I just returned to earth. It's good to be home but the trip was pretty intense. Scary as hell at times but really comforting too. All in all, a fascinating trip. I had to go because it just wasn't working for me here on earth. Too much to shit to handle. So I took off. Luckily for me, I wasn't alone. I had an able crew and my fellow passengers were the most eclectic group I could ever dream up. I admit I had my reservations about traveling with them. When I hopped aboard the ship I thought I was fucked. Not that I don't take to strangers like AL Franken takes to Big Fat Liar Rush Limbaugh, but I thought I was in for seven hours a day of mind-numbing boredom for the entire trip. And I expected the crew to be too busy minding their own little job description to give a shit about me. But I was dead wrong. I was in for the trip of my life.
I had to leave earth because I couldn't figure out how to cope. After thirty years of dealing with panic and anxiety and depression, all the tricks I knew -- therapy, drugs, hiding it, gutting it out, pulling the covers over my head, even new stuff like telling my family I was in over my head, that I was sick and I couldn't figure out how to get well -- it just didn't work anymore. So I went to the ER and said "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do. Tell me." They were skeptical. They said "Boy, is your blood pressure always this high? You sure you're not having a heart attack?" I tried to 'splain them that my blood pressure was all over the fucking map and that my problem was that I was cuckoo. Finally after six or eight hours they believed that I didn't have a heart attack, and let me talk to the the lady that was the head of head cases. She listened to my story and asked how I felt about taking up residence overnight in the lovely facility where I was currently being held. I asked "What else ya got?" She said that there was a space ship leaving in the morning at eight where I could hitch a hide to Planet Sanity. "Sounds good to me."
So I blasted off on the trip I'll call Out Patient Club Med. The trip lasted ten days, 9:00 to 3:00, every day, and last Friday I landed softly back on earth. And feeling much better. All in all, an experience exceeding my every expectation. And the part of the trip I dreaded the most -- the "group" activities -- was in fact the best. We were as diverse a group as you can imagine from every social, economic, educational, career and personal background. People whose paths would almost surely never have crossed but for being passengers on the same trip. But I have never become so attached to and affectionate about any group in my life. I would happily knock the shit out of anyone who spoke disparagingly about any one of them.
I can't talk about them because their lives are no one's business but their own but I can tell you that the bond of common suffering and struggling is a powerful thing. I have never seen such non-judgmental accepting caring people in my life.
And the crew was simply the best. Every one of them was as dedicated to getting me well as they could be. Their patience and professionalism were remarkable.
I have so much more to say about my trip, but it just too fucking personal to those involved. So allow me to drop two pearls of wisdom: (1) Right now, this very second, take charge of your own health -- As they say " You're the CEO of your health -- and (2), ask for help. There are some beautiful people who really know what they are doing out there.
It's good to be home. The trip continues on earth but I feel confident it won't eat me alive next time.
Ok, Ok. I know this hasn't been funny -- so try this. While on this trip to outer space and back I continued to pursue my primary avocation and major purpose in life -- dating every woman who could possible be The One. I met a woman online through one of the sixteenth dating services I'm in. (I'm bullshitting you about the 16 part.) She lives most of the time in a warm place but was in metro Detroit, her home, for a week and we met. We had coffee and talked for 2-3 hours and decided to have dinner. It seemed to silly little me that it went extraordinarily well. Imagine my surprise when I got the brush off the next day via a shitty little email. Well the jokes on you Miss Too Tight Jeans For a Woman Your Age, you had no clue what I was dealing with on my little space trip and you lost out on one of the best guys this planet has to offer.
Happy Landings.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
More Writing Class
OK, my next assignment was to write an essay or short story about an influential person in my life. My instructor described this as a "fine, fine essay" "You really brought Tony to life." I thought it was lousy - no false modesty I promise you. What do you think?
Tony's Kids
Tony never finished High School. It seems so odd because he was so smart and articulate. But regardless of how high he rose through the management ranks of his company, it was still there in the back of his head. He really had a chip on his shoulder because of it and he would show anyone who looked cross ways at him that he was just as bright and well read as they were.
I suppose his outspokenness and outgoing personality in some way were his compensating for his lack of education. He was hard to miss. Everyone knew Tony and just about everyone liked him. All this probably had something to do with why Tony loved little kids so much. Not teenagers or ten year olds, little kids, especially babies. Kids were not a threat to him. They certainly didn't have more education than him and they weren't about to tell him what to do.
Tony must have liked kids. He had six of his own – three boys and three girls in thirteen years. He had a new one to play with about every two years. As each of the kids became toddlers, they would be invited into the evening ritual of going to the drug store for coffee and a coke. It was Tony's escape from working around people that he saw as over educated and dumb as rocks.
Tony was a handsome man and always got to know the waitresses by name. He got into the habit of bringing his youngest toddler along for company and to show them off to the waitresses at the drug store. But only the little ones – no teenagers allowed. As each kid grew up he or she dropped out of the group to be replaced by the younger kid.
One night Tony was at the bowling alley having a coffee and killing time. That night there were mixed leagues bowling so there were a lot of young kids because their mothers couldn't or didn't get baby sitters. Most people probably thought these kids were a nuisance but not to Tony. He saw them as little people to talk with. He saw a little 5 or 6 year old boy playing on one of the arcade games. Tony walked over and started talking with the kid. While they were talking he noticed something that looked like a fleck of dirt above the kid's eyelash.
"Come here little man, you've got something on your face" he said.
Tony grabbed the offending fleck and gave it a quick tug. The kid started screaming for his mother. Tony had pulled a stitch out of the boy's face. The kid continued screaming as Tony sheepishly explained to the boy's mother had happened. I can just see the redness of his face when he realized what he had done.
That little embarrassment didn't slow Tony down. After all he had six grandchildren to spoil.
Tony's Kids
Tony never finished High School. It seems so odd because he was so smart and articulate. But regardless of how high he rose through the management ranks of his company, it was still there in the back of his head. He really had a chip on his shoulder because of it and he would show anyone who looked cross ways at him that he was just as bright and well read as they were.
I suppose his outspokenness and outgoing personality in some way were his compensating for his lack of education. He was hard to miss. Everyone knew Tony and just about everyone liked him. All this probably had something to do with why Tony loved little kids so much. Not teenagers or ten year olds, little kids, especially babies. Kids were not a threat to him. They certainly didn't have more education than him and they weren't about to tell him what to do.
Tony must have liked kids. He had six of his own – three boys and three girls in thirteen years. He had a new one to play with about every two years. As each of the kids became toddlers, they would be invited into the evening ritual of going to the drug store for coffee and a coke. It was Tony's escape from working around people that he saw as over educated and dumb as rocks.
Tony was a handsome man and always got to know the waitresses by name. He got into the habit of bringing his youngest toddler along for company and to show them off to the waitresses at the drug store. But only the little ones – no teenagers allowed. As each kid grew up he or she dropped out of the group to be replaced by the younger kid.
One night Tony was at the bowling alley having a coffee and killing time. That night there were mixed leagues bowling so there were a lot of young kids because their mothers couldn't or didn't get baby sitters. Most people probably thought these kids were a nuisance but not to Tony. He saw them as little people to talk with. He saw a little 5 or 6 year old boy playing on one of the arcade games. Tony walked over and started talking with the kid. While they were talking he noticed something that looked like a fleck of dirt above the kid's eyelash.
"Come here little man, you've got something on your face" he said.
Tony grabbed the offending fleck and gave it a quick tug. The kid started screaming for his mother. Tony had pulled a stitch out of the boy's face. The kid continued screaming as Tony sheepishly explained to the boy's mother had happened. I can just see the redness of his face when he realized what he had done.
That little embarrassment didn't slow Tony down. After all he had six grandchildren to spoil.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Writing Class
I'm taking an online course in creative writing. It isn't what I expected. I wanted some professional criticism of my writing and to learn some skills. The instructor is a woman that lives near San Diego and has written dozens of books and thousands of magazine articles. She's knowledgeable for sure, but she believes in only encouraging you - no negative criticism. That's a problem for me. She also wants everything "G rated". That was an immediate obstacle for me, but it has forced me to think and write outside my comfort zone.
A recent assignment was to pick something that you can't throw away from your purse, wallet or junk drawer and write a 1000-1200 word essay about it. Then edit it down to 500 words. In the essay we were told to "arrive at a basic truth." Here's what I wrote:
I carry a plastic card in my wallet that’s never been used. It looks beat up and discolored because it has ridden along with me for so long. It may be used once in my life – maybe never. It’s a Medical Device ID card. It says that I have a Guidant CRT-P pacemaker, Model H/120, Serial No. 103547 that was implanted on August 8, 2006. Pretty mundane stuff.
When I received the card after getting this pacemaker – my second, I glanced at it and quickly put it in my wallet wondering what use it was to me. The answer is that it isn’t much use. It’s of no use getting through airport security. It’s not something you pull out to show friends. I don’t get a discount on my next pacemaker with it. The one thing it may be used for is to verify the identification of my pacemaker when it’s replaced sometime soon. But there is something else far more significant that makes it very useful. It’s a reminder.
A reminder of why I have that thing in my upper chest wall. It reminds me that I’m alive.
That’s pretty big. I didn’t die on October 28, 1997, -- the day I was “mostly dead” as Miracle Max said in The Princess Bride. I’m here right now. That’s something that changes you. You hear a lot about people who’ve had near death experiences. When they talk about it they often use the phrase “stop to smell the roses.” There are a lot of religious awakenings too. But that’s not me.
It’s subtle change. It made me realize how much I love good people. I can’t get enough of good people. I am astonished by how many good people there are. People who are generous, caring, supportive and comforting. Regular people who go to work, take care of their kids, are good to their parents and all the everyday stuff that a person does. People who quietly go about their lives successfully without notoriety.
My kids are good people. They know that there are some nasty lasting consequences of my being “mostly dead” that day. The disease that probably caused the heart episode has also invaded my nervous system and left me with very low blood pressure and other ugly symptoms. My kids know that I struggle with these problems. One reason I know this is because my oldest son once told me that he was worried because he knew that when I had to sit down to avoid passing out, I might self consciously only sit for thirty seconds rather and the three minutes that I really needed. That simple acknowledgement meant everything to me. Not only is he concerned about my well being but he has taken the time and interest to truly understand what I’m dealing with. That’s what a good person does.
You can easily spot a good person. They listen, they remember and they care enough to follow through. When they ask “How are you?” they really want to know. A good person has time for you. They don’t ask “Is there anything I can do?” They jump right in and help without being asked.
But the best thing of all about good people is they make you want to be a good person. They make you want to pay attention to people. They make you want to be there for your family and friends, your co-workers and even strangers. They make you want to be unselfish. Because in the end, doing the right thing – which is what being a good person boils down to – is its own reward. It gives you that private satisfaction that can’t be matched by any award or recognition.
I have literally had a second shot at life. It has made me appreciate how many good people have stepped up and supported me, comforted me and just plain been there for me. It has made me want to be a good person.
You don’t have to have a near death experience to appreciate good people or to be a good person. Just live a decent life and do the right thing. You know what it is. Anyone can do it.
A recent assignment was to pick something that you can't throw away from your purse, wallet or junk drawer and write a 1000-1200 word essay about it. Then edit it down to 500 words. In the essay we were told to "arrive at a basic truth." Here's what I wrote:
I carry a plastic card in my wallet that’s never been used. It looks beat up and discolored because it has ridden along with me for so long. It may be used once in my life – maybe never. It’s a Medical Device ID card. It says that I have a Guidant CRT-P pacemaker, Model H/120, Serial No. 103547 that was implanted on August 8, 2006. Pretty mundane stuff.
