2013 – the year i get [the right] shit done

wow, is it That Time of The Year again?  wasn’t it just summer?   wasn’t it just new year’s eve?  what the hell happened to 2012? 

ahhh, dear reader.  every year i like to reflect on the past 365 days (give or take) and kind of check the map to see where i’m going.  personally i wish i was going to saint barths, like jill bumby prophesied, but that’s not going to happen unless santa brings me a winning lottery ticket.  i’m satisfying myself with doing Productive Things around the casa this long weekend. 

so 2012 was one of those freaky generally life changing years but in a really subtle way that doesn’t sink in for a while.  i’m not sure its sunk in yet, to be frank.   i should have probably kept a journal so that i could have a more reliable record other than vague, drugged out memory. [note to self: purchase handsome leather bound journal for 2013]  speaking of which, i read bits of richard burton’s journal and i was comforted to read that even the fabulous are mundane and unconscious at times.  oh thank god, i thought it was just me.

to be honest, i actually got a crap done off the list of Things To Do and Personal Improvement so i can’t (and don’t!) feel bad at all.  but when i was thinking about the highs and lows of this year i was struck by the literalness of it.  the high was climbing mount toubkal (and really the entire trip to spain / morocco). 

cocktails at the alhambra hotel, granada, spain

arriving at la mamounia, marrakech, morocco

 

mounting mount toubkal

 

the low was falling down a flight of stairs and cracking my skull. 

that was, of course, super helpful just in case i was one of these people who didn’t get the idea that every day could be your last.  but i knew that from reading andrew marvell in college (forgive the editing):

But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
. . .
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

believe me, the lesson was knocked firmly into my skull even more solidly than before. 

at any rate it was a big year.  did a lot.  accomplished plenty.  feel [mostly] good about stuff despite the fact that i once again did not learn italian.  i did try to learn french but that was a miserable failure.  the best i can do is sing along to petula clark or jacque dutronc with a heavy faux french accent. 

so yesterday i was inexplicably filled with energy and literally ripped up the entire yard, chopped down a tree, replanted huge swaths of the garden, and then came inside and took everything off the bookshelves and cleaned each shelf.  good god, i have a lot of books.  it looks like the repository of western civilization in here, to steal from Naked Ralph The Sitcom Writer (oh i’ll miss him.  not very much at all.).   nearly every book has a receipt or piece of paper stuck in it, demarcating how far i’d read before i abandoned ship.   this is useful because i can tell, for example, that i’ve been slowly ploughing through The Golden Bough for 21 years, judging from the 1991 newberry library book fair bookmark nestled at page 277. 

to be fair, i did finish numerous books this year.  but not nearly as many as i started but did not finish.  worse than that, this year i bought ulysses, the infinite jest AND remembrance of things past undoubtedly as some kind of a sick challenge.  you know, i didn’t want people whispering at my funeral that i was an english major who never polished off the number one classic on most lists.   how embarrassing.  and how is it that i STILL have never read tolstoy or been to paris? why am i reading crappy books instead of good ones?  why am i wasting my time watching shitty movies instead of good ones?  why eat pf changs when you can have momofuku’s bo ssam pork?  why am i spending time with people doing shit i do not care about when i haven’t seen friends i dearly love in ages?  

dovetailing with all this is the goal  (resolution is a dirty word) to practice danshari: actively look at my life and minimize.  get rid of things i don’t need, don’t want, and that don’t make my life better.  concentrate on those things which are important. 

断捨離 Danshari – “de-clutter.”
The three kanji in this compound mean “refuse – throw away – separate” – a three-step system for de-cluttering one’s life (both physical and mental):
1) refuse to bring unnecessary new possessions into your life;
2) throw away existing clutter in your living space; and
3) separate from a desire for material possessions.

the exact same thing applies to people and activities.  i’m just too fucking busy, to be blunt.  everyone is.  i have too much stuff pulling me in all directions, too many demands for my time, too much on my plate.  i lose things and lose track of people.  everyone does – it’s the nature of modern life.   i tend to overload myself under the carpe diem approach; others just collapse from the weight of life and spend every night on the couch drinking wine.  the problem is the same – our lives are filled with clutter, white noise which doesn’t allow us to differentiate between the important and the insignificant.   i’m sure the resolution is different for everyone, but for me it’s active reprioritization.   making time for things and people i love, and not feeling bad in turning down things i don’t care for.  and not feeling bad or beating myself up when i can’t get to something.

that means cleaning out the tshirt drawer.  giving books i’ve read to friends.  not buying more shoes (… cue quiet sobbing… ).  making time for friends i love (and politely not spending time with people who are negative, energy vampires, or, frankly, just not worth the effort).  saying NO to free things.  buying good records, instead of wanting all records.  making and eating delicious food.  eliminating wasted time, negativity.  bringing in beauty and good.  shanti shanti shanti. 

