The Cerebral Catalyst

I've been down in the doldrums again these last few weeks. I suppose I conjured up some of that destructive magic with my last column. I think it's funny sometimes how we can become something without even noticing it, or that we become known for something we never thought we'd be known for. I for one never expected to have chronic knee troubles, or chronic brain lapses, chemical imbalances, fits of rage…etc. That's exactly what I've experienced since the last column. Fate is always there, regardless of our denials, and it certainly smacked me right in the face, or about three feet lower on July 19th.

July 19th was the Lollapalooza festival, and as soon as I heard of the return of Jane's Addiction, I was determined to go. I talked about it for weeks, reminisced about my love for the band, and stirred myself up with emotion. This will obviously lead to a huge digression later; so don't hold your breath. So I had to go, of course I did, there was no way around it. So for months I asked who wanted to go with me. I thought I had it all planned out, but gradually, people dropped out and plans changed. I ran out of money, and the ticket price gradually increased. It became one of those things I'm prone to just bitching about, the "one that got away" type of things. It was a pattern I've gone through often, just setting myself up for some letdown. I told myself then I didn't want to go because it would just stir up more feelings that I'd been trying to overcome for years. Going to that special place where I felt everything was right, and I had someone's arms to fall into and I wasn't a sick bloated mess and I didn't dwell on the past, I only looked forward. So I told myself I didn't need to go back and dwell on that. I just complained about it every time I'd get drunk and say, "boy, I wish I could go," or that, "they'd come back here on tour if the reunion was to last." So I just forgot about it for a while.

I went on vacation with C.J. to Busch Gardens and we had a great time. He even dragged me on to a roller coaster, something I hadn't done in years due to my phobia of heights, and I loved it. We went to the water park, and toured those little outlets and dirt malls they have in Virginia. He picked up some clothes and I decided to buy a wallet. I hadn't had a chain wallet in years, having discarded the one I wore throughout high school and my two and a half years at Duquesne. So I decided to pick one up, along with a belt and this Ninja headband I'd planned on wearing during my workouts. I thought absolutely nothing of it, I mean it was only a chain wallet; you see people wearing them everyday.

So, let's jump to early last month. Lollapalooza tickets were now on sale, buy one get one free. I decided to pick up two after C.J. agreed to go with me. The day before, we threw C.J.'s 21st birthday party at my house. This went off without a hitch except for the cops coming next door on an all too frequent domestic disturbance call. It was funny to come back after getting beer and seeing a cop car in your driveway but no one running from your house. But the cops did nothing and we went to sleep after sharing pizza. The next morning, I decided to sleep in a bit, sort of blowing off the tentative plans I'd made to meet a friend at his house. We were going to leave together and tailgate in the parking lot beforehand. I'm a big grizzly bear most times in the morning, as anyone who's ever lived with me can attest to, so no one bothered to wake me up. As a matter of fact, I don't remember even sleeping in that late, but the stage was already set for disaster. Of course I didn't know that.

You see, we left about noon and went to get something to eat. And that was fine. We walked to C.J.'s apartment, took care of business (I wasn't waiting for a port-a-john), walked to get cigarettes, talked to some bums, gave them change twice as they reveled in the magic of C.J.'s Chuck Conners, and went on our way. Then we got lost several times. It wasn't as much we got lost, really, as we were nearly forced off the road several times by insane motorists. I wonder, if you see a car right in front of you about to turn, would you jam on the gas pedal to force them to turn faster? I wouldn't, but apparently, many of you out there would. So after all this craziness, we finally got on the road we were supposed to (thanks, Jared), only to meet with some more highway incompetence.

The sign said "Burgettstown Exit: half a mile," or something to that effect. However, the next sign, and I'm sure it was probably obvious to most, but I truly believed that the next sign would have said "Burgettstown," but it didn't, it said "Plymouth Run" or some business about buffaloes or some other rural name. So we passed it up, and were in for even more mayhem. I remember turning into this guy's little shack or something where he was standing outside and holding corn, looking like two fresh college kids would have just made his day. I think I saw him make the call to Zed as he waited for C.J.'s car to stall out, which it didn't.

So after all of this buildup, what happens? We finally make it to the concert, and they won't let us in. It seems my chain wallet, my new chain wallet that I'd bought on vacation, was a weapon. So I was faced with a choice, take off the chain and chuck it in the garbage, or take the wallet back into the car. What did I do? Of course the decision would haunt me, not for years, but for the next four weeks at least. I decided to walk back to the car and leave the chain inside the car. Now I remember the gravel being very unsettling under my feet on the way there, but I wasn't ready for what happened on the way back. I took one careless step, and pop! My knee had twisted and I felt a feeling I hadn't felt in over a year.

