i'm depressed

st

that word above was gonna be stymied.

but then my for the time being roommate came in and threw me a sandwich and i couldn't go on because i'd be lying. 

my mood has improved.


originally posted 4/18/07

I had to go to an important meeting today

about a BIG project that could make a BIG difference in my life and the lives of others. It was requested that I dress appropriately.

BUT --

If I spent the money I needed to on dry cleaning and shoes, I'd have been completely broke.

SO --

I didn't pick up my dry cleaning and bought the cheapest pair of sneakers I could find, their only advantage being that they were not falling apart like the previous (otherwise identical) ones. I found a crumpled sports jacket in my dirty laundry and draped it over my arm so that it looked like I had been wearing a nice jacket but for some reason had taken it off.

My shirt was unironed but freshly laundered and, fortunately, stretched out by my fat. I put those white, plastic things in my collar and wore jeans in respectable black.

Since I don't have an overcoat, I wore t-shirts under my fat-stretched shirt to keep myself warm. One of them was a pocket-t.

Just before the meeting, I noticed a lump on the left side of my chest -- a ball in the pocket of the t which had once been bread but which had been turned into dough by the washing machine.

I guess some days before I had wanted to throw the bread away but was not near a garbage can, so I shoved it into my shirt pocket 'til I found one. Now, I was beside an important associate with a ball of dough in my hand and -- still -- no place to throw it out. (I'm still not sure how I got rid of it.)

My posture was off, my shirt was too tight, my jeans were too low, I felt freakishly fat and unattractive and I was crammed, one of four, into a tiny, ancient elevator.

I think the meeting went well.


originally posted 12/10/07

The Scent of Hypocrisy

We want people to see "the real me"; to see through all the superficial crap which could mislead them about us. Like if I'm wearing unwashed, crumpled clothing (as I am today), I want people to know that inside I am clean and uncrumpled.

But it seems we're hardwired for certain reactions, which means people will frequently disappoint.

And we will disappoint ourselves.

I once met character actor Sid Melton, whose work I had adored since early childhood, particularly his turn as the owner of the "Copa Club" in the sitcom "Make Room for Daddy" ("The Danny Thomas Show"), which rarely failed to delight me during its years in reruns. Nothing could have been more exciting.

Except that he stank.

I don't know from what -- unwashed jacket and dogs, maybe. But it was intense.

And I couldn't talk to him. I couldn't stay in his presence.

. . . One of my favorites.


(And how did I smell?)


originally posted 12/22/06

Guess what I have!

. . . Gout!


according to wikipedia, second attacks usually occur within 2 years. (it is now 22 months.)

i can still walk. 

puttin' on my shoe may be a problem, though.

and to think i walked across the williamsburg bridge yesterday.

in fact, i walked all the way from the clinton hill area in brooklyn to 25th and 3rd in manhattan.

and last week i walked to and from, across the brooklyn bridge one way and the williamsburg the other. 

the day before that, i did the manhattan bridge to the "green room" in noho.

tomorrow, i may not be able to stand.

as last time (of course) i did all the wrong things just before the attack and even after i suspected one was coming on. 

hey, it's been almost 2 years -- i forgot what i'm not supposed to have. 

so, last night, i had beans and scotch and coffee as the infirmity descended.

and i switched to diet soda lately. (guess what.)

i keep moving my toe as if waggling it will prevent the uric acid crystals from settling in.

two years ago, my gout treatment was the first time i used my brand new, government-funded, poor people's health insurance (to treat the "disease of kings"). now, due to an error on their part followed by a year of avoidance and inactivity on mine, i don't have any health insurance.

i wonder if my father has any of his stomach-punishing anti-inflammatories left.

he did this to me with his gouty genes.

of course, he also did this life thing to me, so you win some, you lose some.


originally posted 5/17/07

before i watched the sopranos last night,

i thought i heard a mouse in a glue trap by the window.

squeaking and maneuvering to survive; to escape its ugly fate.

like mobsters trying to escape a hit.


after an hour with thugs who have no regard for human life, turns out there were two mice glued to the trap's surface.

i threw them into a heavy duty plastic bag and walked to the garbage cans in front of the building, the bag's contours changing as the mice struggled within.

i felt bad about it, but whaddaya gonna do?


originally posted 6/6/07

In Praise of Samples

Since I got back to NY, I've shifted my wi-fi glomming operations from Soho to Union Square because the open network which used to be accessible from the Spring St. Starbuck's is no more while the free Union Square wi-fi is accessible not only in the park but from the dining area of Whole Foods. (The greatest supermarket in the world! You'll see for yourselves when it comes shortly to Kensington High Street.)