2013.  the year to get the right shit done. 

 

 

life **** 1/2

Today I felt compelled to write a Yelp review.  Two, actually.  One totally slamming these jackasses for trying to rip me off and having shitty customer service, and the other five star review for the other company which did a great job blah blah blah.  Then I talked to my mom and had to try to explain the concept of Yelp to her.  My mother still lives in simpler times, where if you had a beef with someone, you could do absolutely nothing about it.  You could report them to the Better Business Bureau, I guess, but that’s sort of like asking someone for their myspace account or beeper number. 

Anyway I was thinking about it afterwards and I was like, when did we turn into this culture of people who feel compelled to give their opinion on everything?   Or caring about other people’s opinions?  Yesterday I was reading amazon reviews for a book I was thinking of getting.  I always read the one star reviews to see what kind of crazy vitriol spews out of these disgusted, disappointed, usually self-important people.  For the record, the book was one on pairing food and wine, and this one guy gave them a shitty review because they didn’t feature more wines from New Mexico.  New Mexico?  That’s your big complaint?  Who gives a fuck! 

 I think we need to broaden our base of opinionating and reviewing.  There should be Yelp for everything on earth.  I want to know what you think.  What do you think of the weather?  Traffic on the 405?  How was your mom’s turkey for thanksgiving?   What about the sexual prowess of your lover – five stars or just one?  I WANT TO KNOW. 

 

Molly the Cat **** ½

Frankly, molly would have gotten the full five stars if it wasn’t for an incident this morning.  Usually molly is charming, sweet, full of love and cuteness.  She comes when called, jumps on my lap and meows and is generally absolutely the most wonderful cat on earth.  Sadly, I had to deduct a half point because of an intentional scratching incident.  First, this morning molly just wouldn’t shut the hell up about going outside.  Helloooo, molly.  It’s THURSDAY, not SATURDAY.  It’s not outside day.  I know I spoiled her when I was off work, but for the love of god, kitten, look at the goddamn calendar.  Anyway so then I was trying to be nice and I picked her up and went outside. 

This was a big mistake. 

 Molly immediately got out the sharp needle like claws and started going at me like I was a goddamn tree she was trying to climb.  After nailing me a few times hard, I held her little face in my hands and said BAD KITTEN SCRATCHING MOMMY! BAD! BAD MOLLY BAD!  And with that, we went back inside. 

 

I’m hoping this is a minor incident, and not indicative of a new trend of bad kitten behavior which will require stripping molly of more stars in the future. 

 

 Commute to Work  *

 Have you seen the SNL skit called the Californians?  My commute to work is like an episode of the Californians.  Every day I struggle with which route to take and every day I feel like I’ve made some kind of a laughable mistake, seduced by Satan himself into taking surface streets when there’s a closure, the freeway during a SIG alert.  Commuting to work in Los Angeles is a thankless, sisyphusian task.  Half the time I feel like  my mental abilities for the day are fully exhausted just figuring out whether I should take Santa Monica or Pico or just stay home.  After nearly six years of doing this, I can say definitively that, using an Orwellian phrase, all the routes are bad, but some are worse than others. 

 Generally speaking, in my opinion you’re best off on either Santa Monica or the 10.  There’s no point in going down either Olympic or Pico.  If you’re that far, you might as well take the 10, unless you discovery late in the game that there’s a problem with the 10.  Taking Sunset is sheer insanity.  If you’re already past Pico and you see the 10 is effed, you have no choice but to take Venice.  Side streets are sheer folly at that point. 

 What I really want to know is, when will google maps or the iphone or some smart app related company finally give us a real time best route?  Like, without me having to do anything?  Are you telling me we can put a rover on Mars but the directions on my phone can’t figure out that I’m better off going under the 405 at Ohio than trying to cross at Santa Monica?  I mean, come on people.  What affects my life more day to day, shitty traffic or moon rocks? 

 They’re called priorities, geeks.  Get them. 

 

Bathroom Cleaning Schedule At Office **

 What the hell is UP with this?  Why does that guy always come around when I need to use the bathroom?  Why does he take so goddamn long? And why is the tp always out at the worst moments?  The only reason he gets two stars instead of one is because the poor sap has to clean up after the slobs on our floor. 