When I received the card after getting this pacemaker – my second, I glanced at it and quickly put it in my wallet wondering what use it was to me. The answer is that it isn’t much use. It’s of no use getting through airport security. It’s not something you pull out to show friends. I don’t get a discount on my next pacemaker with it. The one thing it may be used for is to verify the identification of my pacemaker when it’s replaced sometime soon. But there is something else far more significant that makes it very useful. It’s a reminder.
A reminder of why I have that thing in my upper chest wall. It reminds me that I’m alive.
That’s pretty big. I didn’t die on October 28, 1997, -- the day I was “mostly dead” as Miracle Max said in The Princess Bride. I’m here right now. That’s something that changes you. You hear a lot about people who’ve had near death experiences. When they talk about it they often use the phrase “stop to smell the roses.” There are a lot of religious awakenings too. But that’s not me.
It’s subtle change. It made me realize how much I love good people. I can’t get enough of good people. I am astonished by how many good people there are. People who are generous, caring, supportive and comforting. Regular people who go to work, take care of their kids, are good to their parents and all the everyday stuff that a person does. People who quietly go about their lives successfully without notoriety.
My kids are good people. They know that there are some nasty lasting consequences of my being “mostly dead” that day. The disease that probably caused the heart episode has also invaded my nervous system and left me with very low blood pressure and other ugly symptoms. My kids know that I struggle with these problems. One reason I know this is because my oldest son once told me that he was worried because he knew that when I had to sit down to avoid passing out, I might self consciously only sit for thirty seconds rather and the three minutes that I really needed. That simple acknowledgement meant everything to me. Not only is he concerned about my well being but he has taken the time and interest to truly understand what I’m dealing with. That’s what a good person does.
You can easily spot a good person. They listen, they remember and they care enough to follow through. When they ask “How are you?” they really want to know. A good person has time for you. They don’t ask “Is there anything I can do?” They jump right in and help without being asked.
But the best thing of all about good people is they make you want to be a good person. They make you want to pay attention to people. They make you want to be there for your family and friends, your co-workers and even strangers. They make you want to be unselfish. Because in the end, doing the right thing – which is what being a good person boils down to – is its own reward. It gives you that private satisfaction that can’t be matched by any award or recognition.
I have literally had a second shot at life. It has made me appreciate how many good people have stepped up and supported me, comforted me and just plain been there for me. It has made me want to be a good person.
You don’t have to have a near death experience to appreciate good people or to be a good person. Just live a decent life and do the right thing. You know what it is. Anyone can do it.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Father's Day
On my 40th Father’s Day I had the time of my life. What a joy ride! Actually it started out great the previous evening when my two youngest kids cooked me dinner and gave me a funny card and a gift card to a great golf store. We played Wii for a couple hours and I really enjoyed it.
At 9:00AM on Father’s Day I was finishing up my morning medications by giving myself a couple of squirts on a nasal spray I use daily to control allergic symptoms. About 10 seconds after I finished spraying it I felt liquid running down my lip. It was blood. Now I haven’t had a nosebleed in my adult life and any new symptom, feeling, or incident that happens to my physical well being freaks me out. So as I rushed to the kitchen and bent over the sink I saw lots of blood. Of course. I grabbed a towel and held my nose for a while. No good. I sat on the floor when I noticed that I was getting lightheaded, as I do every morning, and that blood was running down my throat. I was scared. And I called to my son to come and help me. He was great. He had me sit up and hold my nose while he went online to WebMD to see how to treat a nose bleed. He returned quickly and after applying ice to my face and nose and plugging my nose for ten minute intervals, we got it stopped in about an hour.
He went out after a while and I settled in. My older son called to wish me a happy Father’s Day and I went out on the deck to sit in the sun. In a couple hours the bleeding started up again in earnest. I called my younger son to come and take me to the urgent care center. I was really bleeding. After what seemed an eternity I saw a doctor who inserted a balloon with bandage qualities up my nose and it stopped. I was to keep that in for 24 hours. We went home and tried to relax. My older daughter called to wish me a happy Father’s Day and I told her of my adventures. While talking with her I noticed that when I bent over bright red blood dripped out of my unplugged nostril. I dismissed it but after it happen several times in the next four or five hours I told my son we were headed for the hospital ER. We got there at 8:30PM and got into a room quickly. I had a balloon stuck up one nostril and tissue stuffed up the other. God, was that A sexy look! Finally the doctor came in – well not exactly. Much later in the evening I realized he was a Physician’s Assistant. I’m fine with that. I have been treated by many PA’s and Nurse Practitioners and they are usually skilled and very competent health care providers. I just want to know up front that I’m not being treated by a physician. They’re not interchangeable. But Don (not his real name, of course) was doing okay I thought. At 1:00 AM I was still bleeding into the packing in my nostril. Don brought in something new, HemCom, A military dressing that stops bleeding, and stuck a piece of it in my nose. It worked. After waiting a while I stood up and bent over to see what would happen, There was still blood in my unplugged nostril, so he packed it too. At 1:40AM we went home.
That was my Father’s Day. As for the nosebleed, I followed up with an ENT doctor two long miserable days later. He chemically cauterized the suspected site of the problem and sent me on my way. Twenty-four hours later I was back again with a nosebleed and we did it again. This time another ingredient was added. It been 24 hours since and there’s no blood. No one ever figured out how or why I got the nosebleed.
I know a nosebleed it no big thing. Except to me it was a huge thing. I really believed I was going to die from this. Lately I’ve noticed a few characters on TV shows or the news saying that so and so woke up this morning never knowing it was his last day on earth. I asked myself if that was me. Now my nose and my psyche need time to heal.
P.S. The Lovely M dumped me. C'est la Vie.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Twittering
"Twitter is a service for friends, family, and co–workers to communicate and stay connected through the exchange of quick, frequent answers to one simple question: What are you doing?"
My oh my. Now I'm twittering. Well trying to figure out what the hell it is and why I would what to do it -- or that it's the cool thing to do today. I'm still a trend follower like I've been all my life. Lately I'm joining a bunch of social networks -- first it was myspace, which was too creepy, then LinkedIn, then classmates.com, then babyboomerpeoplemeet.com, then seniorpeoplemeet.com which is real scary, then facebook (and many others) and finally -- for now -- Twitter. I'm still so new to Twitter I'm in the "what the fuck is this shit" phase. By the way there's a peoplemeet.com for every group you can think of. Someone's making a fortune off a crappy service that offers the clunkiest technology and minimal service but hey, that's show biz. If I ever figure out why twitter, I'll let you know.
Our early peek at summer has been nice -- forty degrees one day and eighty-five the next. That was a week ago. But things returned to normal. Low sixties and cloudy is perfect for me. I can golf alone on an uncrowded course. I know golf is the epitome of a social sport but there are tuns of guys who golf solo like me. I can remember when I took up golf in my forties and was thankful that it would force me to interact with friends and make new golf buddies. Hasn't worked out that way but I'm fine with it.
The health update is this: I had a full body PET scan to determine if there is active sarcoidosis in my nervous system or lungs. And I had a cardiac PET scan to see if it's active in my heart. The results were inconclusive -- basically they didn't show any sarcoid. I started prednisone the last week. Nothing has changed so far. This is the trial regime recommended by the specialist at Johns Hopkins. If the disease is active -- fifty/fifty chance -- the drug should reduce the disease and the symptoms. If not, there may still be some improvement. The best news for me would be that the disease is active because then it can be treated, if it's in remission then the damage may be permanent and there won't be any real improvement. That's the bad news. The good news is there is no down side; I'll just be back where I started and I will continue to work to maintain my quality of life. I refuse to think much about becoming an invalid. Not on my agenda. In any event, I am flattered and humbled by all the genuine concern and well wishes I've received.
Things with the Lovely M are great. Rather than look at this as our fifth attempt at a relationship, I see it was version 2.0. Starting on Feb. 28, which was not so coincidentally the first anniversary of our first date, I am looking at her and at our relationship a whole new way. I'm really happy with it and I don't have a clue where it's leading. Life is short so fret.
Two hillbillies were looking for a way to get from Dayton, Ohio - my home town - to Florida. They went to a used car dealer and said they had a hundred bucks -- what could they get to go to Florida. The car dealer was stumped but then thought of something. He said "Boys I've got something in the back that would be perfect for you." They walked around in back where he had a camel. They were confused but said okay and hopped about. They were loping down I-75 in Cincinnati when they came to a stop sign. I couple of guys in a white Cadillac pulled up next to them and looked. One guy looked at the other and said "Man, would you look at the two assholes on that camel." So the two hillbillies got off and looked.
Thanks for reading.
My oh my. Now I'm twittering. Well trying to figure out what the hell it is and why I would what to do it -- or that it's the cool thing to do today. I'm still a trend follower like I've been all my life. Lately I'm joining a bunch of social networks -- first it was myspace, which was too creepy, then LinkedIn, then classmates.com, then babyboomerpeoplemeet.com, then seniorpeoplemeet.com which is real scary, then facebook (and many others) and finally -- for now -- Twitter. I'm still so new to Twitter I'm in the "what the fuck is this shit" phase. By the way there's a peoplemeet.com for every group you can think of. Someone's making a fortune off a crappy service that offers the clunkiest technology and minimal service but hey, that's show biz. If I ever figure out why twitter, I'll let you know.
Our early peek at summer has been nice -- forty degrees one day and eighty-five the next. That was a week ago. But things returned to normal. Low sixties and cloudy is perfect for me. I can golf alone on an uncrowded course. I know golf is the epitome of a social sport but there are tuns of guys who golf solo like me. I can remember when I took up golf in my forties and was thankful that it would force me to interact with friends and make new golf buddies. Hasn't worked out that way but I'm fine with it.
The health update is this: I had a full body PET scan to determine if there is active sarcoidosis in my nervous system or lungs. And I had a cardiac PET scan to see if it's active in my heart. The results were inconclusive -- basically they didn't show any sarcoid. I started prednisone the last week. Nothing has changed so far. This is the trial regime recommended by the specialist at Johns Hopkins. If the disease is active -- fifty/fifty chance -- the drug should reduce the disease and the symptoms. If not, there may still be some improvement. The best news for me would be that the disease is active because then it can be treated, if it's in remission then the damage may be permanent and there won't be any real improvement. That's the bad news. The good news is there is no down side; I'll just be back where I started and I will continue to work to maintain my quality of life. I refuse to think much about becoming an invalid. Not on my agenda. In any event, I am flattered and humbled by all the genuine concern and well wishes I've received.
Things with the Lovely M are great. Rather than look at this as our fifth attempt at a relationship, I see it was version 2.0. Starting on Feb. 28, which was not so coincidentally the first anniversary of our first date, I am looking at her and at our relationship a whole new way. I'm really happy with it and I don't have a clue where it's leading. Life is short so fret.
Two hillbillies were looking for a way to get from Dayton, Ohio - my home town - to Florida. They went to a used car dealer and said they had a hundred bucks -- what could they get to go to Florida. The car dealer was stumped but then thought of something. He said "Boys I've got something in the back that would be perfect for you." They walked around in back where he had a camel. They were confused but said okay and hopped about. They were loping down I-75 in Cincinnati when they came to a stop sign. I couple of guys in a white Cadillac pulled up next to them and looked. One guy looked at the other and said "Man, would you look at the two assholes on that camel." So the two hillbillies got off and looked.
Thanks for reading.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Sunshine State Week 2
My time in the Sunshine State is over and I am back in the frozen North. Forty-four fuckingdegrees right now. This sucks. But further south . . . although it rained continuously the last two days I was in Sandestin, the experience just confirmed my new found determination that Florida is the place for me in January through Tax Day. To paraphrase the old golfing line, a bad day in Northern Florida is better than a good day in Southeastern Michigan. I don't know how I'm going to pull it off, but I am. The change in my health, mental and physical, is astonishing. I would not have believed it; but I do now. A simple walk in the sunshine is a better mood lifter than any anti-depressant.
