Click here to return to VADOOM.COM
Prepare To Meet Blogdoom
Blogdoom
Acoustic Vadoom Videos
It says it's been 168 days since I last added a blog.
Anyway, today I recorded three old Vadoom songs on a little Kodak video camera Erin got me for Christmas.
Of the three, Overland probably came out the best. None of them are quite right though.
The Curious Case Of Benjamin Bratt
How come he doesn't play more awesome characters like that one guy in that one movie where he shoves drugs up his ass?
Jactatio Capitis Nocturna
Jactatio Capitis Nocturna is the fancy name for bouncing your head and kicking your legs to fall asleep. I've heard it called RMD (Rhythmic Movement Disorder). I like JCN better because it only describes. RMD judges.
I don't consider it a disorder. Being an albino is a disorder.
And it's not Restless Leg Syndrome. Trust me.
I've been doing it since I was born. When I was little I even used to rock back and forth while sitting up and watching TV. The head bouncing was steady until my mid-20's. I used to love to listen to music and bounce my head on the pillow in time to whatever song I was listening to on my stereo. The leg kicking has always been there and now that I'm in my 30's, it's about all that's left. I'll occasionally bounce my head but it's rare. The kicking is required though. I can't fall asleep comfortably without doing it.
I made a brief mention of my sleep habits on Total Punk Radio's message board back in 2000 or 2001. In 2002 or so, a young kid named Jeff found me through a web search for head bouncing and leg kicking. He's a young man now in his early 20's.
At the time we met online, he was worried that bouncing his head would make girls think he was weird. I told him it hadn't really ever gotten in the way of any relationship for me. People tend to accept the way you are if you don't worry about it. If you're too accomodating, you embolden people to burden you with their half hearted opinions. It's best to give the impression that you're not going to change. People don't like wasting their time. If you look and act like a "fixer upper" though, you shall receive. I've known some girls who hated it and couldn't sleep beside me; one of us usually wound up on the couch. One girl tried to be understanding and tolerant for months until one morning she snapped and literally kicked me out of bed by bracing both of her legs against me and pushing as hard as she could. I caught air and landed about 8 feet from the bed. Some girls though liked it. It would put them to sleep.
A friend and I were sharing a room in Vegas a few years ago and he warned me that because of a deviated septum, he was a ferrociously loud snorer. I was like, "Dude. If you can sleep over the sound of me kicking the shit out the hotel bed, I don't care how loud you snore." And it worked out. He stared at me when I started doing it because I think he thought it was a joke. When he realized I wasn't kidding, he nodded off and got right to sawing logs. We shared a room on three or four different occasions and we had our routine down pat.
"Jactatio" is Latin for "shaking" but it can also mean "showing off". More on that later. "Capitis", I assume, must refer to the head. I don't have a Latin dictionary and I'm too lazy to find a translator online but the root seems to apply to lots of other words that mean "head". "Nocturna" is "night" or "sleep". It kind of bugs me that the legs don't get mentioned. To me, the kicking is the main thing. I need to find a good Latin word for "legs" to describe my own brand of the condition.
Anyway, Jeff was comforted to find he wasn't alone and I was disappointed to find I wasn't unique.
I've thought about why it happens and I still don't have a good answer. I saw a documentary once about Romanian orphans who get almost no attention througout the day. It's like a hospital full of babies with only a handful of nurses to tend to them all. They get their diapers changed and they get fed but there's no time for any nurturing. These babies never get held. They sit in their cribs 24 hours a day without any idea of what it's like to feel affection or security. As the camera panned from crib to crib, I noticed that a lot of the babies rocked themselves back and forth. They would be on their knees in position to crawl but they would just sway back and forth. Some bounced their heads but I don't remember seeing any of them kick. Whatever they were doing was a lot like what I do. But I wasn't neglected as a child. If anything, I was doted upon. So why do I do it?
Here's one flattering theory: I developed the habit to mimic the sounds of my mother's womb. The kicking or head bouncing is supposed to simulate a heartbeat. I'm clinging stubbornly to my first and favorite sound. I say this is flattering because I feel it's indicative of determination and independence. If I can't have the real thing, I'll make my own.
The orphans, I feel, were doing something similar by mimicking the swaying motion a baby must feel in the womb. They did it out of a lonely last resort though.