 

The Weather Lately **

Ok, again, the ONLY reason the weather is getting two stars instead of one is because it cooled off last night.  But up until 8 pm yesterday, the weather was earning itself a straight up one star kiss my ass.  Did I move to LA or the surface of the fucking sun?  and why is the weather hot when my AC is broken?  All I can say is, I’m totally fine with warm days, but hot nights?  That’s bullshit. 

 

Water *****

 What can I say, I love water.  Quenches the thirst and no calories!  Plentiful and free! 

 

Stupid Bitch At Garden Section of Local Hardware Store  **

 How can you work in the garden section of a store and not know that a MEYER lemon is a type of lemon, and not a lemon owned by some guy named Meyer.  Why do I need to spell FOUR for you?  The only reason you got two stars is because I’ve spent days getting sympathy for having to deal with someone so stupid. 

 

My Childhood ****

I mean, I guess it was pretty good, from what I remember.  Usual bad stuff, nothing too terrible.  Didn’t go hungry or have to work in a sweat shop, so I have to give it four stars.

 

Brain Surgery ***

 I know everyone is shocked that brain surgery is getting three stars.  What’s up with that, brain surgery is better than my commute to work?? 

 

I know, I know.  But here’s the thing, it’s all about expectations.  I only live 11 miles from work.  So that should take me what, 20 minutes?  And yet, it takes me AN HOUR, every day.  Sometimes more!   I didn’t have any positive expectations of brain surgery whatsoever.  I heard everything as bad as “you could die” to “you will be a vegetable” to “shaved head and big scar” to  weird personality changes, pain, and inability to recognize sounds.  No one ever mentions that you get three weeks off of work high as a kite on painkillers!   Not to mention everyone feeling really bad for you, bringing flowers and food and stuff.  Who would know that a brush with death could be so awsum, and reap such great rewards?  I didn’t even have to ask, people just did these totally sweet things!  Another side benefit is that you really get to know who your friends are, so it’s helpful if this happens right before Christmas — I can totally knock a couple people right off the “nice” list. 

Tips for Accident Preparedness

part three in the Dealing with Head Injury series

emergency preparedness

most of us are really ill-prepared for emergencies, disasters and accidents.   non mormons, anyway.  just think to yourself — what if you fell down at home and passed out?  what is a “must” to do if you are going to be hospitalized, or have to leave your house?   you probably have no idea, or think something stupid like “grab family photos”. 

luckily, i have the kind of mind that, when confronted by an emergency, immediately snaps into high gear and a laser sharp focus, even when i am bleeding from the head.   your first and immediate need in the event of an emergency is to assess whether you need help.  if you are even thinking you might need help, you probably do.  if you need help, do you need to call 911, or can you call a friend or relative?  are any of your friends sober enough to drive you to the ER?  think fast and clearly. 

in either case, take a look around your house.  can you unlock the door for the paramedics?  if you pass out again, they’ll have to break it down and that’s a drag.   is there anything laying around which could cause potential embarrassment or arrest?  what will you need for your vacation to the ER?  my short list included cell phone, wallet, and lipstick.   being taken out immobilized on a back board is no excuse for looking grim. 

remember that accident / emergency preparedness is about being prepared before an accident happens.  these are things you really need to think about ahead of time, and make part of your life:

Preparedness “Don’ts”

• DON’T leave things that might be illegal laying around the house where anyone can see them.
• DON’T have potentially embarrassing items* strewn everywhere.  [*the litmus test: "would i be totally ok with my mother seeing this on my coffee table?]
• DON’T run out of clean underwear.
• DON’T leave porn on the computer screen.

Preparedness “Do’s”

• DO secure all your electronic devices with passwords!
• DO keep a master list of your passwords, on a secure app such as mSecure.  Remembering passwords is hard, but try to do it after a brain injury!
• DO erase your browsing history frequently, especially if your caretaker can use a computer and will use yours. 
• DO keep your dirty pictures in a secure folder.
• DO stow away any potentially embarrassing / possibly illegal items, immediately after use.  Put them in the same place every time, so that you don’t have difficulty locating things while all doped up on pain killers. 
• DO have at least one awsum friend who will step up and “take care” of (i.e. “hide”) things for you.
• DO have extra keys so that your awsum friends can feed your cats.

Remember that after a serious injury or accident, your ability to function and memory may be compromised.  the less you have to remember, the better.  the more smoothly things were coordinated before, the less work later.   dealing with stuff like bills, money, insurance, medication, disability forms, etc., is a real headache inducing drag.   if you can, put everything on auto pay now, so that when you’re injured all you do is sit around writing blogs and watching netflix and focusing on your recovery.  