I met two women in Florida. Not in the romantic sense - although there's always some kind of sexual tension between men and women - but in the sense that I would say they are friends now. If you've read my blog recently you know that for all my womanizing (the working title of my book is Womanizer), I am still awkward and shy about striking up a conversation with a stranger. And by a stranger I mean a woman. Men I don't even notice or, for that matter, strike up conversations. That explains the fact that I did not walk up to either of them and say "Hi. Come here often?" I met a real estate agent whom I'll call Anne and a bartender whom I'll call Christie. Anne and I looked at properties three different times and I got a good sense of what's available. I already explained last time that I went looking for a 40 cents on the dollar deal and it wasn't there. And when I thought I could google my way to a steal, I came up with foreclosures that weren't and better bargains than private sales. Anne was a true southern girl who knew more than she let on.
I ate lunch at Christie's bar every day. I had an excellent routine (for me, that is) going. Lay out in the sun until 2:00; walk twenty minutes to Beef O'Gradys (the bar in question of course); eat a reasonably light meal and walk 15-25 minutes after. It's easy to see why this beats the hell out of gulping down a Subway sub and driving home with a bloated gut like I do at home. Christie really developed a crush on me and when I left each day she wanted to be sure that I came back to see her. When I left for good she came out and gave me a big hug -- not for the first time. It was sweet actually. She was a working class divorcee who did whatever she had to to support her three kids and buy her own home. I really admire a person like that. We talked about our lives a bit and it turns out she is the same age as my oldest child, which is pretty old compared to my other bartender buddies up here. Although we live in pretty different worlds there are always plenty of connections if you look a little.
No conversation about women could omit the latest with me and Lovely M. We had a lovely, very, very expensive dinner at her favorite restaurant last night and the rest of the evening was even better. Hope I can just go with it and stick to my own rules; accept her without trying to change her; be true to myself; and get affection and respect in return. I've never been good at sticking to the rules or keeping anything simple, but that doesn't mean I can't.
The notes from Dr. Moller at the Sarcoidosis Clinic at Johns Hopkins were in the mail when I got home. Very obtuse but mostly understandable. There was a pretty amusing typo. When listing my medications the letter twice referred to Mestinon as Methadone. Not exactly the same. Tomorrow I hope to get into see my primary care doc and set out a treatment plan with him. Just hope I don't blow up like Jerry Lewis on steroids. Maybe I can resurrect my baseball career!
Thanks for reading.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Sunshine State
"Moving sale. Everything must go. No reasonable offer refused." What the hell does that mean? First, the whole point of selling things is that everything must go. Ever been in a store where they tell you that everything must stay? We're in the business to show you things you can't buy. And I can't even write anything about how stupid and pointless it is to say "No reasonable offer refused." Of course, the advertiser knows it's complete meaningless bullshit. But I want to know if it really gets people to come to the store expecting a deal. I know there's a sucker born every minute but how stupid would you have to be to think that all you have to do is make a reasonable offer. I know, I know. Why do I let shit like this bother me? Well, I'm bored and I can't think of anything better to do.
I just finished my first week at Sandestin Beach and Golf Resort in Destin (actually Miramar Beach) Florida. And a damn fine place it is. Twenty five hundred acres of pristine manicured gated complex with 40 or 50 communities of high rises, detached homes, condo, permanent homes, etc. It got its own golf courses (4), shopping center, shuttle service, marina and everything to make it self sufficient. Disney World without the rides. Golf carts are every where and the Gulf of Mexico is across the street from my condo. I know there are places like this all over Florida but I still think of Florida as that butt-ugly place with all the cheesy surf shops and mom and pop restaurants in Ft. Lauderdale and Daytona Beach that I remember from when I was a teenager. In fact I was in Lauderdale a few years ago and the strip along the beach is nothing like what I have pictured in mind from when I was a college kid.
Those memories are probably why I never thought seriously about living here with all the other old farts . . . until now. In fact I never even knew there was anything West of Georgia in Florida. I certainly never heard of Destin, but it's the place to be. It must be. I'm here. Along with about a billion families and college kids on Spring Break. Where the hell do these kids get the cash to come here anyway? Now I suddenly am looking at properties every day. Like I can afford a third mortgage! I came here with the bright idea of bottom feeding on bargains in this shitty real estate market. Surprise! They are selling homes here and lots of them. I didn't realize that this real estate market in Michigan is so totally different than in the South. The idea I had planted in my head by my financial manager of paying 40 cents on the dollar for a really nice place was a little too good to be true. Everything I've sen here seems normally priced to me and the real bargains are million dollar places for $600k which is a little heavy for me. I've been looking at foreclosures on line and they just prove the rule that if it seems to good to be true, it probably is. I thought I found a gold mine last night. A three bedroom, three bathroom house on the bay for $125K. I was ready to offer a hundred in cash and walk away fat and happy. Oops. It's a timeshare, a very nice timeshare, but you still only own 1/10 of it for that price.
When I'm not looking at properties, I'm lying in the sun or walking around the complex. After three days of rain the weather has turned beautiful and it feels great. Even better knowing the high at home today was 42. Most of my mental energy has gone into trying to entice the Lovely M to some down here for the remaining week. So far, no go. All I'm offering is gorgeous weather, relaxing by the pool, the Gulf, long walks on the grounds, dinner at a different restaurant every night and whatever else you can imagine. Oh yes, and my company! I guess I can see why sitting inside in 40 degree weather alone would be more appealing. But I'll keep fighting the good fight.
I fell down and went boom. Even though I had fallen, I could get up but not without cursing and thanking God no one saw. Where was Life Alert when I needed it? I fell in the parking garage and tore my favorite Ralph Lauren jeans. Damnit, that hurt!
As soon as I have some adventures, I'll write about them. Now it's of to tonight's mystery restaurant. Thanks for reading.
I just finished my first week at Sandestin Beach and Golf Resort in Destin (actually Miramar Beach) Florida. And a damn fine place it is. Twenty five hundred acres of pristine manicured gated complex with 40 or 50 communities of high rises, detached homes, condo, permanent homes, etc. It got its own golf courses (4), shopping center, shuttle service, marina and everything to make it self sufficient. Disney World without the rides. Golf carts are every where and the Gulf of Mexico is across the street from my condo. I know there are places like this all over Florida but I still think of Florida as that butt-ugly place with all the cheesy surf shops and mom and pop restaurants in Ft. Lauderdale and Daytona Beach that I remember from when I was a teenager. In fact I was in Lauderdale a few years ago and the strip along the beach is nothing like what I have pictured in mind from when I was a college kid.
Those memories are probably why I never thought seriously about living here with all the other old farts . . . until now. In fact I never even knew there was anything West of Georgia in Florida. I certainly never heard of Destin, but it's the place to be. It must be. I'm here. Along with about a billion families and college kids on Spring Break. Where the hell do these kids get the cash to come here anyway? Now I suddenly am looking at properties every day. Like I can afford a third mortgage! I came here with the bright idea of bottom feeding on bargains in this shitty real estate market. Surprise! They are selling homes here and lots of them. I didn't realize that this real estate market in Michigan is so totally different than in the South. The idea I had planted in my head by my financial manager of paying 40 cents on the dollar for a really nice place was a little too good to be true. Everything I've sen here seems normally priced to me and the real bargains are million dollar places for $600k which is a little heavy for me. I've been looking at foreclosures on line and they just prove the rule that if it seems to good to be true, it probably is. I thought I found a gold mine last night. A three bedroom, three bathroom house on the bay for $125K. I was ready to offer a hundred in cash and walk away fat and happy. Oops. It's a timeshare, a very nice timeshare, but you still only own 1/10 of it for that price.
When I'm not looking at properties, I'm lying in the sun or walking around the complex. After three days of rain the weather has turned beautiful and it feels great. Even better knowing the high at home today was 42. Most of my mental energy has gone into trying to entice the Lovely M to some down here for the remaining week. So far, no go. All I'm offering is gorgeous weather, relaxing by the pool, the Gulf, long walks on the grounds, dinner at a different restaurant every night and whatever else you can imagine. Oh yes, and my company! I guess I can see why sitting inside in 40 degree weather alone would be more appealing. But I'll keep fighting the good fight.
I fell down and went boom. Even though I had fallen, I could get up but not without cursing and thanking God no one saw. Where was Life Alert when I needed it? I fell in the parking garage and tore my favorite Ralph Lauren jeans. Damnit, that hurt!
As soon as I have some adventures, I'll write about them. Now it's of to tonight's mystery restaurant. Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Getting out of the Cold, Again!
Nine days ago I returned to Michigan, my home sweet home, and I have been sick every day since. What to do? Of course, return to the South. I'm going to Destin, Florida for two weeks. I was so flabbergasted by how great I felt in Florida two weeks ago, that I decided that there is no reason to sit here and be miserable. There is only only one limiting factor - money. The issue is not whether I can afford it. It's whether I can afford to stay here. I can fly for free and the car and condo are reasonable, so off I go. I have definitely spent my last January and February in Michigan. I might even consider buying a place as an investment and spending 3 months there myself and rent it while I'm not there. If I like it there and find something for 40 cents on the dollar I'll go for it.
Two sentences on how shitty I have felt. (1) My blood pressure is so damn low i called the pharmacist to see if I might have ruined my medication by exposing it to freezing (in my suitcase in the trunk)because it is not working and (2) my normal window of feeling good for twelve hours from about 11:00AM to 11:00PM has been reduced to about two hours.
I am sitting here waiting for my date with Lovely M tonight. I only wish I knew what I was doing and had something like a plan. Just being in love with her doesn't cut it. For some reason she continues to go out with me (and I continue to ask) although I don't know why. I can accept that she is cautious and reserved after our constant break up/ make up's but why do we continue this dance. Tuesday night after yoga class, Romy, Michelle and I were talking about relationships. Michelle wanted to know why I think she's an enigma when I'm the enigma. Then I started bitching about these text messages M sends me when we're "broken up". Michelle somewhat sheepishly said I talk out of both sides of my mouth regarding M. No shit! It's love/hate played out to the extreme. Which does me no good to realize because it just boils down to intense emotion where positive or negative. I if didn't care, I wouldn't care enough to get mad at her. She's that once in a decade woman as I said before.
Fast forward. The date's over and I'm in deeper than I was 24 hours ago. When she's good she's very, very good . . . but when she's bad she horrid. Last night she was the woman I fell in love with and, even though she won't go South with me (so far), I'm still feeling that wonderful glow. I sent her a love poem last night. I know it's sappy, but love is sappy; and a million other things.
I'm writing a book. You knew that. My goal is to start editing when I get to 80,000 words and see what I've got. I've been writing since I was in love with Gina and that's been a while ago. I'm at 73,000 words - no, I didn't count them - and am anxious to get this done this year. Maybe I'll try to finish while I'm in Florida wishing M was there.
Good bye, Michigan, Hello, Florida.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Day 18 - The Long Road Home
Ten hours of driving and 95% of it Interstate. A dream realized! What is there to say about the drive back. When is coming home from a good vacation ever fun? The cherry on top for me was that I must have neglected to take my midodrine (drug that acts as a vasoconstrictor to raise my bp)when I got up and when I stopped I couldn't even stand up long enough to walk to the restrooms. But I felt better when I took my afternoon dose. I muddled through.
