Blowin' in the wind

There are some experiences in life you reflect back on fondly, through the flattering haze of nostalgia, wishing you could go back and re-live them. Then there are those other experiences, like my high school girlfriend, that you'd never go through again even if someone paid you a million dollars in 1962 money.

For me, the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway is one of the second ones.

I'd actually managed to forget I ever went on what I like to call the Tram O'Terror until this afternoon, when I was enjoying a brief respite and chocolate donut with my good friend Lori, who I'm working with at my current gig. I asked her if she had any big plans for the weekend, and she told me she was going to be in Palm Springs.

That's when it all came rushing back.

Years ago, in a galaxy far, far away before I even knew my wife, I used to go out with a girl named Anne Siegel (not my high school girlfriend). Her parents owned a condo in Palm Springs, and every few weekends we'd hop in her brown Camaro, head out there and enjoy the weather, the restaurants and the pool.

On one of our visits, we decided to ride the Tram O'Terror.

Here's something you should know about me: I'm not afraid of heights. I like flying, tall buildings and standing on top of hills looking down at the city. I took helicopter lessons for awhile, although I never flew enough hours to get my license. Altitude doesn't phase me.

What does phase me is riding in a little death cart hanging by a thread, while traveling 8500 feet up a ridiculously steep hill, swinging in the breeze all the way up.

I don't remember how long the ride actually was, but it seemed like an eternity. It was also thirty-five degrees cooler at the top than at the desert floor where we started (fortunately at the top there was a gift shop selling souvenir sweatshirts - what're the odds).

I know I took the tram back down, but I don't actually remember that either. I might've been passed out, hyperventilating too much or honing my spot on impression of a little girl screaming to really pay much attention.

At any rate I'm pretty sure that somehow, someway, that tram trip and the raw, crippling fear it sent coursing through me had something to do with the fact that now there are only two mountains I'm comfortable riding all the way to the top of.

Space Mountain and the Matterhorn.

Half calf

Okay, so this was scary.

To the untrained eye, it looked like I was sleeping on the couch last Thursday afternoon. But actually I was, um, letting my subconscious work on a slew of ideas that would bring me fame and fortune. As that was happening, suddenly I was jolted awake by a piercingly sharp pain in my lower left calf. It wasn't an ongoing pain, just one sharp stab.

When I took a look at my leg, my calf was slightly swollen and larger than my right one.

So I thought if there's any place that'll know what this is it's the interwebs. What I learned was there may actually be a little too much information available online.

What the symptoms were shaking out to looked like DVT, or Deep Vein Thrombosis. That's a blood clot deep in an interior vein in the leg. The problem with that is the clot can break up, and go to the brain or heart causing a stroke.

I'm not a hypochondriac. I'll sit with a pounding headache for hours before I resort to taking something for it. Most of the time, I just tough it out. However, clot, swelling, stroke? Not so much. But instead of racing to the ER like I probably should've done, I waited until Friday morning when I went to my doctor's office.

Because I needed to see my doctor, naturally he was on vacation. So instead I met with his physician's assistant, who come to find out was awesome and probably more involved than my doctor would've been.

She took a look at my legs - and I do have fabulous legs so I'm used to this - and agreed it was swollen for no apparent reason. She sent me to have an ultrasound of my calf. She said if they saw a clot, they would immediately send me to the ER and start me on anticoagulant meds to stop further clotting. If they didn't see a clot they'd send me home.

The technician was great in that way someone is when you know they've seen this a million times before. She took about a thousand images like the one you see here. Now technically, the technician isn't allowed to tell me the results. A doctor has to read the images, write a report and then send it to my doctor.

But after the ultrasound was done, and I asked her if it was a boy or a girl (BAM! Thank you. I'll be here all week.), she looked at me and said, "You're free to go home." She waited a second, then said, "Do you understand? You're free to go home."

Relieved, I thanked her, put my pants on and went home. Another thing I'm used to.

However, all weekend long, my calf would swell up, then I'd take Aleve and ice it, and the swelling would go back down. But because I hadn't heard the official ultrasound verdict from my doctor, I felt like a ticking bomb.

So first thing this morning, I went back to the physician's assistant. She showed me the report that said everything was fine, and we decided I'd probably injured my calf on something and didn't remember. Her prescription was continue the Aleve and ice for five days, and give it about three weeks to heal completely.

And if anything changes we'll reevaluate the situation. But she doesn't think it will.

Me being me, I spent most of the weekend worrying and telling my wife over and over how to spot a stroke (something everyone should know). My kids had a track meet and a jazz concert this weekend, so I put on a brave face even though all I could think about was how disappointed they were going to be by the inheritance.

But thankfully, it looks like they won't have to worry about it for a long while.

So now, I'm fit and ready to get back to what I was doing when this all started.

After all, it's a very comfortable couch.

Good vs. Evil

It’s not so much a movie as a direct assault on the nervous system. The first time I ever saw The Exorcist was at the late, great National Theater in Westwood. It was also the last time. Well, the last time I saw it in its entirety.

I can say without hesitation I’ve never been so terrified at a movie, any movie, before or since. There was more than one time I had to close my eyes because I didn't want any one of a number of horrifying images burned into my memory.

So when I saw The Exorcist on my cable channel listings, I thought maybe it’s time to get past my fear and see if I could get through it start to finish a second time, although I use the term “start-to-finish” in the loosest sense of the words.

I knew I had to lay down a few ground rules for myself. First, as I implied a second ago, I wasn’t going to watch it literally start to finish. I’d take breaks, maybe watch a little bit every morning before I went to work – which is what I wound up doing. And that brings me to my second point: I wasn’t going to watch it at night.

It’s not that I’m afraid of things that go bump in the night. I’m afraid of things that levitate, vomit pea soup, spin their heads around and sound like Mercedes McCambridge in the night. No, this was going to be a daytime viewing so I’d have plenty of hours to make sure it wasn’t top of mind just as I was drifting off to dreamland.

Or attempting to.

Now that I’ve seen it again and had a chance to think about it, it wasn’t nearly as scary as the first time. At least not in the same way. I can see now the effects, which while still great, were limited by the technology of the time. The head spinning doesn’t look quite as real as it did. The levitating looks like a magic trick. The blood, hers and others, looks a little too red to be real.

What is even better than I remember is the caliber of acting from the entire cast. The subtlety and nuance in each actor's performance is nothing short of remarkable. It would've been easy to drift into the expected horror film hamminess, but no one in the movie treats the material as anything other than real.

But what's as scary to me now as it was then is the idea of good versus evil. I’m a believer there's evil in the world, and there's a constant battle going on. Don't believe me? Pick up a newspaper (or an iPad).

The scene where Father Karras says to Father Merrin, “I believe there are three distinct personalities.” And Father Merrin replies, “There is only one.” rings true to me.

The tricks the devil uses in the movie to deceive - a combination of lies with just enough truth mixed in - seem eerily similar to what goes on in the world around us every day.

I think that's the power of the film, reminding us that the battle between good and evil is ongoing and real. And if we let our guard down for a second, the wrong side wins.

Which makes The Exorcist a film worth watching with your eyes open.