Focus On Recovery

when i had the eye surgery thing last year, a friend of mine gave me some great advice which i can now say i absolutely adopt 100%.  first, get a lot of sleep.  sleep is key.  good REM sleep.  do whatever it takes to get sleep.  he suggested the delta sleep system, which is sort of whale noises you can buy on itunes.  i tried this and it is, in fact, helpful.  second, eat a high nutrient diet full of fresh fruits and vegetables. 

i have a fancy twin gear juicer, but the drag about using it is that it’s slow and a pain in the ass to clean.  then about two months ago, i bought a vitamix.  i am madly in love with my vitamix and would totally appliance marry it if i could.  the biggest difference in juicing with a vitamix vs a juicer is that the vitamix is basically blending the fuck out of whatever you put in, so the end result has pulp in it.  which is better for you, nutrition wise, but can result in a sludge like product versus a juice.   i usually make the garden blend, which tastes like v8 but is totally fresh and awsum.  i did try to make it with kale instead of spinach and the result was totally not awsum at all.  live n learn. 

when i was in pre-op the anesthesiologists predicted a fast recovery, due to my level of fitness and my diet.  i’m not going to beat the drum about that here, other than to generally say that i try to avoid processed foods, prepared foods, and eating out.  i try to eat a LOT of fresh fruits and vegetables, organic unless that’s not possible for some reason.  i generally buy organic, free-range, humanely raised meat and poultry, and hormone and antibiotic free dairy.   i limit the amount of meat i eat.  i try to grow my own fruits and vegetables, and obviously i do not spray.   these are my preferences, for a multitude of reasons.  if you want to eat fast food every day, go right ahead and follow your bliss.  just don’t be surprised when you develop diabetes or heart disease.  since i’ve already seen what that looks like, courtesy of my dad, i’m going to do my level best to avoid that. 

i have to give a lot of credit to the paramedics and medical team at cedars, including the neurosurgeons.  obviously being whisked to the ER and then into surgery within a few hours made a huge difference. 

the rest is having great friends and a positive attitude.  my absolutely awsum friends rallied around me asap.  they texted, emailed and called asking how i was.  they offered to help, care for me, visit.  they ran errands, bought kitty litter, fed the cats, delivered stuff to the hospital, visited me, drove me around, brought food, ordered food, cooked, visited me, send flowers, brought magazines, sent gifts and cards.  it’s just overwhelmingly sweet!   you know who you are, people, and your kind words and actions made a HUGE DIFFERENCE!  you rock!  thank you so very much! 

believe it or not, it does not take much in a situation like this.  when you hear someone is going through something, just shoot them a text or email.  you don’t actually need to do anything, most of the time.  i did need some help and i’m super grateful for that, but i certainly didn’t expect people to haul their asses to my house and clean my toilets.   my awsum mom did that, in between hemming a bunch of drapes, making pillows, cushions, and reorganizing the kitchen.  my mom is a whirlwind of activity. 

the other key thing IMHBCO is keeping a positive attitude.  sure, cracking my head open sucked.  sure, there’s pain and for the time being limitations.  i’m very lucky the limits don’t appear to be permanent, but even if they were, the bottom line is, life is made up of great things and shitty things.  you can either look at your situation and feel sorry for yourself and moan about how much it sucks, or you can just say this is really not so bad.   i mean — look at stephen hawking.  the guy is paralyzed, and yet look how much he accomplishes every day.   do you think he wakes up and silently weeps for an hour?  i’m thinking he doesn’t.   and i’m not going to, either.  i’m going to look around and go, wow, this is actually a good situation, all things considered.  i got to spend some time with my mom, rest, relax, hang out with my friends, think about things i never have time for, usually.   yesterday i watched battleship potemkin, which had been in my netflix queue forever.  great movie.  and at least i didn’t fall down the odessa steps! 

 

MANY THANKS to all my great friends!  give yourselves a high five and a pat on the back. 

onward and upward!

so dear friends and readers, i continue with my journey towards recuperation and recovery. 

today started out with a visit to the UCLA jules stein eye center, to see if whacking my head on some stairs caused any problems with my retinal tear.  parenthetically, there are two eye centers at UCLA, the doris and the jules stein.  doris and jules were married to each other, and yet they donated money separately to have their own eye centers.  i think this is super weird and is sort of the eye center equivalent of the petries having separate beds and people who take separate vacations. 

anyway mama drove.   drove should be in quotes.   after this  trip i can safely say that i am at far greater risk of being killed in a car accident with her at the wheel than suffering any serious repercussions from last week’s tumble. 

mama is one of these drivers that constantly makes you tense.  the herky jerky hitting the brakes.  driving too close to one side or another.  going to slow and then stopping within two inches of the car in front.  complete confusion with signs.  easily flustered.  easily confused.  easily freaked out.  tends to go the wrong way down a one way. 