This trip has been completely different from the one I took in 2007. That trip was wonderful but it was a lot of exploring new places and being alone except for my blog readers. Bless you all. (In a totally non-religious way.) This trip included a lot more interaction with friends and family whom I don't see often enough. Lots of introspection and amazing revelations. For example, I used to say the words "I have to get out of Michigan" (in the winter at least), but I felt so great in Florida - as well as I been in years - that I knew I had to figure out a way to do this. That is, summer in Michigan and winter in the south. It will make me so much more fun to be around. And the attitude! No more parking lot confrontations with potential maniacs (other than me). No getting called Shaky Old Bitch. I might be able to have a relationship with a woman for more than an hour and a half. Well, you get what I'm talking about.
My goal is to publish a book this year. If I do, I hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you for reading. Adios.
P.S. The Lovely M agreed to have dinner with me. With my brand new attitude, things should be interesting. Stay tuned.
Days 16 & 17 - The Adirondacks
It was a pretty easy five hours plus from Stamford to Old Forge, New York. Never heard of it? Why not? It's in the middle of Adirondack State Park which is a massive area of - what else? - mountains, streams, lakes, rivers, forest and wildlife -- some of which is human. Which brings me to my friend whom I'll call Mary. I have known her for eleven years which began when we worked together for two years. I liked her starting from the minute I interviewed her and we have gotten closer as time has gone along. She and I were both single then and the only two executives who were, so those with too much time and too little to think about assumed we were sleeping together. Not so. Who had time for such frivolity? I hope she doesn't mind me mentioning - well, I'll be vague - that I will always be in awe of her ability to be paid two salaries for one job. She's done it twice. You'll have to figure out how but I can't recommend it too highly. It's really good and she's really smart.
Lucky Mary has a new boyfriend whom I'll call Tom. Although they have known about each other for years and in fact have lots ties going back in time, they have just been dating four months - and boy are they happy together. Really, if I didn't know I'd think they had been together a year or two. It's really great that Mary has found someone so well suited for her. And Tom dotes over her like she's the queen that she obviously is. And fascinating conversation? I had never known you could talk about painter's caulk at length. Must be that rugged (almost) self sufficient life style. Dealing with fix ups and critters (God, I hate that word!) and other living-in-nature stuff. Don't misunderstand me. Mary has a beautiful home on a lake that is not only comfy and picturesque but has satellite TV and WiFi and indoor plumbing and everything. It's very nice and my little suite in the basement was nicer than any room at any hotel on the trip.
We spent hours talking and reminiscing. I told them of my most recent ill-fated romances and some where along the line I realized, again, how totally smitten I am with the Lovely M, the woman I was recently engaged to. I know this song is soooo tired but that's the way it goes. It popped into my head how many things there are about her that I love - of course when I don't see her for a while I seem to forget those things about her which make me insane. In any event, I composed a fantastic love note to her in my head and decided to send it to her out of the blue. By shear happenstance I sent it on the anniversary of the day we met. Here's part of it "I met you one year ago and . . .
I love the way you smile. I love the sparkle in your eyes when you smile. I love the elegant way you sit. I love the classy way you carry yourself. I love the way you eat. I love your hands. I love when you touch my arm. I love holding your hand. . . (lots of very personal stuff) . . . I love that you make me crazy. I love the feeling of loving you. Long ago your eyes shot their arrows into my heart. I love you."
I figured the odds were 80/20 whether she would respond sarcastically or sweetly. Bless her little heart, she was very sweet and appreciative. So I will follow up with an invitation to dinner and then we'll see. If you don't know, we've been on again/off again at least five times. But, so what? You meet a woman like M once every decade so I'm in all the way until there ain't no more.
Back in the Adirondacks we're had a nice scenic drive and very nice dinner and trundled off to bed early. That fresh mountain air wears you out. But makes you oh so content. I really enjoyed my time with Mary and Tom and I think they will be together for quite some time.
Tomorrow I head home. Thanks for reading.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Day 15 - Stamford
I took a short drive - 225 miles - to have lunch with a wonderful friend whom I haven't seen in maybe 7-8 years in Stamford, Connecticut. I'll call her Helena.
On the way I had to drive on several thruways in New York City (not downtown, of course) and it is pretty nerve racking for anyone not familiar with the roads. Lots of fast driving and quick decisions. Tommy Jr. got me through it pretty well. It amazes me how we become dependent on new technology and seem to forget the 99% percent of our life when we didn't use it. Funny how I feel naked and vulnerable without my cell phone when I had no such thing for the first 45 years of my life. In Baltimore I got lost without my GPS and it was as though I forgot how to ask for and follow directions. [Aside: After looking all over for the pair of drug store reading glasses I'm currently using, I gave up and went to my back ups to write this. Where were the one's I couldn't find? Where else, hanging in the front of my shirt. Senility is really a swell thing] I'm a notorious technology abuser and skirt chaser. The laptop on which I'm writing this is my 15th. I've had at least 20 cell phones. I like to keep up and new toys have always been big with me. Actually , new anything has always appealed to me. Hope that's not why I go through relationships like shit trough a goose. Staying on the cutting (but not bleeding) edge of technology has not really served me that well because I am not the guy that they are building this shit for. For example, keyboards are a nightmare for me. My son and daughter in law gave me an iPod Touch two Christmases ago and it's a beautiful thing. But trying to type URL's on it is a nightmare for me. So hard that I got a Blackberry for my email. The keys on the Blackberry are too small as well, but they are static not virtual like the IPod. I do have 2000 songs on the iPod which I use religiously during workouts and car trips. Bored?
My lunch with Helena was really nice. She is so smart and refined and totally down to earth and unassuming. I'm no Renaissance Man (well I sort of think I am -- a little) and I love to talk about art and movies and books and television and technology and if I have to, the fucking news. I don't get to do it that much -at least, all at once - except with her. We met ten years ago when I lead the team that bought her company and integrated into my old company. We have gotten to be really good friends since then and stay in touch by email always.
My hotel was a Courtyard in downtown Stamford. I let out a little groan when I saw it because it was soooo much better than that shitrag in Baltimore. Why didn't I come here a day sooner? There are literally more than 50 restaurants in easy walking distance. Unfortunately, I chose Bobby Valentine's Sports Cafe or whatever, and had an overcooked tasteless burger but so what. My stay was short and sweet and I was ready to hit the road again.
Thanks for reading.
On the way I had to drive on several thruways in New York City (not downtown, of course) and it is pretty nerve racking for anyone not familiar with the roads. Lots of fast driving and quick decisions. Tommy Jr. got me through it pretty well. It amazes me how we become dependent on new technology and seem to forget the 99% percent of our life when we didn't use it. Funny how I feel naked and vulnerable without my cell phone when I had no such thing for the first 45 years of my life. In Baltimore I got lost without my GPS and it was as though I forgot how to ask for and follow directions. [Aside: After looking all over for the pair of drug store reading glasses I'm currently using, I gave up and went to my back ups to write this. Where were the one's I couldn't find? Where else, hanging in the front of my shirt. Senility is really a swell thing] I'm a notorious technology abuser and skirt chaser. The laptop on which I'm writing this is my 15th. I've had at least 20 cell phones. I like to keep up and new toys have always been big with me. Actually , new anything has always appealed to me. Hope that's not why I go through relationships like shit trough a goose. Staying on the cutting (but not bleeding) edge of technology has not really served me that well because I am not the guy that they are building this shit for. For example, keyboards are a nightmare for me. My son and daughter in law gave me an iPod Touch two Christmases ago and it's a beautiful thing. But trying to type URL's on it is a nightmare for me. So hard that I got a Blackberry for my email. The keys on the Blackberry are too small as well, but they are static not virtual like the IPod. I do have 2000 songs on the iPod which I use religiously during workouts and car trips. Bored?
My lunch with Helena was really nice. She is so smart and refined and totally down to earth and unassuming. I'm no Renaissance Man (well I sort of think I am -- a little) and I love to talk about art and movies and books and television and technology and if I have to, the fucking news. I don't get to do it that much -at least, all at once - except with her. We met ten years ago when I lead the team that bought her company and integrated into my old company. We have gotten to be really good friends since then and stay in touch by email always.
My hotel was a Courtyard in downtown Stamford. I let out a little groan when I saw it because it was soooo much better than that shitrag in Baltimore. Why didn't I come here a day sooner? There are literally more than 50 restaurants in easy walking distance. Unfortunately, I chose Bobby Valentine's Sports Cafe or whatever, and had an overcooked tasteless burger but so what. My stay was short and sweet and I was ready to hit the road again.
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Day 14 - Exploring Baltimore
Yep, Baltimore is the place to be. Why I don't know, but there must be something that I've missed that makes this town livable. I've been in three areas: The Inner Harbor, Johns Hopkins Medical Campus and Johns Hopkins Main Campus; and of course my shitrag hotel. Other than Ft. Wayne and Billings, I don't think I've been in such an ugly place. OK, Newark. So why is everyone so friendly? I have not come across one surly person anywhere around here. Go figure.
Now, the art museums are a whole different thing. Today I went to the American Museum of Visionary Art and the Baltimore Museum of Art. I also walked around the Inner Harbor. I'm sure the Inner Harbor is fantastic around the Fourth of July but in late February it's nothing. People bundled up with their heads down trying to get on to wherever they're going. I ate at a deli at Harbor Place. Another dud. I saw hundreds of brand new harbor-side condos sitting empty. What a mess the real estate market is.
You didn't know Jimi was an art museum kinda guy did ya? I am. And the cool thing about being older - let's avoid just plain old - is that I've grown out of trying to appreciate art just because someone says it's good and I don't have to say shit like "My granddaughter could have done that!" So what? If you like it, fine; if not, move on. I know what I like and I'll say more about that.
The AMVA was something like I've never seen before. It displays art by people who have no training as artists. There are amazing pieces of art and none of them are that garish shit you see where Billy Bob covers his 1973 Dodge Coronet with Bud bottle caps. I was astonished by the display of carvings in pencil leads. Short stubby little pencils had the tips carved into things like Elvis, a boot, the letters of the alphapbet, and other amazing stuff. It's the only display I ever saw where the museum supplies magnifying glasses for you to view the art. There was a small sculpture of a high rise skyline made of slide rules that caught my eye. There was an ocean liner maybe ten feet long sculpted out of 193,00 toothpicks and 5 gallons of glue. It was marvelously detailed. The annex housed some amazing pieces. Lots of mechanical wood sculptures that you could operate. And a twelve foot high pink poodle standing over a pink golf cart. Even though I wouldn't want 95% of it on my walls at home, it was fascinating and not tacky at all. It was some remarkable art.
The Baltimore Museum of Art is next to the Hopkins Main Campus. It's free which was amazing although I paid my fare to see the special circus art display by Picasso and many others. The classical art rooms have little interest to me except Rodin's the Thinker. But the Cone Collection and the Contemporary Art collection made me flip out. Really, I turned cartwheels right there! The Cone Collection - named after, who else, the people who donated it - had a ton of French impression which I love. There were a bunch of colorful paintings by Matisse that really appealed to me - love those bright colors. The contemporary stuff was stunning mostly in it's size and boldness. Regrettably I fucked up the pictures I took because in my stumblebumedness I switched the camera to video. I have lots of 10 second videos of my feet and shit. I was mightily impressed by the art. Standing in front of a painting that's maybe 20 by 25 feet with intense contracts is pretty cool.
Another word or two on Baltimore. On the way back to the shitrag hotel I stopped for gas. Of course I was the only white guy. no problem, I like that. But the clerks were behind inch thick Plexiglas and you handed them stuff through one of the lazy susans. Nothing like driving a BMW and wearing Polo from head to toe in the ghetto. What the hell, I like an adventure. There's little else to say. I had dinner at the hotel bar for the third straight night - I'm not going out in this city at night alone! - and chatted up Ivana from Poland the bartender. Lovely lady.
I said I'd do better today but I don't have any material to work with. As I said, the people are so damned nice I can't rip them apart for anything. The city is awful but not funny.
Thanks for reading.
