That time I fell through the attic

Oh yeah, about that time I fell through the attic.

It's sort of amusing and makes me look like an idiot, so I thought I'd share it with the world!

This happened two years ago I think? As I've mentioned, I'm an avid reader and there isn't enough shelf space for all my books in the house, so we keep several boxes of books in the attic above our garage. I always wait until Betsy's out of the house to do risky things because I know she'll just say, "You know you'll just fall and hurt yourself, dummy!!!" So one morning, while my wife was at work, I decided to go up in the attic to find some books.

It was summertime. I went up there early so it wouldn't get too hot, but the temperature was already rising rapidly in the dimly lit, confined space. Like many attics, ours has an area running down the middle (where the roof peaks to its highest point) that has a plywood floor we use for storage. Step off the wooden floor, however, and you find yourself trying to balance on 2 by 6 inch joists with nothing between them but a flimsy layer of sheetrock.

The books were far from both the entry to the attic and the only light source, so I was trying to juggle a flashlight while slinging boxes around. Sweat was already beginning to drip off my nose as I struggled to find the right books as quickly as possible. After a lengthy amount of time partially bent over and perspiring, I was so intent on looking at the next box that I failed to look where I placed my foot and brought it down on sheetrock.

Abruptly, I started to drop through the floor to the garage below. Using my cat-like reflexes, I was able to grab on to one of the joists on my way down. Or maybe I was just flailing wildly in my panic and got lucky--we'll never know. Regardless, I managed to arrest my fall and dangled from the joist with nothing but a five foot drop below me.

It took roughly 500 man-hours to create this image

A decade ago, this would have been no big deal. I could've just brought my other hand up to grab the joist and gently dropped down to the floor below. In this case, though, my left hand wasn't working and I wasn't sure about my ability to land without hurting myself since my left leg is partially paralyzed and it can't absorb the impact from falling like it used to.

There was another, much more pressing, consideration. In the picture, can you see the cable dangling down from the hole? That is part of the cable that runs from our TV, back into the wall, up through the attic, and out on the roof to our antenna because we're too cheap to buy cable. That cable was between my legs.

Here's what was running through my head (yes, I hanged there from the ceiling for quite a while): just how strong was that cable? Because if it was a strong cable, I could let go of the joist, then painfully take that tight wire straight to the balls, then perhaps it would flip me over, and I would land on my head, and Betsy would come home to find her husband's brains spattered on the floor.

So, there I was. Dangling from the ceiling like that kitten on the "Hang in There" poster. I kept trying, unsuccessfully, to swing one leg over the wire. Also the garage door was open. I hoped that someone would pass by, walking their dog on the street. Then I could yell at them to come up and help me down. But my neighborhood picked that moment to be devoid of life.

"Why don't you try 'hanging in there,' asshole!!"

Nobody tells you what happens when that cat can't hold on any longer. Where's that demotivational poster?

I was fighting a losing battle. My pitiful cries for help went unanswered. My right side has the strength of ten men, but even my herculean muscles begin to flag over time. I finally figured oh, screw it, kissed my private parts goodbye, and let go of the joist.

As you can tell from the dangling cable--and the fact that I'm alive and writing this post--it snapped as soon as I put weight on it. I came down fairly hard and banged my head on the car hard enough to put a dent in it, but otherwise I was fine. No pain to the groin area!!! 

There's still a chalk outline on the ground where my body fell

After hitting the ground, I realized I'd dropped my flashlight and it was still up there where I fell through. So, like any moron, I went right back up the ladder to retrieve the light (didn't fall that time though...SUCCESS!!). I didn't say anything to Betsy until she happened to call later that afternoon:

Betsy: "Hey, babe, I'm on my way home. I think I'm going to stop by Target. Do you need anything?"

Brian: "No, I'm good...well I might have a medication ready. Could you stop by the pharmacy?"

Betsy: "Sure. I'll see you in a bit! Love you!"

Brian: "Love you! Oh, I fell through the attic so don't freak out when you see the hole in the garage."

Betsy: "WHAT?!?!?!?!?"

Brian: "See you later!"