she also hates it when i’m not paying attention to her driving and am texting instead.  so in this regard we are reduced to every teenager and her mother, except that i am texting not out of petulant rebellion, but because i fear for my life and i want my last words to be preserved by my friends (“she was so witty!  you know, right before her mom drove into the back of that truck, she sent me the funniest text!”). 

anyway the appointment went well.  i wore a cute mini skirt and a matching hermes scarf in my favorite pattern, the same one favored by jackie o, although frankly i looked less like jackie than an orthodox jewish mom going shopping at the grove. 

anyway the visit went as usual.  they dilated and then poked my eyes and said things about how interesting something was.  the best best advise i got was to take as many pain killers as i needed to stave off the pain.  i had been feeling like i needed to be judicious because everyone always makes you sound like a drug seeking junkie when you ask for vicodin or whatever.  but, as my doc pointed out, i just had brain surgery.   can this shit get any more real than brain surgery?  is someone going to stand up and say, no you aren’t really in pain?  you’re not anxious or whatever?  what kind of a callous fuck are you, anyway?  

so speaking of which, on my return home i decided that i really ought to bone up on the potential sequelae of craniotomies and left temporal lobe injuries, just so that i knew what to be on the lookout for.  

according to wikipedia, the temporal lobes are involved in auditory perception, and visual and auditory semantics.  in other words, perceiving and understanding what we see and hear.  the left temporal lobe specifically is not limited to low-level perception but extend to comprehension, naming, verbal memory, and other language functions.  admittedly my entire understanding of this field of neurology is based that great book “the man who mistook his wife for a hat”, so i’m totally spitballing here.  i’m going to guess that what we’re dealing with here is the ability of the brain to process audio and visual information and then to tell you what it is.  so, hearing a phone ring and understanding it’s a phone ringing.  so far so good – the phone has rung, and i understood it was the phone.  i am having some difficulty hearing, but i’m pretty sure that’s the blood in my ear.  i don’t think i’m having any difficulty with comprehension, naming, or verbal memory (word finding), but if i’m going to leave that to my friends to tell me if i am.  maybe i’m deluding myself.  maybe this entire blog sounds as incomprehensible and blathering as a sarah palin speech. 

then i read this site, which was super interesting as it listed off the most common problems with left temporal injuries: 

1) disturbance of auditory sensation and perception so far i don’t think i’m hearing things but like i said, i wouldn’t mind this happening as long as it sounded like ty segall or something.

2) disturbance of selective attention of auditory and visual input admittedly, i don’t know what this really means.  does it have to do with selectively pretending like i can’t hear my mom?  guilty as charged.

3) disorders of visual perception apparently the floating paramecium really are in my eyeball, so i’m clear on this one. 

4) impaired organization and categorization of verbal material again, i don’t know what this means exactly but it says something about putting things into categories.  i was really working on being non-judgmental and not putting things into categories but i guess i’m supposed to categorize.  ok, things are either stupid, or not stupid.  how’s that.  like today i watched NBC’s coverage of the olympics and there was this clip on lolo jones, and i said, what the eff is the point of this?  who cares? why are they showing this, this is stupid.  

5) disturbance of language comprehension  i really did not understand what the point of the lolo jones story was, or why i should give a flying eff that she’s a 30 year old virgin.  i actually thought that was craycray.  

6) impaired long-term memory only time will tell, right?

7) altered personality and affective behavior  LET ME KNOW IF I START TO ACT “NICE”. 

8) altered sexual behavior now, i was really really curious about this one.  what do they mean by altered?  do they mean that i’ll suddenly find myself attracted to women?  what’s the deal?  as it turns out, “[s]evere damage to the temporal lobes can also alter sexual behavior (e.g. increase in activity) (Blumer and Walker, 1975).”  oh my!  i’m not a slut, i have temporal lobe damage!!   guys, now that i’ve put this information out there, i think the hottest spot in town will be the cedars sinai neurology ward.  trashy girls with no long term memory.  

 

insofar as my actual recovery goes, today was one of those painful days.  it’s to be expected and you just need to ride it out and keep a positive attitude.  there will be days when your energy is high, others low.  some days you won’t hurt, others it’ll be bad.  just concentrate on the positive, do things to promote your own good health and be satisfied with that.   i spend the day sleeping in back, which was actually quite nice.  

 

Tips for Dealing With Closed Head Injuries

Dearest reader,

As some of you may know, your beloved author suffered a horrible and potentially fatal head injury, just three days ago  Most mere mortals would still be in the intensive care ward hooked up to a saline IV being tube fed solylent green.  But not me!  Hells no!  All the thrill of having a fractured skull was exhausted when the last hit of morphine dissipated. 