Now, the art museums are a whole different thing. Today I went to the American Museum of Visionary Art and the Baltimore Museum of Art. I also walked around the Inner Harbor. I'm sure the Inner Harbor is fantastic around the Fourth of July but in late February it's nothing. People bundled up with their heads down trying to get on to wherever they're going. I ate at a deli at Harbor Place. Another dud. I saw hundreds of brand new harbor-side condos sitting empty. What a mess the real estate market is.
You didn't know Jimi was an art museum kinda guy did ya? I am. And the cool thing about being older - let's avoid just plain old - is that I've grown out of trying to appreciate art just because someone says it's good and I don't have to say shit like "My granddaughter could have done that!" So what? If you like it, fine; if not, move on. I know what I like and I'll say more about that.
The AMVA was something like I've never seen before. It displays art by people who have no training as artists. There are amazing pieces of art and none of them are that garish shit you see where Billy Bob covers his 1973 Dodge Coronet with Bud bottle caps. I was astonished by the display of carvings in pencil leads. Short stubby little pencils had the tips carved into things like Elvis, a boot, the letters of the alphapbet, and other amazing stuff. It's the only display I ever saw where the museum supplies magnifying glasses for you to view the art. There was a small sculpture of a high rise skyline made of slide rules that caught my eye. There was an ocean liner maybe ten feet long sculpted out of 193,00 toothpicks and 5 gallons of glue. It was marvelously detailed. The annex housed some amazing pieces. Lots of mechanical wood sculptures that you could operate. And a twelve foot high pink poodle standing over a pink golf cart. Even though I wouldn't want 95% of it on my walls at home, it was fascinating and not tacky at all. It was some remarkable art.
The Baltimore Museum of Art is next to the Hopkins Main Campus. It's free which was amazing although I paid my fare to see the special circus art display by Picasso and many others. The classical art rooms have little interest to me except Rodin's the Thinker. But the Cone Collection and the Contemporary Art collection made me flip out. Really, I turned cartwheels right there! The Cone Collection - named after, who else, the people who donated it - had a ton of French impression which I love. There were a bunch of colorful paintings by Matisse that really appealed to me - love those bright colors. The contemporary stuff was stunning mostly in it's size and boldness. Regrettably I fucked up the pictures I took because in my stumblebumedness I switched the camera to video. I have lots of 10 second videos of my feet and shit. I was mightily impressed by the art. Standing in front of a painting that's maybe 20 by 25 feet with intense contracts is pretty cool.
Another word or two on Baltimore. On the way back to the shitrag hotel I stopped for gas. Of course I was the only white guy. no problem, I like that. But the clerks were behind inch thick Plexiglas and you handed them stuff through one of the lazy susans. Nothing like driving a BMW and wearing Polo from head to toe in the ghetto. What the hell, I like an adventure. There's little else to say. I had dinner at the hotel bar for the third straight night - I'm not going out in this city at night alone! - and chatted up Ivana from Poland the bartender. Lovely lady.
I said I'd do better today but I don't have any material to work with. As I said, the people are so damned nice I can't rip them apart for anything. The city is awful but not funny.
Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Day 13 - Johns Hopkins
Well Little Tommy was stolen last night. My car and the one next to it had GPS's in the window and Bang, out went the window and they were gone. My iPod was still in it's compartment -- everything else was there. So I have filed a police report, called AAA and Glass America and did what I needed to to repair the damage. Just one more example of paying your tuition in the school of hard knocks. KN warned me a year ago to take the damn thing out of the window when I parked. But no, I paid him no mind. Oh well while I was taking the rest of my stuff out I found the reading glasses that I thought I lost in South Beach. It is a disquieting feeling to see your new car with a window mashed in. That whole sense of invasion of privacy and destroying your property. But it's fixed, I bought a new TomTom --I'll have to call it Little Tommy Jr.
Everyone at the hotel has been exceedingly nice to me. Maybe they're waiting for me to threaten to sue. Maybe they're just concerned. Although I'm perfectly happy ot say "Shit happens" it did put a pall on my day. Getting hopelessly lost on my way back from buying Little Tommy Jr. didn't cheer me up. How's that for ironic - getting lost after buying a GPS.
I am here to see Dr. Moller at the Sarcoidosis Clinic at Johns Hopkins. It was a good but unsettling visit. In the first sentence he said after the medical history, he explained more to me about what disease I have than anyone ever has. Sarcoidosis is a disease of unknown origin of the immune system which causes the white blood cells to clump into nodules which create inflammation in various locations. It occurs about 90% of the time in the lungs, 10% in the heart and maybe 10% in the nervous system -- I have it (or had it) in my lungs, heart and nervous system. It goes into remission about 50% of the time and it is usually very slow. The nervous system is the most difficult to diagnose and treat. This is the only doctor I have ever seen who told me my case was a no brainer. He's also the first doctor to say that all my problems are without doubt a result of sarcoisosis.
So, what to do? He recommended some complicated PET scans and putting me on a steroid regimen for three months and then immuno-suppressants. The goal is to stabilize or improve the inflammation in my nervous system. It may not sound like much but the idea of stabilizing my symptoms and possible improvement of them was something I had given up hope for. I expected to be told that it will get progressively worse until i die. And worse yet I could see being an invalid in five years; the thought of which just sucks the life out of me. I won't be cured. That's for sure. But as I said a couple of blogs ago, I just busting my ass to maintain my quality of life. So it was a worth while visit. but I have to tell you i am scared shitless of the steroids.
Exploring the inner harbor of Baltimore was not on today's itinerary but it will be tomorrow. I have heard it's very nice. All I've seen so far is blight and ugliness. Although Johns Hopkins was obviously several steps above your normal hospital. The most obvious thing was the support staff. They were nice, responsive, knowledgeable and polite. In fact everyone in this city, except the fucking thieves who broke into my car, has been exceptionally nice. Not like the sourpusses in Florida. Funny thing - the people in the sunny weather are gloomy and the people in the gloomy weather are sunny. So much for my home spun wisdom for the day.
OK. See if you can find 10 or more mistakes (grammar, context, accuracy, whatever) in these lovely directions I received:
Rite Aid: "Exit main parking lot by McDonald's and makes a left. Go to Dundalk Ave. (3rd light) and make a right. go to Holabird (1st light) and make a left. Continue going straight you will pass a Mars super market on your left. You will see salvo auto parts and Herman's Bakery on your left. Turn right at the opening."
I'll give to one of the things that are wrong - they are impossible to follow back to the hotel! That's why I was lost on a fucking hour!
I'll do better tomorrow - promise. Thanks for reading.
"Turn right at the opening." You've got to be shitting me!
Everyone at the hotel has been exceedingly nice to me. Maybe they're waiting for me to threaten to sue. Maybe they're just concerned. Although I'm perfectly happy ot say "Shit happens" it did put a pall on my day. Getting hopelessly lost on my way back from buying Little Tommy Jr. didn't cheer me up. How's that for ironic - getting lost after buying a GPS.
I am here to see Dr. Moller at the Sarcoidosis Clinic at Johns Hopkins. It was a good but unsettling visit. In the first sentence he said after the medical history, he explained more to me about what disease I have than anyone ever has. Sarcoidosis is a disease of unknown origin of the immune system which causes the white blood cells to clump into nodules which create inflammation in various locations. It occurs about 90% of the time in the lungs, 10% in the heart and maybe 10% in the nervous system -- I have it (or had it) in my lungs, heart and nervous system. It goes into remission about 50% of the time and it is usually very slow. The nervous system is the most difficult to diagnose and treat. This is the only doctor I have ever seen who told me my case was a no brainer. He's also the first doctor to say that all my problems are without doubt a result of sarcoisosis.
So, what to do? He recommended some complicated PET scans and putting me on a steroid regimen for three months and then immuno-suppressants. The goal is to stabilize or improve the inflammation in my nervous system. It may not sound like much but the idea of stabilizing my symptoms and possible improvement of them was something I had given up hope for. I expected to be told that it will get progressively worse until i die. And worse yet I could see being an invalid in five years; the thought of which just sucks the life out of me. I won't be cured. That's for sure. But as I said a couple of blogs ago, I just busting my ass to maintain my quality of life. So it was a worth while visit. but I have to tell you i am scared shitless of the steroids.
Exploring the inner harbor of Baltimore was not on today's itinerary but it will be tomorrow. I have heard it's very nice. All I've seen so far is blight and ugliness. Although Johns Hopkins was obviously several steps above your normal hospital. The most obvious thing was the support staff. They were nice, responsive, knowledgeable and polite. In fact everyone in this city, except the fucking thieves who broke into my car, has been exceptionally nice. Not like the sourpusses in Florida. Funny thing - the people in the sunny weather are gloomy and the people in the gloomy weather are sunny. So much for my home spun wisdom for the day.
OK. See if you can find 10 or more mistakes (grammar, context, accuracy, whatever) in these lovely directions I received:
Rite Aid: "Exit main parking lot by McDonald's and makes a left. Go to Dundalk Ave. (3rd light) and make a right. go to Holabird (1st light) and make a left. Continue going straight you will pass a Mars super market on your left. You will see salvo auto parts and Herman's Bakery on your left. Turn right at the opening."
I'll give to one of the things that are wrong - they are impossible to follow back to the hotel! That's why I was lost on a fucking hour!
I'll do better tomorrow - promise. Thanks for reading.
"Turn right at the opening." You've got to be shitting me!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Days 11 & 12 - Goodbye Miami Beach
I drove from Miami Beach to Santee, S.C. to Baltimore. More than 1100 miles. One long assed drive. The memorable sights numbered in at zero. It was sunny and cold. Record cold. Am I in Michigan and don't know it? So what's a guy to write about?
I've mentioned eye contact a couple of times lately. And I related my best eye contact story. Here's another one, sort of. It was December in the early nineties and my company needed to close one big deal (big for us was $500,000) to make our sales goal. One of our sales guys who I'll call Mark, because that is his name, had a deal in Singapore that he thought he could close if he went there and did the deal face to face. He wanted me to go to write the license agreement and negotiate the terms other than price. I believe it was the week before Christmas. So our boss sent us off to Singapore to close the deal. At the time I had never been to Asia nor taken a flight longer than 10 hours, so I was psyched. Fortunately we flew business class so there was room enough to sleep -- even though I couldn't sleep on planes back then. We flew from Columbus to San Francisco to Tokyo to Singapore. On the San Francisco to Tokyo leg we sat upstairs in one of those old 747's with the upper deck. It was great. There were 16 seats and we had a flight attendant all to yourselves.
Let me pause and inject some context. As you know by now, I am preoccupied by women and in my younger days I was beyond preoccupied. For example, guys try to have great peripheral vision in sports. My sports peripheral vision was on a par with my athletic skills -- I sucked. But there are two things I can spot anywhere in 180 degrees of vision -- a woman and a Sale sign. I walk into the men's department of any store any I zoom in on Sale signed like a Tomahawk missile. Likewise , if a women passes anywhere near me my eyes hone in with laser quickness. I tell you this to illustrate my preoccupation (obsession?) with women and my super powers to spot them and size then up in a nanosecond. Where I have no power, let alone, super power, is approaching a woman I don't know. I am so concerned that I will (a) look stupid and (b) my attention will be an unwanted imposition, that I do stuff like this: (segue into another layer of my psyche) One summer when I was a teacher I took the summer off for the first time. I was young and fit and every day I went to the pool at my complex to tan. I was looking pretty fit and tan. I wore a navy blue Speedo and actually looked good. I was always careful not to camp out too close to any women (the whole fucking reason for being there!!) for fear of appearing aggressive. Every day I watched the singles play pool co-ed volleyball and wanted to be invited into the game. When they finally they asked me to join them, guess what I said. "No thanks." Idiot! That is how inept and shy I am about meeting strange women.