Betsy: "YOU SON OF A-"

*click*

I ate duck yesterday.

Here's my latest confession: I use Twitter a lot (@Traveling_Tubie). This probably isn't much of a revelation if you're a Millenial, or if you're a techno junkie. But most of my friends have never tweeted in their lives.

When I first heard about Twitter, I scoffed at the idea. All you do is tell all your followers what you're doing?? The only people who might be interested in such a thing is the Kardashians--because they're so self-absorbed--and anyone who avidly cares about the Kardashians--because they have no life. Why on earth would anyone care if I tweet that I'm going to get a haircut? Who am I so enamored with that I would check twitter to see what they had for breakfast?

It's not really like that though, and actually it turns out there are certain people I love to follow on twitter. I'm a geek, and I love to read fantasy and science fiction books. I kept this from Betsy until after she married me (Ha Ha!). You can read more about it in my road trip post. It turns out that many of the authors I like (Tad Williams, Patrick Rothfuss, Brandon Sanderson, Scott Lynch, Neil Gaiman, John Scalzi...wait...you don't care do you?) are on twitter and tweet often about the projects they're working on. I love reading their tweets and sometimes they respond if I say something to them. Usually they tell me stuff like, "please stop tweeting me," or "what is wrong with you?" so I'm clearly making an impact!!

I also follow news outlets because I get news much faster on Twitter. During that Australian hostage standoff the other night, I turned to Twitter for news because I could get eye-witness accounts of what was happening. Plus I follow ESPN and CBS Sports because every team I like has a Twitter page and if I can't watch the game on TV, they tweet scores real-time on their feed. I follow the University of Tennessee women's soccer team because Grace and I like going to the games. They keep their Twitter page updated with play-by-play action during every game.

On top of this, I can follow others who inspire me. I'm interested in astronomy so I follow Neil deGrasse Tyson, the Mars Curiosity Rover, NASA, SETI, the 2013 class of NASA astronauts, and the astronauts on the ISS for pictures from space. In terms of tube feeding, I follow Real Food Blends, Vitamix, Blendtec, DrinkYourMeals, and other tubies (my current favorite is Shane Burcaw; check out his book, Laughing at my Nightmare).

But anyway, the point of me telling you this is that I follow the Washington Post's Food page on Twitter. My Aunt (not my real Aunt, but I've known her all my life and I've always called her 'Aunt') is an Editor for the Food Section of the Washington Post so I like to hear their fun recipe ideas.

It's hard to cook turkey for our family because they weigh about 100 pounds (rough estimate) these days and this is way too much meat for the three of us. Even turkey breasts have more meat than we could eat over three or four days. So, I got the idea to try duck this year. Before Thanksgiving, I bought a Peking duck at the grocery store.

The picture doesn't show the dog drooling under the counter

They are the perfect size for two or three people. I've never cooked duck before so I tweeted to the Washington Post and asked if cooking a duck was the same as cooking a turkey. They immediately responded, told me the two don't cook the same, and they gave me a link to a recipe I could use. I followed the recipe exactly and it turned out perfectly.

Looks delicious, if I do say so myself (Aspen was still drooling)

Betsy said it tasted like "really good turkey;" Grace loved it.

We also had rice and a vegetable medley

I put a bunch in my Vitamix, and we still had quite a bit for leftovers today!

Betsy makes me pose like this until it pours out on my lap

If you're not on Twitter, give it a try. If you are, then follow @Traveling_Tubie. I only tweet about vitally important things (like the last time I trimmed my nose hair).

You can call me Brain

This has nothing to do with tubefeeding or my health, but I feel the need to rant.

I hate the DMV.

Is there anyone, other than people who work there, who likes the DMV? Do people who work there even like the DMV?

For those who don't live in the US, the DMV is the Department of Motor Vehicles. It's where you go to get your license to drive.

Everyone I know, or see, around Knoxville is perfectly normal, they regularly groom themselves. They all possess average intelligence. Basically, everyone I come in contact with in this town is a productive member of society.

Then, I go to the DMV.

