Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself . . . and Clowns on Roller Coasters

Any psychologist worth his salt will tell you that the only way to conquer your fears is to face them head-on.  While this seems like reasonably sound advice, and probably works well for the fear of hamsters or the fear of flannel,  I have to think that there are exceptions.  For example, what if you're afraid of being pummeled to death by former heavyweight champ Mike Tyson?  It's probably not a wonderful idea to walk up to Iron Mike and say, "Hey, Tyson, the Lollipop Guild called.  They want their voice back."  Sure, you'd be facing your fear, but you'd then be facing surgery.  At best.

When I was young, I was afraid of lots of things.  Some were relatively minor, like clowns and the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz.  Sure, they were terrifying, but it's not like Bozo was going to come knocking on my door.  I got over these phobias by the time I was about eight.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I watched Stephen King's It on cable a few months ago and it freaked me out all over again.

My fear of fire lasted quite a bit longer.  Like, permanently.  To this day, I've never struck a match or flicked a Bic.  If I have to light the fireplace, which is to say "if I can't find Theresa", I have to use one of those trigger-operated lighters that are about a foot long.  I'm not sure where this fear came from, but it's here to stay.  On the plus side, though, I'm never going to be a suspect in an arson case.  So there's that.

One fear that I did manage to take on and conquer was my fear of roller coasters.  When I was a kid, my parents would take me and my brothers to Dorney Park in eastern Pennsylvania.  I don't know if it still exists (I suppose I could Google it), but back in the 70's it was wonderful, even though their mascot was a creepy clown named Alfundo.  I loved almost everything about Dorney Park; the Skeeball games, bumper cars, miniature golf.  Everything except the gigantic wooden roller coaster which was called "The Child-Torturing Coaster of Death" or something like that. And, of course, Alfundo.  Every year, my dad would try to bribe me into riding that thing, to no avail.  Promises of cotton candy and soft-serve ice cream didn't stand a chance against bone-chilling mortal fear.

It wasn't until I was about 11 that I finally rode my first roller coaster.  Space Mountain, Walt Disney World, 1976.  At that time, Space Mountain had only been in existence for one year, and many rumors swirled regarding its safety.  It was supposedly so fast that people were losing their glasses, false teeth, wallets, and bladders.  I wasn't exactly eager to put myself through that, hell, it had only been about a year since I'd gathered up the nerve to go on the Haunted Mansion.  But with some encouragement from my father, I agreed to give Space Mountain a try.


We stood in line for over an hour.  During this time, the dark recesses of my mind spewed out images of a roller coaster pushing Mach 2, whipping around the track flinging passengers to the Happiest Death on Earth.  Dad didn't help matters at all.  If you've ever been on Space Mountain, you know that there are all sorts of space objects projected in the darkness.  Comets, asteroids that look like giant chocolate chip cookies, meteors.  Well, my dad pointed to one of the stars zipping across the ceiling and said, "See that?  That's one of the cars!"  I could just feel the seven-dollar hot dog churning in my stomach.

We finally boarded the ride, and for about thirty seconds, I was petrified.  But then I started to enjoy it.  I enjoyed it a lot.  We got back in line and rode it again.  Just like that, I was hooked.

I rode my first "loop" coaster, "Lightning Loops" at Six Flags' Great Adventure, on my eighth grade class trip.  After that, I became somewhat of a roller coaster aficionado.  Magic Mountain's "X" is probably my favorite, but "California Screamin'" at Disney's California Adventure is a fantastic ride, too. 

But over the past couple years, things have started to change again.  Don't get me wrong, I still love riding roller coasters, but I have to pick and choose.  It seems that certain rides, particularly those that swing side to side like "Batman" at Magic Mountain make me want to do the ol' technicolor yawn.  Even the friggin' Ferris Wheel at California Adventure turned me a vague greenish color.

That just getting me getting older, though.  It's not fear.

Fear would be a roller coaster soaring through rings of fire, with a clown riding next to me.  And maybe a flying monkey or two working the controls.


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Blog-Off 2010, Finals: Author's Choice

Knucklehead Humor, in association with Budweiser, the King of Beers, welcomes you to the Blog-Off 2010 Final Round!  And now . . . LLLLET'S GET READY TO RUMMMMBLLLLLE!