Back to the airplane. Our flight attendant was Pat. And she was staring holes through me. She was an attractive woman around my age who was articulate and seemed pretty refined. It was so obvious that she was interested that Mark says to me "She really likes you." Remember we are on a 12 hour flight and there is a l-o-n-g time to go. So for something like six hours I'm struck dumb and dumbfounded at what to do. She no doubt lives in San Francisco and . . . well I don't know. Sean Connery would be so ashamed of me. As we landed I stammered goodbye and that was the last I ever saw of Pat. The point is that in twenty-five years of business travel I have never come close to a liaison because (a) there are so few attractive single women traveling alone and (b) that doesn't mean shit because I wouldn't know what to do if she flat out propositioned me.
Mark and I made it to Singapore and closed the deal for a half million bucks. Since we were there for less than forty-eight hours, we didn't see much. I do remember that downtown looked like any huge U.S. Metropolis including signs in English. And it is immaculately clean. And they cane people. Before I could blink we were home, having spent 56 hours traveling and about 44 hours on the ground.
One postscript to my lack on meeting strange women skills, once I get past the introduction I my skill level rises considerably.
Tomorrow is my appointment at the Sarcoidosis Clinic at Johns Hopkins. The doctor I'm seeing is the top guy in the world. We'll see if he has anything that can improve my quality of life. My expectations are low; that way anything he hjas for me is all upside.
Thanks for reading.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Days 9 & 10 - Miami Beach
I saw twenty seconds of a shot of weather in Detroit yesterday, so I'll go lightly on bitching about the clouds and cool temperatures here. It was still warm enough to spend 3+ hours in the sun. Didn't even need the beach umbrella that I rented for the day. Funny how paying $20 a day for a chaise and umbrella used to seem too expensive to consider and now it's a foregone conclusion. Laying in the sand at my age? I might never get up. There was a very stiff sea breeze that made the cloudiness all the more chilling, but I had no thoughts of shortening my daily routine. People watching was abysmal. Save for one earth shattering event. I saw the Girl from Ipenema again in the exact same outfit - black straw hat and tiny bikini and with a guy!! And not a stud but Pudgy Parchesi. He was so unremarkable that I did a double take. As if that wasn't enough to destroy the fantasy, she grabs him and kisses him! You know, on the mouth! Only one thing can explain this: Hey, must be the money!
Once again I felt extraordinarily healthy. The sun hath much magic in it. After 3+ hours in the sun and clouds, I folded my tent and decided to head to South Beach -- on foot. That's from 41st to 16st and 6 blocks east. I was headed back to Lincoln Street Mall -- which the Virtual Tourist web site told be was where the sophisticated crowd was now hanging out -- in search of those New Balance shoes. The fact that the pair of Asics trainers I was wearing started to hurt my feet made my buying decision easy. I found Foot Locker and got a lot of help from some really nice people. I tried New Balance -- god, they are ugly! -- and Puma before buying some very high end Nike's and some cushioned inserts. I felt great. I fell in behind a lovely young woman in red short shorts and Roman sandals. Again I shed a silent tear for my lost youth. Oh to be young again. I had dinner at the same place as Friday night -- I'm a creature of habit -- and had 2/3 of a Hawaiian pizza. Just one slice too many. When I finished I was concerned about walking for an hour back to the hotel because after dinner is one of my worst times for lightheadedness. But, no worries, I strutted all the way in my new $160 running shoes and felt great. Tired, but great. But I left Lincoln Street wondering where the hell the beautiful people were. I mean they do have to eat before club hopping don't they? The people that were there were to busy preening for each other to give a second look at a Shaky Old Bitch. In fact I've been wondering what has happened to me. I used to get looks all the time. You know, eye contact and smiles. I guess the aging professor look isn't big outside Ann Arbor. I finally drew two big smiles from women walking with their husbands on the Boardwalk. By the way, how does that work? If the husband stared at another woman there'd be hell to pay. Not so for the wife. Probably because the husband is fucking clueless.
Here's one of those thing you don't say out loud. I am damn proud of myself for taking these adventures and doing all this driving and walking and managing my quality of life to the highest standard. Many people with health problems role over and play dead -- and the thought of seeking out new opinions and possible advice and treatment isn't even considered. I intend to bust my ass for as long as I can keeping my quality of life high.
Sunday was much warmer. I spent 18 minutes in the sun -- nine on each side -- and three hours in the shade. It was perfect. Thus we come to the mammal pictured above on the left. I had to be very cautious so she wouldn't know I was taking her picture -- probably doesn't happen every day. I cannot look at that picture without laughing. Apparently she was comfortable with her body and she didn't give a fuck what you think. Later I noticed the lovely gent whom I called a hillbilly retard a couple of blogs ago. And what was his beach attire? Same dirty baggy jeans with clip on suspenders and WalMart knit shirt. I looked again at him and I realized the poor son of a bitch is alone and looks lost. By the way, a belly measuring contest between Mr. Clip on Suspenders and Mrs. Book Propped on Her Belly would have required a photo finish. Either one of them could smuggle a compact car in their belly. At least they make me feel less like the fucking Buddha-belly when I sit down.
I finished sunbathing and was determined to find the TV images that are South Beach. A little review of that same site I mentioned before clued me in to Ocean Drive. Actually I had walked up Ocean Drive for a few blocks on Saturday but didn't notice that I was in lala land. I got in my car and headed south. I turned onto the northern end of Ocean Drive. Oops! Lots of very expensive cars not moving more than inches per minute. Even as mellow as I am now, after twenty minutes to go three short blocks I headed off to the west looking for parking. Wham. Dead stop again. I finally found a place to park for 15 bucks and considered it a blessing. I set out on foot to Ocean and 5th and shazam! Art Deco hotels out the butt. All with sidewalk cafes with the sidewalk traffic walking right down the rows of tables. People shoulder to shoulder. Sunday night was jumping. Walked the whole length of Ocean and back. Again I found no one willing to even look at a Shaky Old Bitch from Michigan, but being invisible wasn't all that bad. To repeat myself, I really like it being in the minority -- since I can't understand Spanish I don't have to listen to any dumbshit conversations like in the restaurant the other night.
I know this is riddled with typos, sorry. Thanks for reading.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Day 8 - North Beach/South Beach
I saw this disembodied human foot - look to your left - lying on the beach today. It looked like a tourist's foot. As you can see there wasn't much else on the beach. The turban ladies on the upper right were camped out a few feet in front of me. The turban ladies shocked me when the one in the ugly blue flower print thing and the youngest one, on the left, went into the surf in their long dresses and stocking feet. The younger woman screamed with delight. I'd swear she had never been in the ocean before and she apparently lives here in Miami Beach. When those women were not dominating my interest, I longed for Inga (from yesterday) to walk by again. I know I would have at least said "Hello, Inga." Girl watching - of the bikini variety - was limited to a single Girl from Ipanema. She wore a wide brimmed black straw hat, had a stony look on her face and had a bottom that brought tears of deep appreciation to my eyes. It was at least an hour between her coming and going past me so I can't imagine how far she walked but she was unimaginably exotic. Sigh.
It was several degrees colder than yesterday which made it all the more perfect for me. I feel extraordinary. I love it here. Perfect weather, nonthreatening environment filled with exotic people you do not see in Michigan. English is less spoken here and Spanish or Hebrew (or Russian). I feel better physically than any time since last summer when I was totally in love with the Lovely M. I walked for an hour and a half without resting in South Beach today! I haven't done that since Jimmy Carter was president. It's obvious to me that I need to live down south in the winter and in lovely Canton, Michigan in the summer. It will improve my health and totally solves the problem of being unable to sell my condo. There's just one tiny hiccup. I can't afford it. Obviously I need to marry a woman over 50 who is attractive, smart and financially independent. Where have I heard that one before?
As promised, I did South Beach today. Today begins their Wine and Food Tasting event with Emeril and Martha Stewart, etc., but I didn't get invited or stumble into it. As I said above, I did walk the whole of it (Sort of). I walked from Lincoln Park Mall near 16th Street to Flamingo Park (didn't see a damn flamingo anywhere) several blocks all the way down to 7th Street in the Art Deco District. I walked several blocks east to the ocean as well. Hmm. Not what I had hoped for. The art Deco District did not look like the opening sequence to Miami Vice; but then it didn't look like Woodward Ave. (in and near Detroit) either. The stunning colors and shapes I was expecting were not seen. I might research it a bit and go back tomorrow. I'm missing something. The Lincoln Street Mall was awash in outdoor cafes. I was there way to early for the beautiful people to emerge although I did see a man with no arms painting with his toes! But that wasn't my primary goal. I needed swimming trunks and I wanted those New Balances I saw yesterday. Seemed easy enough but I forgot I was in South Florida where they have shops that no Midwesterner would ever buy such gaudy shit. I finally found a Quicksilver store. I am not exactly their demographic, having started as a surfer shop, but a wonderful young woman helped me buy some trunks (shorts? what are they called?) that were perfect. Just a little too tight so I can be motivated to keep up my good eating habits. I have eaten so well since I left home! I'm proud of myself -- although I was so thrilled that I could buckle my belt in the third notch easily which was impossible two weeks ago. Unfortunately I looked closely and I was using the second notch. No wonder it was so smooth. Fashion fact: A man's belt it threaded through the loops from left to right so that the loose end is pointing in the same direction as the material over the zipper. And man's belt fits correctly when it buckles easily in the third notch.
Tonight's story: I said earlier that I could have spoken to Inga if I had seen her today. But really it's all about eye contact isn't it? If you can't get eye contact, you've got nothing. Here's a lesson I had in eye contact. I was in Stockholm, probably in the early nineties, with a French colleague named Dominique. He was a drunk and a bullshit artist. He was fun but he was an asshole. So we were at our hotel's very crowded bar and Dominique starts to explain to me how picking up women is all in the eyes. (His are so fucking bloodshot he looks like Lerch.) He is making eyes at this really good looking young woman who is looking back. She and her friend come over to us. My alarm immediately goes off wondering what these two stunning women are doing with a drunk and a dipshit (that's me, of course). Dominique's date invites us to a private club were we can relax more. Uh, oh. By the way, my alarm was going off all right but I still had no fucking clue what the story was. I'm so stupidly trusting. We pile into a cab with Dominique's "date" in the front and the three of us in the back. I ask my "date" what she does for a living? (How fucking juvenile can I get?) She says she's a travel agent and a dancer. "But you have the night off tonight?" I say. "So far" she says. (I'm beginning to come out of my stupor and realize we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.) We arrive at an unmarked door and Dominique's date pays the cabbie. We walk down these dark stairs to an entrance to the club where the girls work. The hostess is topless. Dominque asked the cashier how much. "1500 krona" -- about $600-$700 at the time. Dominque goes red and say "No!" We rush up the stairs with his date imploring us to stay. The cab is still sitting there. He cabbie says he wanted to warn us but she was sitting right next to him. He said he saw a guy the previous week come out of there wihtout his wallet and his clothes torn. I said "Nice eye contact, Dominique. You dickhead."
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Day 6 & 7 - Not Your Father's Miami Beach
I drove from Clearwater Beach to Miami Beach in about six hours with several stops to walk around. Most of the route is I-75 which runs from the Upper Peninsula in Michigan to Miami. I have driven every mile of it south of the Mackinaw Bridge. There are two scenic spots, I think. I think they're both in Tennessee. Not in Florida. I was so desperate for something to look at I was hoping an alligator would lumber across the road. Of course, road rage is a thing of the past now. I just cruise and share the road amicably.
