dot in this scan, and the scan of the stick man in the middle, is actually blood – these scans were taken very soon after the big bleed.

The relatively huge foot (MY foot with a NEEDLE in it) is a direct result of that white dot – the blood scrambled some wiring up there, causing a perpetual spasm running through my left arm and left leg/foot. To combat this unpleasant symptom, I get injections of botox every three months, two of which go in my foot (let me reiterate: TWO INJECTIONS! FOOT!)

All these things make up my injourney, and so, are strewn about my path like so many playthings carelessly scattered across the front yard by a whimsical child.

The stick man furthest down the path has a question mark for a head. This is for two raisins –
1. In the future, my head will probably look about the same on the outside. I can’t make any assumptions about what it’ll look like on the inside. Of course, there will still be neurons and dendrites and hormones of varying flavor, but I have to accept the possibility that there might be more white stuff (there also might be a “Johnny Mnemonic” style hard drive or an antenna ala Vonnegut’s Sirens of Titan.
2. I couldn’t think of anything to put there.

And what banner would be complete without the auspices of LepreSean? He popped in and asked, “Whersh me potta gold?” Xipe replied, “I’m sitting on it!”



Tag Blog, p.1

A+ certification Arnold Schwarzenegger aztec gods Botox Brain surgery causality cavernoma CompTIA Conditions and Diseases Dog double vision Family Futurama Germanfest Health hemorrhage Hobbit Home hot water heater Kurt Vonnegut Life Alert Magnetic resonance imaging Medicine Mr. T Neurosurgery orange juice OWFI Physical therapy Recreation Rocky Satan Shopping Skylander spasticity sporks tattoos TBI Technology the big lebowski Tolkien Trauma and Injuries TRILS United States vomiting Zumba

The above words were on my “most used” tags a few months ago. Most of these I only used once, so I thought I’d bring them closer to a true “most used” by making up a story.

I started a story when I first checked the  the list – didn’t like it. As such, this is my second attempt at “tag blog”. There were a lot of people maimed and injured in the making of this blog, especially those who read it and didn’t audibly guffaw –

The Hobbit sat quietly at his computer studying for the CompTIA A+ exams. All of a sudden, he heard a hearty knock on his door.

He scampered down the hallway to the big round door, and opened it very cautiously. On his doorstep, he saw a very large man in a grey cloak and a matching tall grey cap. The man looked down at him and, in a very strong Austrian accent, asked “Aw yoo da hah-bit named Zoomba?”

The hobbit considered the hulking pilgrim in front of him. “I’m a hobbit, not a habit. And yes, my name is Zumba. Who are you?”

The man seemed pleased to hear this, replied, “I’m Schwarzenegger the Grey. I’ve come to ask yoo to help wit a special ehrind.”

Zumba invited Schwarzenegger inside to hear about the errand.

Schwarzenegger the Grey started telling Zumba about Mr. T and his terrible vomiting sickness. “Da Aztec gahds put a cyurse on Mistah T, now he has dah-ble vision and he throws ahp every 10 minutes.”

Zumba grimaced in disgust, “How can I help? I’m not a doctor.”

“I know dat. I read a book by Kyurt Vonnegut that said that hah-bits aw viery handy for special ehrinds, what wit yoor abilidy to turn inveezable.” Replied Schwarzenegger proudly.

Zumba looked at Schwarzenegger with confusion, “Sorry to tell you, but I can’t turn invisible. Also, you must be thinking of a book by JRR Tolkien, not Vonnegut.”

Schwarzenegger sighed, “Dat doesn’t mattah. Doo yoo hyaf any special pahwas?”

Zumba furrowed his brow in thought, “hmm…” He paced a few steps and suddenly stopped with a jerk. “I’m very good with technology and fixing hot water heaters. Do those count?” Zumba asked hopefully.

Schwarzenegger let out an even deeper sigh, “Dehr going to hyaf to count. Rocky already tyurned me down.

Pleased with his better than nothing status, Zumba asked, “What is the errand?”

“Yoo aw to accompany Mistah T to da yunited states to confront the Aztec Gahds dat poot da cyurse on heem.”

“Aren’t the Aztec Gods from Mexico?” Asked Zumba, puzzled.

Schwarzenegger nodded, “Dey decided dat Mexico was too haht, then moved to Denvah.”

Zumba tilted his head. Perplexed he asked, “Gods can do that?”

“Dey aw gahds, dey can doo whatevah dey want.”

Zumba considered this for a moment, then asked, “When do we leave?”

“I hyaf tah go get Mistah T, I left him at a jyermanfest bathroom, dehr weel be lots of people vomiting dehr, he’ll fit right in. I didn’t want heem to throw ahp all over your home.”