In the red corner, from the blogging city of Dallas, Texas, she's a 33-year old nurse with a husband, two kids, two cats, a dog, three fish, two frogs and a hermit crab, none of whom does she actually like.  She's been blogging regularly since August of 2008, she's into midget porn and possesses an actual vagina.  Let's have a big hand for Life According to Candice's Candice "Texas Hold Me" Stroh!

And in the blue corner, from parts unknown . . . he's a self-taught yo-yo expert who collects cat hair, ear wax, and those little "Do Not Eat" packages that you find in new shoes.  He's been blogging since April of 2009 and hopes someday to be mentioned in the same sentence as Bob Dylan.  Hey, how about that, he just was.  Everyone give it up for Mike "John Jacob Jingleheimer" Whiteman-Jones at Too Many Mornings!


This week, the bloggers get to choose what to write about, no limits, no specific genre.  We'll get to see them do what they do best.  Here are the links:

Life According to Candice
Too Many Mornings

Go visit their sites, and give their posts the once-over.  Then come on back here to Knucklehead! and cast your vote.  Voting closes on Wednesday at 9:00AM Pacific Time.  Results will be posted Wednesday evening along with the winner's Official Championship Blog Badge.

Good luck to our finalists!

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Leave it to Wheezer

Hi kids, today we're going to talk about a sleep disorder commonly known as sleep apnea.  Due to obstructions in the air passage (normally caused by excess neck flab, which is a pleasant thought) sleep apnea sufferers (or "apneapolitans") stop breathing as many as thirty times an hour, all night long.  Not just snore, mind you, they actually STOP BREATHING for up to a minute at a time.  When the breathing resumes, it is usually accompanied by a loud "schnock"-like sound, a gasp, or mild-to-moderate choking. Needless to say, this symphony of snoring often infuriates those who are sleeping within the same ZIP code.

But it's not all fun and games.  As you'd imagine, people who suffer from apnea don't sleep very soundly.  Since they are jolted awake every time their lungs frantically gasp for air, they never settle into REM sleep, the deep sleep in which our dreams are accompanied by the song "Losing My Religion."  This leaves the apneapolitans exhausted all day long, and as a result, they often doze off while reading, watching TV, or typing on the compufdsoias;vl;/./..............

:::snort...hack...SCHNOCK!:::::

Sorry.  Where was I?

As you may have guessed, I suffer from this disorder.  That is, I used to until I decided to go to the doctor for treatment, the word "decided," of course meaning "went to the doctor because Theresa threatened to set me on fire in my sleep if I didn't."  Threats like this, by the way, are not uncommon.  While sleep apnea is known to create health problems such as high blood pressure and heart disease, most apnea-related deaths are caused by a sleep-deprived spouse or significant other murdering the apnea-sufferer in a fit of homicidal rage.  Historically, the courts have considered this type of murder "totally justifiable."

The treatment for sleep apnea is a device called a CPAP machine.  The CPAP (or as I affectionately refer to it, "Wheezer") is a pump, connected by a flexible plastic tube to a face mask.  The mask is similar in appearance to the one worn by Maverick in the classic film Top Gun.  In fact, the first night I wore it I rolled over, looked at Theresa, and said, "Tower, this is Ghostrider, requesting a fly-by."

"Negative, Ghostrider, the pattern is full."

After the first night with Wheezer my life was changed.  I wasn't tired during the day anymore.  I didn't doze off, I had more energy, and I wasn't quite the insufferable prick that I usually am.  The change happened, literally, over night.  Sleeping with a mask on takes some getting used to, and it's not always comfortable, but it's a hell of a lot better than being woken up by acid reflux and gagging on your own bile (another fun side effect).

All kidding aside, sleep apnea is a dangerous disorder and if left untreated can cause severe health problems.  I waited far too long to get it taken care of and as a result spent two years functioning at a significantly lower level than normal.  If you know someone with sleep apnea -- the guy sleeping on the couch making sounds like a constipated water buffalo, for example -- talk to him about going to the doctor.  It'll be one of the most important things you ever do for him.

And if he won't listen to reason, just threaten to kill him to death.  It worked for me.


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