 

Anyway, people, to start at the beginning, Friday last I took a tumble down my own front stairs.  The irony was that I was wearing flat sandals and actually paying attention to where I was stepping.  How many times have I stomped out of here in seven inch Lanvin wooden heels, or six inch YSL sandals, with no problem at all?  I even managed to negotiate the stairs in those Philip Lim wooden clod hoppers in which I twisted my ankle six times in one day. 

In retrospect,  I should have known these sandals were diabolical, as I had previously fallen down a circular staircase in fez wearing them.    Luckily on that occasion I managed to grab a rail to avoid taking a header. 

This time I was not so lucky.  My right foot slipped forward, and my head fell backwards, hitting the stairs hard.  I bounced on my ass down the remaining steps and collapsed unconscious in a heap on the landing.

 

 

When I came too, ten minutes later, I remember looking up at concrete and asking myself where I was and what happened.  It all came back to me when I saw my purse and lunch laying on the stairs. 
A lot of people find it amazing that I got up and walked back up the stairs into my house.  I don’t find this amazing at all.  First of all, I didn’t think I was really hurt.  Seemed like a flesh wound, a glancing blow.  Like I just needed a 15 minute nap to get over it.  Second,  it didn’t seem like I had a hella choice, at that point.  What was I supposed to do, sit on the landing with my thumb in my mouth and wait for someone to find me?

And speaking of having my thumb in my mouth, just to get ahead of myself a little, one of the horrible side effects of the craniotomy is that you basically can’t open your jaw, not even wide enough to get a fork in, much less a thumb or anything else.  No one warns you before you agree to surgery that this is going to happen, and let me tell you, if they had, I’d have had some serious misgivings.  I’ve spent three days doing mouth stretching exercises just to get a tolerable range of motion.  It’ll take me weeks to get back to normal!

Anyway so after I woke up I dragged myself up to the house figuring I just needed a short nap and I’d be fine.  Then I felt the massive contusion on my head and realized I really was injured.  Then I tried to walk to the fridge to get an ice pack and the journey felt like I’d downed a bottle of jack for breakfast, which sounds like a good thing, but in this case was not.

Fortunately, I have a wise and caring friend who ordered me to call 911,  which I did because I recognize that my friend is, in fact, wise and caring.  Would that we all had such a friend, we would all be better off.
The paramedics came in less than five minutes one of them vaulting the wall by the gate to appear at my bedroom door to save me.  After a few minutes, my bedroom was full of strapping paramedics eager to do whatever they could to rescue this damsel in distress.  After asking me a bunch of questions they strapped my head into a cervical collar and the tied me down to a spine immobilized.  Sadly, just when it seemed like things were looking up, they loaded me into the truck and took me to the emergency room.  The last thing Before they shut the door was a nightmarish scenario as a bunch of people were standing around the street asking what happened to me, but I couldn’t see who they were, nor could I respond.
The ride down the hill was, frankly, sheer hell.  For reasons I didn’t understand at the time, my left ear and jaw were screaming in pain.  I hope the paramedic was not a religious man, because he heard some really sacrilegious foul language on that ride.  As I learned later, the pain was being caused by a blood seeping from a hematoma through a skull fracture, down into my ear canal. 

I wasn’t really sure what to expect at the hospital.  Maybe an elbow fracture, or something like that.  Nothing super serious.  Imagine my chagrin when the doctor told me the ct scan showed I had bleeding in my skull, and the neurosurgeon came in with a very sad looking face to describe what a craniotomy entailed.  And believe me, he really glossed over the details.  He didn’t even mention the huge disgusting scar, the lock jaw, and the quandary of having half your hair shaved off.  Not to mention the fact that craniotomies are you know sometimes fatal. 

 

 

 

I’d had enough brain injury cases to know that not treating a hematoma is never a good thing, so there was never a question as to whether I was going to go through with it.  Besides, anyone remember Natasha Richardson?  She died of an untreated hematoma. 

There’s really not much to say about the actual procedure.  You go under general anesthesia, then you wake up a couple hours later with a big bandage on your head.  You’re woozy.  You’re hooked up to an IV.  You’re not really feeling any pain.. Or really anything.    You just look forward to the hits of dilaudid and later morphine.  You’re uncomfortable.    You get some morphine and you feel better, all wrapped up on numbness and that floaty care free sensation.  The downside is that if someone comes to talk to you, you catch maybe 25% of what they’re saying, no matter how hard you try to pay attention.  I suppose it’s poor etiquette to get a hit of morphine when you have visitors, for that reason. 