Back to "jactatio". It also can mean "showing off". Which is kind of like celebrating. My other theory is that I do it because I can. It's a little celebration of being alive, a little resistance to having to sleep for the night. In time it becomes such a deep rooted habit that it doesn't need to have a reason.
My daughter, Sidney, will be a year old on January 23rd. And so far, she's inherited the kicking. She kicks hard and a lot faster than me because her legs are so much smaller. She does it when she's getting sleepy and she does it till she nods off. If she's disturbed during the night by noises coming from the television or the neighbors next door, she'll start flailing away semi-asleep until she calms herself enough to drift off again.
It's a sight to see.
She's an inquisitive kid. Long attention span and capable of rudimentary reasoning. She's patient and deliberate. Which has brought me to a third theory. The kicking is a distraction from the wheels turning in her head. Even on the verge of sleep, she'd rather be looking through a magazine or trying to figure out how to get into the trash can. So, to help relax and stop thinking, she kicks.
I don't consider it a disorder. Being an albino is a disorder.
And it's not Restless Leg Syndrome. Trust me.
I've been doing it since I was born. When I was little I even used to rock back and forth while sitting up and watching TV. The head bouncing was steady until my mid-20's. I used to love to listen to music and bounce my head on the pillow in time to whatever song I was listening to on my stereo. The leg kicking has always been there and now that I'm in my 30's, it's about all that's left. I'll occasionally bounce my head but it's rare. The kicking is required though. I can't fall asleep comfortably without doing it.
I made a brief mention of my sleep habits on Total Punk Radio's message board back in 2000 or 2001. In 2002 or so, a young kid named Jeff found me through a web search for head bouncing and leg kicking. He's a young man now in his early 20's.
At the time we met online, he was worried that bouncing his head would make girls think he was weird. I told him it hadn't really ever gotten in the way of any relationship for me. People tend to accept the way you are if you don't worry about it. If you're too accomodating, you embolden people to burden you with their half hearted opinions. It's best to give the impression that you're not going to change. People don't like wasting their time. If you look and act like a "fixer upper" though, you shall receive. I've known some girls who hated it and couldn't sleep beside me; one of us usually wound up on the couch. One girl tried to be understanding and tolerant for months until one morning she snapped and literally kicked me out of bed by bracing both of her legs against me and pushing as hard as she could. I caught air and landed about 8 feet from the bed. Some girls though liked it. It would put them to sleep.
A friend and I were sharing a room in Vegas a few years ago and he warned me that because of a deviated septum, he was a ferrociously loud snorer. I was like, "Dude. If you can sleep over the sound of me kicking the shit out the hotel bed, I don't care how loud you snore." And it worked out. He stared at me when I started doing it because I think he thought it was a joke. When he realized I wasn't kidding, he nodded off and got right to sawing logs. We shared a room on three or four different occasions and we had our routine down pat.
"Jactatio" is Latin for "shaking" but it can also mean "showing off". More on that later. "Capitis", I assume, must refer to the head. I don't have a Latin dictionary and I'm too lazy to find a translator online but the root seems to apply to lots of other words that mean "head". "Nocturna" is "night" or "sleep". It kind of bugs me that the legs don't get mentioned. To me, the kicking is the main thing. I need to find a good Latin word for "legs" to describe my own brand of the condition.
Anyway, Jeff was comforted to find he wasn't alone and I was disappointed to find I wasn't unique.
I've thought about why it happens and I still don't have a good answer. I saw a documentary once about Romanian orphans who get almost no attention througout the day. It's like a hospital full of babies with only a handful of nurses to tend to them all. They get their diapers changed and they get fed but there's no time for any nurturing. These babies never get held. They sit in their cribs 24 hours a day without any idea of what it's like to feel affection or security. As the camera panned from crib to crib, I noticed that a lot of the babies rocked themselves back and forth. They would be on their knees in position to crawl but they would just sway back and forth. Some bounced their heads but I don't remember seeing any of them kick. Whatever they were doing was a lot like what I do. But I wasn't neglected as a child. If anything, I was doted upon. So why do I do it?
Here's one flattering theory: I developed the habit to mimic the sounds of my mother's womb. The kicking or head bouncing is supposed to simulate a heartbeat. I'm clinging stubbornly to my first and favorite sound. I say this is flattering because I feel it's indicative of determination and independence. If I can't have the real thing, I'll make my own.