Much like the "Fourth Floor" on Parks and Recreation

You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

On Parks and Rec, the "Fourth Floor" has the DMV, divorce court, and probation officer (and poisonous popcorn)

Where do these people, these creatures, come from?? I don't see them in everyday life. Am I in some small bubble of normalcy while the  rest of the population lives in a sort of dystopian, alternate-dimension Knoxville?

Anyway, let me share the story of the DMV's latest affront. In 2009, we moved to Knoxville. At that time, I went to the DMV office (eerily similar to every other DMV I've been to) to exchange my Colorado license for a Tennessee license. I walked in at 9:00 AM and I was out of there by dinner time--it was a typical visit to the DMV. They cut up my old license, snapped my picture (the most hideous picture I've ever seen), and I had my new card.

I was a Tennesseean.

A few months go by.

One fine day, I was showing my license to Betsy to prove to her that my license picture was far worse than hers (she agreed), when she happened to notice that they'd misspelled my name.

No, surprisingly they spelled 'Liebenow' correctly. No one ever spells that right. Even I misspell Liebenow at least once a day but the DMV got it right.

They actually got 'Brian' wrong. Nope, they didn't spell it 'Bryan.' That happens fairly often, but they got that right. The state of Tennessee decided to call me 'Brain Liebenow.'

BRAIN.

Betsy and I shared a good laugh about it, but I decide not to get it changed. Nobody ever notices it anyway. I figured it would be a pain in the ass to switch it. Plus, I try to make a habit of spending as little of my life as possible at the DMV. So, I thought, I'll just get it corrected when I renew my license in five years.

Fast forward to the present day.

I get a renewal notice in the mail, so once again, I make the trek to the DMV. I walk through the gates of hell and into their office and low and behold, there is almost no line in front of me. Only one kindly old woman getting her own license renewal. The people behind the counter have smiles on their faces. There's no one in handcuffs over in the corner. No one curled up in the fetal position mumbling profanities. Is my life about to change? Is this a sign that things will get better? Will 2015 be the year I finally get my hoverboard and flying car??

I walk up to the counter with a shy, hopeful grin on my face.

"Hello, I'm just here to get my license renewed," I declare.

"Alright, sir," the man answers kindly.

As though I'd just thought of it, I mention, "Oh, also I need to get an error changed on my name. You guys spelled it 'Brain' last time. Could you please change that to 'Brian?'"

The man gets a crestfallen look on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry sir. We can't change names at this office. You have to go to a state office to do that. The closest one is about 45 minutes away. Do you know where it is?"

My mouth gapes open in surprise. "No, I don't know where it is," I snap.

"Here's the address," he says helpfully. "You'll need to bring your birth certificate with you."

I grow more incredulous. "So you guys made a mistake and spelled my name as 'Brain.' But now you can't just go on your computer, and switch out the 'a' and the 'i' without me producing proof that my parents weren't cruel enough to name me 'Brain?!?"

"Sorry, I'm not allowed to change names here," he repeats. "You should really get that changed though. So....uh...did you still want to renew your license or go and get your name changed?"

You see what's going on here, right? This guy can renew my license, even though he knows my name is 'Brian.' Even though I have IDs indicating that my bank, my health insurance, the University of Tennessee, the Department of Defense, United Airlines, Costco, Target, the Public Library, and the Veterans Administration all agree that I'm not called 'Brain.' The local DMV office can overlook all that evidence and give me a new 'Brain' license because he's not permitted to fix a typo. But if I want to fix THE DMV'S mistake, I have to dig up my birth certificate and drive 45 minutes to wait in line at some other office.

A judge in Tennessee can order that a newborn's name has to be changed from 'Messiah' to 'Martin.' Yet if the family had named him 'Martin' to begin with, but the hospital had mistakenly typed his name as 'Messiah,' it would have taken an actual Messiah to get the kid's name changed back. Yes, I know these two things aren't in any way related but can you see the madness that is bureaucracy???

So that's it. I'm changing my name to 'Brain.' I figure it'll be easier to switch my name to 'Brain' with every other agency in the country--including the IRS--than it would be to get the DMV to fix their typo.

I will only respond to 'Brain' from now on. It's because I'm incredibly smart.