According to the nurses in the ward I inhabited, the usual recovery process is slow and arduous.  Most people don’t get up out of bed for days and days.  Some don’t try to walk until a week later.  Some can’t eat food for a week.  Then there’s the risk of cognitive impairment and neurological deficits.  For some reason, I was very very lucky.  I wanted to walk around the following morning, and went short distances that day.  At first you’re dizzy and your sense of equilibrium is not good, but that improves.  Right now I’m still a little tentative, but that may be because my mother hovers over me cautioning me to BE CAREFUL.  Right now my problems are pretty limited – my head hurts.  My entire head.  I have head aches, and my jaw feels like I was in a dentist chair for 8 hours a day for a week.  It’s sore and painful.  When I bent over, the pressure fills my brain and it feels like the side of my skull is going to pop off.  But the worst is my ear, which apparently filled with blood internally.  It feels stuffed with liquid, which gurgles and bubbles, beeps and squeaks.  It’s like there are alien spiders trapped in my ear waiting to burst out. 

 

 

I ate solid food around lunchtime on Saturday.  It was disgusting.  How can anyone screw up a scrambled egg?  They didn’t even taste like eggs, they tasted like yellow curds of unknown origin.  I picked up the pieces and squeezed them into my mouth.  They also didn’t mention that post op I would not be able to open my mouth, not even to get a spoon in.  This is a real drag. 

By saturday night I was bored out of my mind and wanted out of dodge.  I’d already talked the ears off of every nurse, assistant, and janitor on the floor.  I didn’t have my iPod and the lack of music and easy internet access was making me really edgy.  My bosses did stop by and dropped off a bunch of music magazines, so I was able to catch up on info from the world of popular culture. 

You know, when they were putting me under, the anesthesiologists were asking me some basic questions like height and weight, level of physical activity, and the anesthesiologist said “you’re in really good shape” (they may have lifted my gown to look at my legs) and I said, yeah, I run and/or exercise daily, and try to eat healthy.  And he said, that’s really going to help you in your recovery.  At the time I didn’t put too much stock in it, but in retrospect, this is apparently true.  I bounced back much much quicker than normal.  Not that I’m without pain, but I’m able to walk, balance, function with a certain degree of self sufficiency within just a few days.    They said a large number of closed head injury patients get depressed — I’ll bet.  Your level of functioning and self sufficiency is reduced dramatically, to about the level of a three year old.  You can’t cook for yourself, going to the bathroom is an ordeal, some people can’t walk more than 10-15 feet.    Who wants to live like that?  That’s depressing.

 

Anyway, I can’t exercise for two weeks, minimum.  BUT, what I am doing is sticking to a very high nutrition diet high in fruits, vegetables, and low fat protein and carbs.  The shit they feed you at the hospital is crap.  They actually gave me one of those awful blueberry muffins that you get at 7-11 all sticky sweet and decidedly un-blueberry like. 

So far I can’t discern any personality changes or cognitive impairments although I’m keeping a close eye.  When I asked the doctor if he was going to test me for neurological problems he laughed and said there was “no way” I had any.  Oh really?  How can he be so sure?  What if I was part of the jpl curiosity rover team but now I couldn’t remember where I put my keys to the rover?  I think that would be a big deal. 
Something like 50% of people suffer some kind of psychiatric disturbance  following a traumatic brain injury and I’m really curious what mine will be.  I’m hoping for something entertaining, like visions or hearing voices.  It would be best if the voices were actually a talented band, as I’m terrifically bored and I don’t think I’ll be getting out much. 

 

Finally my mom has come to care for me until I’m all better.  This is truly her greatest wish – her self sufficient daughter being reduced to a drooling invalid.  This way she can rearrange my cabinets and all I can do is slur thanks and acquiescence.    She’s also become highly protective of me, as if my falling down the stairs is an indication of greater recklessness and incompetence with basic life skills.  I really don’t need to be told how to walk or to hold the hand rail when I go up stairs.  And this kind of thing from someone who can’t back into a parking spot is just richly ironic.  I mean, what does it say that a 45 year old who just had brain surgery can park better than you?  It means you need to reappraise the legitimacy of your position,  that’s what. 

 

My mom has been very very helpful and obviously right now I need her help.  I can’t drive (supposedly).  I can’t lift more than 10 lbs.  I can’t bend over all the way (puts pressure on the surgical area).  So I can’t do something as basic as buy kitty litter and clean out the litter box.  Which is great, because I hated doing that. 