It gave out and I was limping on what felt like a stub. It was wrenched all around, and that horrible glorious pain! But I stuck it out. I walked to the car and back, light-headed. I couldn't believe it. My mind raced with the terrible thought: I've torn the ligament again; I'll have to have surgery again. Terror. I mean utter terror. I hated that whole process, how I'd struggled with quitting smoking before the surgery, the horribly painful therapy, the stumbling around on crutches. I didn't want to go through all that again. But still, I was stuck right there and then with it, my fucked-up knee. Again. So we got drinks, and I iced the knee down. I gimped my way throughout the lawn, meeting up with my friends. I just sat there, chain smoking and wincing in pain the whole time. I was determined to see Jane's, even after I realized they wouldn't be going on until around ten o'clock. It was about five o'clock then.

You have to understand that I've been really obsessed with fate, and it was one of those experiences that make you wonder about things. Jane's was excellent, given my state of mind. I was actually lost in their set, from beginning to end, until they played "Jane Says," which looked like their last song, and we had to limp towards the gate because I didn't really feel like being stampeded. On the way out, I remember someone screaming, "Yeah that wasn't a hot dog you ate, bitch. It was my dick!" And I think that summed up the idiocy that went on at that show. I think the gravel was there so in case any of these assholes fell while drunk or playing football or trying to date-rape someone, they would really get fucked up. I know what you're thinking right? I'd probably have been one of those assholes. Maybe I would have, but I know one thing, I sure wouldn't have been grilling my Johnson, regardless of how much room it took up in the cage.

It wasn't over though, as a Corvette hit C.J.'s car on the way out, which was like something out of Mad Max. I suppose if an asteroid had hit that place, we'd have world peace by now. So that was it. We got home, I limped in and drowned the pain away with booze, or at least I thought I did. My knee was really swollen the next day, and I actually had to go to the emergency room that Monday, but by then I was loaded with Vicadin, so it wasn't that bad. But I'll tell you what was bad, having to deal with everyone calling on the phone. The goddamn phone wouldn't stop ringing. I had to get up and answer it, and finally I just snapped and broke the damn thing. Any little thing set me off, and I also had the wild crying spells like I did right around the time of the surgery. This is what really got to me: I'm going to have to deal with this for the rest of my life. I'll always have knee troubles. It put a damper on a lot of things. For instance, I'm trying to exercise and now I can't because I don't know if my knee is just going to die on me.

I thought it would have been great if I never left the bed, but I got to thinking, it's a lot like life. There is that goofy old children's story about Chicken Little. I even remember some priest at church using it as a monologue. But essentially, it was about the sky falling, or Chicken Little always ran around saying that. The whole point being that, sure we could die at any time, and the sky could fall, although now it would more likely be nuclear warheads from North Korea. There is no point in being afraid of it. (I can't even believe myself that I brought that up.)

But it's also from some philosopher I read, and if I could remember who or which passage, I'd probably look a lot smarter right now. Essentially we're afraid of death because we don't know what comes after it, and death as an action is nothing to fear. There is no actual physical pain associated with death, yet when we think of it, we are terrified. We equate death with fear. We are overwhelmed with fear when we think about death; there is no one who welcomes it. Yet there is almost nothing to fear. We can't really ever know when we'll die, and we can't ever really know what exactly will happen to us in life, we just need to face it. And I doubt the existence of God often, but if you can at least use that as a tool to help yourself face death and function normally, then go ahead. I hope that made for an interesting moral to the story, although I'll definitely be more careful on gravel in days to come.

One more thing, the fate thing, of course. I thought it was interesting how all of these events led to each other, the culmination being somewhat trivial (at least to someone who isn't me). But it's like this, if I'd have never met C.J., I wouldn't have gone to that show with him. And we wouldn't have gone on vacation together and I wouldn't have bought that wallet. And I suppose if there weren't terror attacks, that security wouldn't have been such an issue either. So I wouldn't have had to take the chain back. But it all led up to that one incident. I was given a choice as to what to do with the chain. And I can't help thinking that while I stood there, I knew I had to walk back. I've also heard people say things happen for a reason. I can't think of any reason why I messed up my knee at that show. Maybe it was to remind me that some things are never over, and that life is a sick twisted journey where you loose your way often.

In weeks to come, learn about my pets and the end of an era, where Captain Fun tosses his tongue ring aside.

Visit Captain Fun's Swarthy Archives.

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Joseph L. Conty, Jr. wears a buffalo hide tunic and sips peach nectar from a chalice. Known to drink multiple flagons of mead for breakfast and chew bear fat for gum, he would like to remind the public that anyone else who dares to use the moniker of "Captain Fun" isn't fit to carry his merkin.

Posted 08.13.03

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