My hotel standard at the outset was clean, inexpensive and wireless in the rooms. Who am I kidding? I've stayed in way too many really nice hotels to be satisfied with clean and inexpensive. On my prior trip I started stopping at Best Westerns because they had wireless and were really cheap. So I was mistakenly lured to book Best Westerns on the water in Clearwater Beach and Miami Beach. I could have done lots better. As I mentioned I was in a dump of a room the first night -- not sure that it met the cleanliness standard. And in Miami Beach I was quickly reminded of the difference between "ocean view" and "ocean front" having chosen the former. Caveat Emptor! I should have realized but what the hell. You can judge for yourself from the picture.
Since this hotel is grossly under-staffed, I immediately sought out the two best employees and made friends. My friend Gustavo was wise to the whole shooting match. He immediately pointed me to the Boardwalk,which, if you are not aware, is 77 blocks long. I am at 41st and Collins in North Beach and South Beach starts at 22nd so tomorrow I have a long walk or a short drive to explore South Beach. If that doesn't give me something more interesting to write about than my fucking hotel room, I'll shit.
But let's talk more about North Beach. Within twelve seconds I realized I had landed in the middle of a Hasidic Jewish community of varying sects. In fact they out numbered all other groups of people on the Boardwalk my a mile. As Major Frank Burns would say "You can't swing a dead cat around here without hitting one." Who knew? I was immediately struck my their clothing and hair styles and the irony of being covered in black wool clothing in 70 degree weather on the Boardwalk in Miami Beach. There were many very, very old folks, Jewish or not, bundled up for winter. I immediately felt like a spring chicken not a Shaky Old Bitch. I had to read a bit about Hasidic Judaism but I didn't learn anything specific to Miami. They certainly don't make eye contact with schlemiels like me. I do know this. They love cell phones and their New Balance running/walking shoes look strangely incongruous with their ultra-conservative garb. They must be New Balance's best demographic. And for good reason. I have long felt that New Balance makes the best running shoes by a mile. They are just so fucking ugly that I can't stand to put them on my feet. I know that they refuse to do celebrity endorsements and I swear they make their shoes as ugly as they can on purpose. Two years ago they came out with a shoe called Zoom (I think) that looked like it was designed after 1983. I saw a runner in a nice looking pair of New Balances on the beach today.
The weather is perfect - just like Michigan. High 70's, breezy and sunny. Again I chilled at the beach. February in Miami is my perfect summer. It's really obvious that tourism is way down. People watching is tough. And lots of non-English speakers. I did spot a woman who perfectly fit the description I gave in my last blog. She was clearly over fifty, very attractive, and must have been smart -- she walked by me four times -- and I'm sure she was financially independent. I believe her name was Inga. She had to be Nordic or German. Her bikini was not something an American would wear. It was thong-like but she really didn't have the butt for it. But I loved that erect walk and her well cared for skin and her I-like-the-way-I-look-so-fuck-you demeanor. But what was I to do. Accost her and ask her out for drinks? I tried to come up with a bit more elegant ways to meet her but I failed.
I stayed in the shade a lot today but my face looks a lot redder than that picture on the right. Me thinks it will start peeling soon -- my bald head too. I'm sorry I haven't done anything really stupid yet. Not packing any swimming trunks is about as senile as I've been so far. I'll do better.
Thanks for reading.
P.S. Wait a damn minute! What is with me and this kindness and acceptance of people of all shapes and varieties? Just because I'm a Shaky Old Bitch and my body looks more like Jed Clampett than Michael Phelps doesn't mean I've lost my arrogance and elitism. This came crashing into my head when I saw a group of retired hilljacks checking into the hotels as I was about to eat a late (9:00PM) dinner. If there's one thing that sets me free it's some ignorant fuck wearing his hat in a restaurant. In this case not a ball cap, a cheap-assed piece of shit straw cowboy hat that I wouldn't piss in. He and a shitload of his companions were late arrivals at dinner and putting a serious cramp in the service from the two remaining waitresses. While waiting I was treated to some baggy jeans and clip on suspender wearing, haircut needing, submoronic cretin with a dim witted expression and a gut big enough to house a small 3rd world family. This hillbilly retard just hung around the table looking stupid and putting me off my dinner. I started to do a "there, there, Jim" and return to my benevolent acceptance of all people -- that's a fucking laugh -- when I said to my self "No." I didn't tell these dipshits to sit on their fat asses and eat fried food and drink beer. I didn't tell them to let their minds turn to paplum. I say, No. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore! Civility, people! Simple fucking civility. That's all it takes.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Day 5 - On the Beach
At last, no driving today. Never got in my car. Today was a day to chill. No road rage. No clinched jaw muscles. Got rid of my shitty little room and moved to a real big boy's hotel room. Best day I've had in Florida since the Hoover administration! Perfection was spoiled only by a neck that was stiffer than a teenage boy on prom night.
I did something I never do -- spent the whole day on the beach. It was high 60's, sunny and breezy, and perfect. I got fried. My face is scarlet - check the picture! This is sooo much better than 26 degrees and gloomy (you know where). I read part of a book by Carl Hiaasen. He is hilarious. My sister gave me this book for Christmas. It's a humorous diary of his re-starting golf after 32 years away. I learned that I play Ray Ray golf. You play one hole like Ray Floyd and the next like Ray Charles. I also worked crossword puzzles to keep the brain from rotting, but mostly I did my favorite thing -- people watch.
Now I must have really been mellow because usually when I'm beach surrounded by people who they should get a citation from the Exposed Flesh Police for exposing flesh that is best kept a secret from the world outside their bathroom, I am offended and my jaw clinches. But today, no. I am Mr. Mellow. No criticism from me. I accept that my fellow sun worshipers are comfortable in their own skin so why should I be judgmental. Possibly some of my benevolence originates at the mirror when I wonder why a pregnant woman's belly is attached to my body. - I was honored to have in my direct line of sight on the beach a fellow who appeared to be about fourteen months pregnant with triples and was deeply tan so he obviously does this - sitting in the sun - a lot and doesn't give a shit what his gut looks like. As I looked to the right I was so delighted that a youngish (meaning lots younger than me) woman had the decency to put shorts on over her suit to cover her ample thighs before she walked out to the beach. Now that is rare. All in all I was amazed at the shapes of the people. Just regular folks with the oddest looking bodies that seem to be the same as about 95% of us. Not exactly South Beach.
Certainly a Lothario like me whose attention could only be snagged by an attractive single woman over 50 who is financially independent had little chance of being diverted from the oddly shaped people by any such woman. I doubt there was a single woman over sixteen to be found. Speaking of attractive women, doesn't Jane Fonda look good. For god's sake, she's seventy years old!
When I returned to my room I felt the sensation of burning flesh on my face. A shower and a handful of lotion did not do the trick. And of course I got those sunburn chills. What I mean is that when I dressed and walked over to Walgreen's to get some batteries for my camera, I was shivering. Afterward when I went to the local seafood place for dinner I had on three layers of clothes. The dinner was okay and the bar was comfortable and the bartender was as close to the type of woman I described above as it got today, so that was fine. On the way home I hit Walgreen's again for some Solarcaine -- remember that stuff? I've been slathering it on every five minutes since I got back.
My long drive yesterday thwarted my visit with a childhood friend in Tampa whom I haven't seen in 44 years. She was a year younger than me and our families knew each other pretty well. She found me on Facebook - I'm telling all you sticks-in-the-mud who won't do Facebook, you're missing some fun - and when she told me who she was I drew a blank. After checking with the best source of knowledge about Fairborn, Ohio, mom, I began to recall and I think I remember her (I hope she's not reading this.)It would have been a kick but fortunately I have other friends to see before I finish the trip.
Tomorrow Miami Beach. Elizabeth, if you've forgotten again "Why Miami Beach?" all I can say is it's warm and it ain't in Michigan! Thanks for reading y'all.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Day 3 & 4 - Fun in Bamy and Driving and Driving
I don't know shit about the State of Alabama but I now know that they have the biggest cleanest rest stops and the nicest people I've ever met. And those good ole boys and girls don't mind cruisin at 85 mph which suits me just fine. I drove from the space technology city of Huntsville to the deep, deep south in Mobile. Unfortunately I didn't see Mobile in the day time but what I saw was very elegant.
I went through Mobile to meet a former client whom I know well for a few years but only by telephone. I'll call her Elizabeth. It was an unusual and unexpected experience. First, she doesn't look like her telephone voice. I'm sure you've had the experience of meeting someone whom you've spoken to many times but never met in person. You have to imagine what they look like don't you? You don't think of a disembodied voice voice I hope. But don't be as stupid as me to say "You don't look like your voice" without thinking of what you're going to say when she/he asks "What did you think I looked like?" Because when the real answer is I thought you were a six foot tall frumpy old hag with you hair in a bun, and she turns out to be a five foot tall tiny cute bundle of spunk (I'm not talking about Elizabeth.), you better have a quick one-liner ready to go.
The considerate way to start is to describe Elizabeth's home circumstance by saying that she lives with her parents because several years ago she gave up everything she had to pursue her passion and start up a company so she's pouring everything into the company. If I were sarcastic, I'd use her words and say "She's a hundred years old and still lives with her parents." You may say "Awkward, but so what." Well the "so what" is before having dinner I had to meet her folks. The irony of being old enough to be a grandfather and meeting her parents was not lost on me. But guess what. They were a delight. They were in they're mid-80's and charming. I could have talked with her father all night. And her mother looks great and like a true southern lady she was dressed up sitting primly and brightly in the den. They were southern gentility. I was, of course, at my charming best.
In Mobile our dinner choices on Sunday night were pretty limited. These are church going folks who don't do business on Sunday. So we ate at the country club and had the bar area entirely to ourselves. Elizabeth apparently had decided to consume the maximum alcohol possible because I lost count of her drinks. That's fine, sometimes drunks are funny. She was -- while she was awake. Her main sign of drunkenness was asking me "Why Miami Beach" four times. She was tilting as we left. -- I had my first crab omelet and it was excellent. She had some kind of fondue shit that was dripping with calories. And did I mention that the country club closed at 9:00? Wow, what I night out. Meet the parents at 6:30 and drop her off on the doorstep at 9:30. But it was fine and I enjoyed meeting her.
But wait. That wasn't the end. At 7:00 the next morning I got a wake up call that I hadn't ordered. Guess who was in the breakfast room with coffee. If you could have heard what I was saying in my head at that moment it would have shocked even your most vulgar sensibilities. Because of my health limitations I cannot function in the morning. By function I mean I can't walk into the next room which passing out. I need a good hour for my meds to kick in fully. I DO NOT get up at 7:00! But, always the gentleman, I dragged my sorry ass (you know, Shaky Old Bitch) downstairs and collapsed in a chair. She apologized and we had a nice chat -- no eating for me in the morning -- and I said my good byes again and packed up and headed out.
The rest of the day was twelve hours in my car. And no, I did not have any attacks of road rage. I'm sooo mellow now that I'm out of fucking Michigan. I'm in Clearwater Beach now in a dumpy hotel on the Gulf. Tomorrow I relax for a day.
I forgot to tell you about Highway Jesus. He's on I-75 north of Cincinnati. He's a concrete or plaster (or something white)statue of Jesus' torso from the shoulders up with his arms extended skyward. His torso is emerging from a pond. The arms are about 25 feet long and totally out of proportion to his shoulders and head. He has no elbows. He's gigantic. I can't recall that name of the church other than it's not apparent what denomination it is. Far from being a religious icon, it's garishly ugly and in my humble opinion mocks the members' belief. It's stunning. I will say this though. It's evokes a religious response because when you see it you can only say: OH MY GOD!!
I guess the typos in my last blog were pretty entertaining. I apologize for typos and spelling errors tonight. I'm tired. Thanks (or Thinks) for reading.