With that, Schwarzenegger got up and lumbered toward the door and pulled it open. Just before he walked out, he turned to Zumba and declared, “Al be back” and turned to leave.

Not wanting to be bored, Zumba quickly asked, “Do I have time for an episode of Futurama or Family Guy?”

But he was already gone…

To be continued…


Ink and Shake Aware OJ

I’ve already written too much for one blog, so I’ll make it into two (a bi-log)

A very special TBI is…

Tattoos on my Body about my Injourney. – I got another tattoo on Saturday, bringing the total to five. Three of these puppies have been inspired by my “injourney”. I’ll start with the two that I’ve already posted –

This here is Xipe Totec, Aztec god of sporks, Cajun food (I don’t know) and SATA cables (that’s right, the Aztecs had computers, and they preferred AMD). That’s all fine and dandy, he appears on my back because he is also associated with life, death, and rebirth. I consider my experience with brain surgery that kind of cycle – life = uhh, being alive; hemorrhage = death; surgery = rebirth.

 2012-06-05 15.59.05

This next ink is Hebrew for “holy sh*t, please stop. I’ve changed my mind.” Actually, it says “If you will it, it is no dream.” These words are credited to Theodor Herzl, an instrumental figure in the establishment of the state of Israel. I’m familiar with it because of Walter Sobchak – John Goodman’s  character in The Big Lebowski – the greatest film ever made (view it here). I chose this because I love the movie (obviously), and I got to a point in my recovery where I thought this is it, the Jarrett that is now is the Jarrett that will always be. In a way, that’s like giving up; I needed a permanent, extremely painful (seriously, tattoo on ribs = same class of ouch as shots in the foot(!). I thought about getting surgery to become an android, but the doctors tell me they can’t do that yet (amateurs!). The only other option was to get a tattoo.

 2012-12-12 16.50.31

The newest addition is Huitzilopochtli – Aztec god of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, air mattresses and staplers. He is also the god of journeys, I couldn’t find anything for god of injourneys (damn you, Wikipedia! Why have you forsaken me?).


Being the politically correct liberal that I am, let me go ahead and say that my descriptions of the gods were not meant in any way to disparage or insult the Mesoamerican culture.

I don’t want my other tattoos to feel left out. This will give rise to yet another TBI is…

Tattoos not Bearing upon my Injourney –

I’ll start with my very first tattoo – a dragon on my ankle.


It represents my fiery hot zest for life. That’s a lie. It represents “I’m 18, have graduation cash to burn and happen to be in Dallas”. Do I regret it? Yes and no. I don’t think it’s ugly, but I hate the fact that it has no real meaning and it occupies an easily concealable tattoo spot.

This next tattoo – the likeness of Philip J. Fry from Futurama displays my more playful side –

just Fry

I know the image is a popular MEME, and it has been mistaken as a MEME, Futurama and I go back a ways, so it’s oh so much more than an overused picture and a clever saying. To prove it to you, I can tell you that the line was uttered (“that dog won’t hunt, monsignor”) by Fry after learning that he doesn’t get the military discount on his ham flavored gum (which turned out to be all bones) in “War is the H-Word” – eighth episode of the second season (not too sure on the season, but the rest is accurate).

And now, page 2 –

A few months ago, I started a serial (mmm…serial) called “”Timesavers””; one set of quotations is to denote that it’s a title, the other set is to show that, though they are conceived in my mind as saving time, they really make me seem crazier and prodigiously nit-picky. I had a “time-saving” episode on Saturday morning so desperately nit-picky that I just had to share it. I tried to make it a TBI is…, but Torange Buice Iroutine is a bit confusing.

Listen, I have a glass of orange juice every morning. On Saturday morning I was running late for…being early to…play video games and it occurred to me that I had to shake the orange juice to awaken the flavor and activate the vitamins and whatnot. Taskmaster Jarrett piped up, “we’re missing precious game time, you don’t need to shake it this time.” The other parts of me rose up in disagreement, “The shaking must be observed!”

While this battle raged in my head I walked to the cabinet to get a glass. Upon procuring said glass, Taskmaster Jarrett calmly offered a compromise, “I know, you can shake the glass on the way to the fridge.”

More ludicrous than the thought of shaking an empty glass was the fact that, before really thinking about it, I did it for a second or two. Not sure what I thought would happen – perhaps the shaken glass will reverberate when the juice is poured into it; or perhaps the juice, once it enters the glass it will sense the previous shake and say, “Darn, now I have to taste good and be nutritious! I was sure that, due to the lack of shaking, the lack of vitamin C would give him scurvy.”



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