Though I haven't had to do it yet, being in Union Square has alerted me to the fact that one can live entirely on samples from various food mongers. In recent days, I've had grilled tofu, turkey and chicken items, every apple known to man, a selection of delicious soups, slices of citrus fruits, exotic jellies and jams, chocolate chip cookies, Indian-spiced cauliflower, and other wonderful items that I've already forgotten amidst the abundance of culinary riches.

Union Square is a a real "Sample Central" as, within a few paces of each other, you have both Whole Foods and Union Square's outdoor greenmarket. Because both the greenmarket and the supermarket are devoted to healthy foods, the infusion of sampled items into my diet has undoubtedly rendered me healthier than I've been in months, nay, years.

Within toddling distance of the square is Trader Joe's, which has a counter devoted to samples. And judicious strolling reveals other free-to-eat opportunities.

Why do they do it? Why are they so good to me? What do they want from me? Do they want me to buy something?

But I'm so full . . .


originally posted 11/8/06

oobla gabla

i'm sitting here on the couch in the lobby of the gym. (cranky guy and i seem to be understanding each other better these days, plus he's not here.)

tall, shaved-headed guy, maybe 40-something, sees me and says, "mr. laptop. whatchadoing?"

"online exercise," says i.

"brain is the biggest muscle in the body," says he.

"and what," i ask him, "is the biggest muscle in the brain?"

well, when i heard him answer, "the oobla gabla," with a smile, i was impressed, as i'd thought the musclehead might not realize there are no muscles in the brain.

"how'dja know that?" i joked.

"i'm a trained paramedic, " he answered. followed by, "i don't practice but i am trained," or some similar bit of credential-pushing that made it clear he was serious.

and suddenly i realized --

he had said, the medulla oblongata was the biggest muscle in the brain.

and he meant it.

a trained paramedic. (i am frightened for my life.)

nice guy, though.


originally posted 3/24/07

Cocooning

Virginia
(DC Suburbs)

After a month with no permanent address in New York, I am cocooning at my sister's house in northern Virginia.

Went out last night with my sisters, their husbands and my nieces and nephews to a typically lousy chain (I'm guessing) restaurant in a strip mall off a suburban highway. Place is known for their chili, I was told. After eating it, I can only guess that what's known is that the chili is bad.

Night before I went right from the cheap Chinatown bus I took to DC to the Orange Line of the DC Metro to the Metro's Vienna stop (closest to my sister but still not close) and then, bypassing my sister's house entirely, to the movies with my teenage nephew and his wholesome, all-American friends (one of whom is a Palestinian -- that's what being All-American is all about!).

Barrelin' through the Reston Town Center (it's a shopping mall), with the boys behind me, I felt like I was the (nominally) adult leader of a gang of criminal adolescents. I nicknamed them the "Pancake House Gang" and spoke of our inevitable battles with adversaries, the "Waffle House Gang" and the "Steak House Gang". They loved me, of course.

We saw "Borat". It was good.

More later,
Andrew


originally posted 11/20/06

I am disturbed by the fact that

someone I spent a lot of time with over the last months doesn't really tell me anything anymore.

Admittedly, I am now geographically distant but I would still be interested in hearing about things I know are meaningful to her. I don't think that should stop just because I no longer need the information to figure out when we can get together.

Makes me think my primary appeal was merely being around. I'm away and so I don't matter.

I'm not there, so I don't, in some sense, exist.


originally posted 3/12/08

i can never find the right kind of hat.

for a while i wore a gray, felt fedora, my long hair hanging from its back as if they were one unit, perhaps from a joke store. (ah, but that was another day.)

i'm more of a self-contained fashion icon now, except in the summer, when my insufficiently hirsute pate is subject to the ravages of old sol (the sun, not some rampaging jewish guy) and i find myself ever in search of a hat that will protect and suit (which is, i think, the motto of the los angeles police department).

it's like looking for the holy grail -- i never seem to find it and wonder if one even exists. 

so, generally, i end up with a mr. magoo/woody allen-style, crumply "fishing" hat, which neither flatters nor diminishes too greatly my basic (non-)aesthetic. 

or, sometimes, i wear nothing at all, leaving my scalp to the limited protective capacity of an inexpensive sunblock.

and that's how it was when i went to new jersey last sunday, draped in my (minimally) beard-appropriate clothes.

i had nothing but no-ad 15 on my skull.

luckily i spent a good deal of time in the garage, helping my father remove stuff from the attic in anticipation of a move. then, while we were looking in a closet, my father unexpectedly said, "you want your grandfather's hat?"

well, there ought to have been a heavenly chorus behind me. 

it was the hat. 

a recreational, older guy's hat from thirty years ago -- genuinely cool. 

in perfect condition. looking like the hats on st. mark's place are trying to look. 

i asked my father why he had saved it and he said he thought that i had told him to.

if so, i mystically set aside my own future salvation by doing so. 

kinda makes you believe the universe is filled with hats more powerful than we can ever imagine.


originally posted 5/26/07