Sleep Apnea Madness: Partridge Family Eugenics

“Except for the fact that he was a TV star, a teen idol, a sex symbol and an international pop sensation who sold millions of records, David Cassidy and I have a lot in common.”

When I was three or four years old, I had an odd obsession with “The Patridge Family.”  Somehow, without the benefit of external indoctrination, I became aware that the Partridge Family was “all-American”, “non-ethnic” and therefore “clean”.  Even more troubling, I also became aware that I must’ve been un-American and unclean because of my Italian heritage.  I saw Shirley Jones, David Cassidy and Susan Dey as uber-humans who lived in some antiseptic American utopia.  I was quite sure that the Partridges never ate salami or provolone and that they’d be utterly disgusted if ever confronted with the stench of garlic.  Obviously, looking back there is some irony that the red-haired, freckle-faced Danny Bonaduce was half-Italian, but I didn’t know that then.  I didn’t think Italians could have red hair and freckles even though I myself possessed blue eyes, strawberry-blonde hair and pale skin.  I was torn.  I loved the Partridges, but I was also sure that if I ever walked into their living room, they’d probably recoil from the stench of sausage and peppers on my breath, and then politely suffer my presence until they had to leave to do something more exciting and important than anything I’d ever do.  Even though I was born on the Fourth of July, I knew I could never be as American as Keith Partridge.  Very weird and specific thoughts formed in my young, sleep-deprived brain concerning this: for instance, I was convinced that my family’s clean laundry could never smell as good as the Partridge family’s clean laundry.  What’s more, I was even convinced that our clean laundry couldn’t smell as good as the Partridge family’s soiled laundry.

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Sleep Apnea Madness

Eight years ago I was diagnosed with sleep apnea.  That’s when I realized that the first 34 years of my life were an oxygen-deprived phantasmagoria of madness.  It explained a lot: the dark circles under my eyes as an infant, listening to the Beatles at four years old and seeing strings of tiny bubbles float through my room, not to mention my legendary dearth of energy and propensity toward highly detailed daydreams.  I could write a tome just about the bizarre fusions my mind created in my formative years.  Here are just a few:

  • The music of the Beatles somehow got fused with the ocean and Magritte’s “The Grand Family”.
  • The soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever got completely fused with Star Wars, so much so that “How Deep is Your Love” reminds me more of Star Wars than the Star Wars soundtrack.
  • Robots fused with women (long story, has nothing to do with The Stepford Wives).
  • A small town in Connecticut where most of my cousins lived, Wolcott, somehow became California.

OK, I’ll stop there lest you think I’m completely insane.  Hopefully you can tell by the way I write that I’m somewhat stable and sane.  Hopefully you know that I don’t still think Wolcott, Connecticut is California.  Apparently I am sane, so how can these fusions be possible?  Sleep Apnea Madness has a powerful effect on the young mind!  So please, if you snore at all, make an appointment at the sleep lab just in case, and for the love of God, if your kids snore, take them immediately to the closest pulmonologist, lest they grow up mistaking the bathroom for a casino.

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Good day on the mountain

Good day on the mountain

Andes Tragedy 1972

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