The orphans, I feel, were doing something similar by mimicking the swaying motion a baby must feel in the womb. They did it out of a lonely last resort though.
Back to "jactatio". It also can mean "showing off". Which is kind of like celebrating. My other theory is that I do it because I can. It's a little celebration of being alive, a little resistance to having to sleep for the night. In time it becomes such a deep rooted habit that it doesn't need to have a reason.
My daughter, Sidney, will be a year old on January 23rd. And so far, she's inherited the kicking. She kicks hard and a lot faster than me because her legs are so much smaller. She does it when she's getting sleepy and she does it till she nods off. If she's disturbed during the night by noises coming from the television or the neighbors next door, she'll start flailing away semi-asleep until she calms herself enough to drift off again.
It's a sight to see.
She's an inquisitive kid. Long attention span and capable of rudimentary reasoning. She's patient and deliberate. Which has brought me to a third theory. The kicking is a distraction from the wheels turning in her head. Even on the verge of sleep, she'd rather be looking through a magazine or trying to figure out how to get into the trash can. So, to help relax and stop thinking, she kicks.
Pic From My Uncle's Birthday Party
That thing on my neck is called a "wattle" in case you didn't know.
Sal Mineo
Friday night, after the movie, I had Coco's for dinner. I had the Coco Combo. I ordered the strawberry cheesecake to go. Saturday morning, I had a delicious breakfast of three fried eggs with Tabasco sauce, crisp bacon and warm tortillas. Sometime before 2pm, I ate my cheesecake. It was almost too rich but I finished it all, sharing a little with Sid along the way.
In the evening, Erin went out shopping and I stayed home with Sid. We watched the new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie and we both liked it. The animation was cute and they updated some of the old songs to fit modern pop music.
At one point, during the movie, I got up to grab a blanket and pillows to throw down on the living room floor. The instant I turned around, Sid rolled her baked potato body off the couch. She landed hard but her back seemed to take the brunt of it. I didn't hear much skull. In any case, I shrieked and probably made things worse by startling her. I felt her head and there was no bump. I moved her little limbs around and everything seemed okay. I took out my flashlight and checked her pupils and I'm not sure what I was looking for but her eyes looked normal and it made me feel better.
When I was little, my mom used to say that you should never go to sleep after banging your head. She knew a girl named Erb Ann Le Jend that had hit her head and taken a nap and never woke up. But Sidney looked tired and it was around her bedtime and she was due for a bottle. I fed her and she fell asleep and I watched her breathe for the next half hour just to make sure. She fussed around occasionally to get comfortable and did her normal fidgeting.
Erin showed up around 9pm after I'd covered up any evidence of my bad parenting and not a moment too soon. I was overcome with a lethargic achy feeling and went straight to bed. I covered up with a sheet but I was still shivering. Erin checked my temperature but it was normal. I covered up with a blanket and that seemed to help. She brought me water and Ibuprofen tablets at one point and I slept miserably until Sunday around noon.
I got up to shit once and it smelled like illness shit. I figured it was either the flu or the cheesecake. I can live with the cheesecake but the flu would be bad news in my generally weakened state. The shit smelled so bad that Erin was forced to fly to India and the Vatican for industrial strength Nag Champa and a Catholic exorcist.
Sunday afternoon, I showered and wore a brand new white t-shirt from a new package of shirts Erin bought for me. They fit alright but they're titty-C4 waiting to explode. If I gain ten pounds and wear that shirt, I'll be able to start charging for lap dances at Bourbon Street.
We took Sid to have pictures taken by one of Erin's friends. It went well and we ate at Miracle Mile afterwards. Doctors always say it's good to take it easy on your stomach after any bout of stomach flu or food poisoning so I ordered a huge pastrami sandwich on a kaiser roll with french fries and a pickle spear. Extra large iced tea with a refill to go.
On the drive home, we passed by a couple of potential daycares and a nearby home that has an elaborate Christmas display every winter. It was too early for the lights to be on so we headed home. We thought about stopping at a carneceria for some marinated beef but my stomach started churning. Frank Herbert said it best: the spice must flow.
Sometime in 2003, I had Irish Stew with soda bread at Rosie McCaffrey's. It gave me diarrhea the next day and it looked exactly like the Irish stew I'd lunched on the day before. Strangely, E. Colli flavored cheesecake gives about the same results.