I went through Mobile to meet a former client whom I know well for a few years but only by telephone. I'll call her Elizabeth. It was an unusual and unexpected experience. First, she doesn't look like her telephone voice. I'm sure you've had the experience of meeting someone whom you've spoken to many times but never met in person. You have to imagine what they look like don't you? You don't think of a disembodied voice voice I hope. But don't be as stupid as me to say "You don't look like your voice" without thinking of what you're going to say when she/he asks "What did you think I looked like?" Because when the real answer is I thought you were a six foot tall frumpy old hag with you hair in a bun, and she turns out to be a five foot tall tiny cute bundle of spunk (I'm not talking about Elizabeth.), you better have a quick one-liner ready to go.
The considerate way to start is to describe Elizabeth's home circumstance by saying that she lives with her parents because several years ago she gave up everything she had to pursue her passion and start up a company so she's pouring everything into the company. If I were sarcastic, I'd use her words and say "She's a hundred years old and still lives with her parents." You may say "Awkward, but so what." Well the "so what" is before having dinner I had to meet her folks. The irony of being old enough to be a grandfather and meeting her parents was not lost on me. But guess what. They were a delight. They were in they're mid-80's and charming. I could have talked with her father all night. And her mother looks great and like a true southern lady she was dressed up sitting primly and brightly in the den. They were southern gentility. I was, of course, at my charming best.
In Mobile our dinner choices on Sunday night were pretty limited. These are church going folks who don't do business on Sunday. So we ate at the country club and had the bar area entirely to ourselves. Elizabeth apparently had decided to consume the maximum alcohol possible because I lost count of her drinks. That's fine, sometimes drunks are funny. She was -- while she was awake. Her main sign of drunkenness was asking me "Why Miami Beach" four times. She was tilting as we left. -- I had my first crab omelet and it was excellent. She had some kind of fondue shit that was dripping with calories. And did I mention that the country club closed at 9:00? Wow, what I night out. Meet the parents at 6:30 and drop her off on the doorstep at 9:30. But it was fine and I enjoyed meeting her.
But wait. That wasn't the end. At 7:00 the next morning I got a wake up call that I hadn't ordered. Guess who was in the breakfast room with coffee. If you could have heard what I was saying in my head at that moment it would have shocked even your most vulgar sensibilities. Because of my health limitations I cannot function in the morning. By function I mean I can't walk into the next room which passing out. I need a good hour for my meds to kick in fully. I DO NOT get up at 7:00! But, always the gentleman, I dragged my sorry ass (you know, Shaky Old Bitch) downstairs and collapsed in a chair. She apologized and we had a nice chat -- no eating for me in the morning -- and I said my good byes again and packed up and headed out.
The rest of the day was twelve hours in my car. And no, I did not have any attacks of road rage. I'm sooo mellow now that I'm out of fucking Michigan. I'm in Clearwater Beach now in a dumpy hotel on the Gulf. Tomorrow I relax for a day.
I forgot to tell you about Highway Jesus. He's on I-75 north of Cincinnati. He's a concrete or plaster (or something white)statue of Jesus' torso from the shoulders up with his arms extended skyward. His torso is emerging from a pond. The arms are about 25 feet long and totally out of proportion to his shoulders and head. He has no elbows. He's gigantic. I can't recall that name of the church other than it's not apparent what denomination it is. Far from being a religious icon, it's garishly ugly and in my humble opinion mocks the members' belief. It's stunning. I will say this though. It's evokes a religious response because when you see it you can only say: OH MY GOD!!
I guess the typos in my last blog were pretty entertaining. I apologize for typos and spelling errors tonight. I'm tired. Thanks (or Thinks) for reading.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Day 2 - The Rolling Hills
I rolled trough the rolling hills of Kentucky and the mountains of Tennessee with ease. I saw a lot of brown grass and leave-less trees. Then I saw more of the same. But the drive had only one small event of note. Shaky Old Bitch re-emerged. I was cruising at my usual 82 mph(a nice round number I think)in the fast lane a and guy in a shitty little CR-V pulls ahead of me on the right but he is blocked by a trunk. So he wanted to get over and I didn't let him in. As I passed he pulled over and rode my bumper and flashed his lights. Shazam! Road rage kicked in. After we cleared the truck I started to chase him. I have no idea how or what I was going to do about it, but who said I was rational. - There's a happy ending because I snapped out of my trace and let him go, but what the hell is with me. I'm so mellow - to the point of being catatonic usually. It obviously has something to do with being older and feeling invincible. Stupid.
I arrived in 'Bamy at my long, long time friends Greg and Linda. (By now you know I never use real names. Just feels creepy to to so.) They just moved into their new home a week ago. For the fourth or fifth time I was they first house guest. They barely have furniture but the were as gracious and welcoming as they have been my entire life. My friendship with Greg goes back to fourth grade and I've known Linda for more than 35 years. They have been married 39 years (how the hell do you do that?) and they have probably moved that many times. Must be the key to a successful marriage -- just keep moving.
I told them about my ceaseless attraction and love for the Lovey M (a pseudonym of course) and Linda told me, correctly, that it won't work. But I am not deterred and my ever present rebelliousness makes me all the more determined to make it work. M is just too fascinating and good at heart to let go. I worked soooo hard to find her. Then we reminisced for hours. Why do memories seem much fun and laughable as you get older. I think I know. Don't you?
What would you do if you had the power of God for one minute? My real answer is to eliminate ignorance, but that's boring. My real, real answer is to become Czar of Television Commercials. I would have the complete power to bring the president of the company whose product is advertised on TV right after the commercial. If the commercial said "Up to 50% off . . . and more!" I would say "What does that mean"? Are you giving things away. If it's up to 50% and it's also more, how the fuck much is it? If the commercial said "Three easy payments of $19.95" I'd asked how much that was. I'd ask if they ever considered that they might be tricking people into thinking that $19.95 was the price. If they said " An $80 value, yours for $14.99" I'd ask who had paid $80 dollars for it? And if they added "If you order in the next 10 minutes we'll double you order. Just pay shipping and handling" I'd wonder what cheap piece of shit that was an $80 value could be sold at 2 for $14.95. And don't forget the shipping and handling for $7.95.
Aw, but that's child's play in the world of bullshit commercials. Whoever the cretin is who produced "Viva Viagra" should be brought before the public and be drawn and quartered. What does Viva Viagra mean? Hurray, I can get it up? Thanks for the erection? Whoopee I've got a woody? I'm fine with selling sex. Everyone does it. Everyone just doesn't sign about it. What ever happened to the ground breaking Bob Dole commercials where we first heard "erectile dysfunction". A nice clinical way of saying "We can revive your mojo, Buddy." But sitting around a campfire and signing Viva Viargra? They're all guys!! Mercy me. Let depart this delicate subject by stealing a line I heard in a movie. If you get an erection lasting longer than four hours, send your doctor a letter of thinks!
On to LA (Lower Alabama). Thanks for reading.
I arrived in 'Bamy at my long, long time friends Greg and Linda. (By now you know I never use real names. Just feels creepy to to so.) They just moved into their new home a week ago. For the fourth or fifth time I was they first house guest. They barely have furniture but the were as gracious and welcoming as they have been my entire life. My friendship with Greg goes back to fourth grade and I've known Linda for more than 35 years. They have been married 39 years (how the hell do you do that?) and they have probably moved that many times. Must be the key to a successful marriage -- just keep moving.
I told them about my ceaseless attraction and love for the Lovey M (a pseudonym of course) and Linda told me, correctly, that it won't work. But I am not deterred and my ever present rebelliousness makes me all the more determined to make it work. M is just too fascinating and good at heart to let go. I worked soooo hard to find her. Then we reminisced for hours. Why do memories seem much fun and laughable as you get older. I think I know. Don't you?
What would you do if you had the power of God for one minute? My real answer is to eliminate ignorance, but that's boring. My real, real answer is to become Czar of Television Commercials. I would have the complete power to bring the president of the company whose product is advertised on TV right after the commercial. If the commercial said "Up to 50% off . . . and more!" I would say "What does that mean"? Are you giving things away. If it's up to 50% and it's also more, how the fuck much is it? If the commercial said "Three easy payments of $19.95" I'd asked how much that was. I'd ask if they ever considered that they might be tricking people into thinking that $19.95 was the price. If they said " An $80 value, yours for $14.99" I'd ask who had paid $80 dollars for it? And if they added "If you order in the next 10 minutes we'll double you order. Just pay shipping and handling" I'd wonder what cheap piece of shit that was an $80 value could be sold at 2 for $14.95. And don't forget the shipping and handling for $7.95.
Aw, but that's child's play in the world of bullshit commercials. Whoever the cretin is who produced "Viva Viagra" should be brought before the public and be drawn and quartered. What does Viva Viagra mean? Hurray, I can get it up? Thanks for the erection? Whoopee I've got a woody? I'm fine with selling sex. Everyone does it. Everyone just doesn't sign about it. What ever happened to the ground breaking Bob Dole commercials where we first heard "erectile dysfunction". A nice clinical way of saying "We can revive your mojo, Buddy." But sitting around a campfire and signing Viva Viargra? They're all guys!! Mercy me. Let depart this delicate subject by stealing a line I heard in a movie. If you get an erection lasting longer than four hours, send your doctor a letter of thinks!
On to LA (Lower Alabama). Thanks for reading.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Day 1- Hitting the Road 2009
In 2007 I hit the road for three weeks and covered 6000 miles and fifteen states. I went through the upper Midwest, the great plains, down through
This time it’s south through
My youngest son warned me not to write blogs that make you want to put a gun to your head. Of course you will be the judge of that. I would like to be as funny and contemporary as Lewis Black or George Carlin, but I’m not that smart. Self ridiculing rumor has always worked for me so I think I’ll stick with that.
So I departed for my daughter and son-in-law’s home in
Two hundred yards into the trip I looked at my wrist and noticed it was naked. No problem I forgot to put watches on my Excel spreadsheet list of thing s bring. Very precise, you know. Ok, I walked into the bedroom to retrieve a couple of watches from the monogrammed jewelry valet that the Lovely M gave me (more about her, I’m sure) and what is lying on the bed? Two hanging bags of shirts! But for the forgotten watches I would be buying shirts and a jacket for everyday of the trip. See how much that checklist helped!
On the road to
That brings me to the self-ridiculing humor. It started with a filing lunch and a drive to the mall to walk off some of the fullness. As I turned into the parking lot lane I was surprised to find a non-handicapped space that was right up front. In my seniority (is that the opposite of youth?) I have more and more often copped out for the handicapped spot (later I’ll tell you about the woman who shouted “You don’t look handicapped.”). As I parked I heard a blaring horn and caught a glimpse of some kind of sedan with tinted windows. A big part of my insanity is that I don’t react well to being honked at. All reason immediately departs. So I saw the car pull in and I waited for . . . I’ll call him Squeaky just for yuks. He walked by me and made the mistake of looking at me. Sanity left my body and mind. I uttered those world famous words “What the fuck’s your problem?” Squeaky claimed I sped up and cut in front of him. I didn’t – but that didn’t matter. I have a tremor on my right side that gets worse under stress. He noticed right off. Thus I was adorned with my new nickname “Shaky Old Bitch.” Squeaky loved the term and used it when threatening to kick my ass. He was taken aback when I called him an “ignorant pussy”. And I got up in his face. That gave him pause. We continued to spew invectives through the parking lot up the walk and all the way into the center of the mall. He inquired whether I was 80 years old. Good one. I laughed and got right in his face again. Regrettably Squeaky got an import call on his cell and we stopped. My only regret was that I didn’t punch him in the solar plexus and knock the wind out of him.
I think you know the condition of my health and my age. It is pure insanity to confront 30-year-olds in parking lots. Seems like there is a just a tad of pent up rage looking for release.
On to
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