Things got better after I eliminated most of my bodily fluids and I was good for the rest of the night, relatively speaking. After Sid fell asleep, Erin and I watched Hancock and we both liked it. Which proves I'm not a racist.
In the evening, Erin went out shopping and I stayed home with Sid. We watched the new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie and we both liked it. The animation was cute and they updated some of the old songs to fit modern pop music.
At one point, during the movie, I got up to grab a blanket and pillows to throw down on the living room floor. The instant I turned around, Sid rolled her baked potato body off the couch. She landed hard but her back seemed to take the brunt of it. I didn't hear much skull. In any case, I shrieked and probably made things worse by startling her. I felt her head and there was no bump. I moved her little limbs around and everything seemed okay. I took out my flashlight and checked her pupils and I'm not sure what I was looking for but her eyes looked normal and it made me feel better.
When I was little, my mom used to say that you should never go to sleep after banging your head. She knew a girl named Erb Ann Le Jend that had hit her head and taken a nap and never woke up. But Sidney looked tired and it was around her bedtime and she was due for a bottle. I fed her and she fell asleep and I watched her breathe for the next half hour just to make sure. She fussed around occasionally to get comfortable and did her normal fidgeting.
Erin showed up around 9pm after I'd covered up any evidence of my bad parenting and not a moment too soon. I was overcome with a lethargic achy feeling and went straight to bed. I covered up with a sheet but I was still shivering. Erin checked my temperature but it was normal. I covered up with a blanket and that seemed to help. She brought me water and Ibuprofen tablets at one point and I slept miserably until Sunday around noon.
I got up to shit once and it smelled like illness shit. I figured it was either the flu or the cheesecake. I can live with the cheesecake but the flu would be bad news in my generally weakened state. The shit smelled so bad that Erin was forced to fly to India and the Vatican for industrial strength Nag Champa and a Catholic exorcist.
Sunday afternoon, I showered and wore a brand new white t-shirt from a new package of shirts Erin bought for me. They fit alright but they're titty-C4 waiting to explode. If I gain ten pounds and wear that shirt, I'll be able to start charging for lap dances at Bourbon Street.
We took Sid to have pictures taken by one of Erin's friends. It went well and we ate at Miracle Mile afterwards. Doctors always say it's good to take it easy on your stomach after any bout of stomach flu or food poisoning so I ordered a huge pastrami sandwich on a kaiser roll with french fries and a pickle spear. Extra large iced tea with a refill to go.
On the drive home, we passed by a couple of potential daycares and a nearby home that has an elaborate Christmas display every winter. It was too early for the lights to be on so we headed home. We thought about stopping at a carneceria for some marinated beef but my stomach started churning. Frank Herbert said it best: the spice must flow.
Sometime in 2003, I had Irish Stew with soda bread at Rosie McCaffrey's. It gave me diarrhea the next day and it looked exactly like the Irish stew I'd lunched on the day before. Strangely, E. Colli flavored cheesecake gives about the same results.
Things got better after I eliminated most of my bodily fluids and I was good for the rest of the night, relatively speaking. After Sid fell asleep, Erin and I watched Hancock and we both liked it. Which proves I'm not a racist.
Prepare To Meet Blogdoom
I set up this site today at work. It was 12-5-08. It's now 2am on 12-6-08 and I'm heating up some milk (lactaid actually) and I'm going to drink it while I eat a doughnut. I had actually fallen asleep at a decent hour but I woke up about 30 minutes ago because I share a condo wall with two sisters that drink a lot. They look a lot a like too. I'm pretty sure that if I ever punch one of them in the face, I'll have to punch the other one too.
I'm going to take two Clonazepam and call-a-ze-it a night. Again.
P.S. I saw Bolt tonight at the theater and during the closing credits I noticed that Motorhead had a song in the movie. I just don't remember hearing it. It might have played while I was in the rest room diarrhea-ing.
I'm going to take two Clonazepam and call-a-ze-it a night. Again.
P.S. I saw Bolt tonight at the theater and during the closing credits I noticed that Motorhead had a song in the movie. I just don't remember hearing it. It might have played while I was in the rest room diarrhea-ing.
Welcome
Welcome to my blog. Please check back soon for new entries.