I will say that the outpouring of kind thoughts, support, love, has truly been overwhelming.  My house is filled with beautiful bouquets of flowers, and wonderful friends have been coming by with food.  Earlier this year, after the debacle with a deadbeat staying in the guest house, I had kind of given up on karma.  I mean, I did a nice thing and I got screwed, so what was the point.  But I suppose the lesson is to look at things in the more global sense.  One of my personal credos is that if you can help someone, you ought to, whether it’s an old lady cross the street, or a friend with a problem.  Not in a phony way, and not to the level where you’re a sucker and a chump, but just in general, spread some kindness.  I’m pretty sure I read this in a dalai lama book years ago.  And you know — it will come back to you, one way or another.   

 

A lot of you have asked what you can do.  This is really so very super sweet, it warms the cockles of my heart.   I’m trying to listen to music, watch movies, and of course, the most critical thing is figuring out what to do with my hair.   Should I rock the one sided shave, ala the Coathangers?  Go totally short, like mia farrow?  Or, as my neurosurgeon recommended, a combover? 

 

Use your voting buttons now!!

 

WARNING:  GRAPHIC PHOTO BELOW

 

 

we should be on by now

time.

does anyone remember the good old days when our lives and by that i don’t really mean our lives, i mean the lives of our grandparents and depending on your age your parents, were filled with day to day drudgery like cooking, cleaning, and mowing the lawn?   gawd, how did they survive?  how did they manage to live without time saving appliances and devices, without cleaning ladies, gardeners, take out and frozen dinners?  they must have collapsed at 8 pm from exhaustion.  where did they find the time to do what they did, when we can barely do what we need to do much less anything else?

i was reading this awsum cookbook the other day (because it is true, i read cookbooks to relax) by arabella boxer, about english cooking between the two world wars.  fascinating book.  boxer was born in scotland, in a wealthy home, and describes the social life of those times and that class, as well as the food eaten.  the multitude of servants, many of whose basic jobs were to just keep the homes functioning.  stoves which ran on wood or coal needed to be cleaned daily.  gas lights as well.  obviously before cars horses needed to be fed and cared for as well.  the wealthy had servants, and those who weren’t wealthy did it themselves. all the time that went into just keeping life moving forward!  but with the advent of gas or electric cooking, electricity, cars, appliances, all this became a thing of the past, leaving the modern generation with boundless time to pursue other, more important activities.  

like sitting on our asses and watching tv, playing video games, reading facebook status updates or texting our friends. 

yesterday there was an article in the new york times about how americans are losing the ability to do “skilled” work around the house, like installing windows or basic carpentry.   this comes as no surprise to me, and i actually think the situation is far more dire than suggested in the article.  in a matter of a couple generations we went from a nation of people who were able to run and maintain their own households to one where even the most basic necessities, like cooking or fixing a broken window, are outsourced.   there are actually men who do not know the difference between a philips head and a flat head screw driver.  true story!  i’m pretty sure that within 10 years the only tools most people will have will be the ones that come in ikea boxes. 

theoretically delegating all the drudgery would leave us with tons of free time, because the idea behind not cooking, for example, is that cooking is too time consuming and we’re saving time by ordering or getting take out.  or that we gain leisure time by hiring someone to mow our lawn instead of doing it ourselves.  or that our time is better spent doing things other than fixing a sink or painting a door frame.

so how are we spending all this free time?  are we reading more?  are we enjoying the great outdoors?  maybe we’ve gotten some great new hobby which is super time consuming, like building model airplanes.  perhaps we’re going out more, seeing friends, going to exciting places to experience life to the fullest. 

apparently not.  apparently most americans spend half their non-working “leisure” time watching tv.  in fact, most people spend virtually no time preparing food (27 minutes a day), which suggests that unless you’re poor, (or you really know what you’re doing) you’re probably not cooking a meal from scratch at home on a daily basis. 

no surprise there, if you think about it.  people are choosing more and more to live vicariously through tv.  instead of cooking, they watch cooking shows.  instead of experiencing life, they watch reality tv.  instead of getting exercise, they watch sports on tv and will soon be absorbed in watching the olympics.  

actually doing anything productive or useful, which can’t be outsourced, has become fetishized.  for most people, basic things like cooking or gardening are poorly mastered mystical skills pulled out for special occasions or as rare treats. then there are the diy hipsters, who get into things like making their own kombucha and sausage.  there are actually at least 10 different types of foodies, but i’m only talking about the DIYers and the made it yourselfers here.

personally, i think we are quickly becoming a national of people who have no skills other than those required for our jobs, presuming we still have jobs.  in my grandmother’s generation people knew how to hunt, fish, farm, distill liquor, preserve food, sew, cook, clean, do basic construction, and fix practically anything.  my grandmother was actually trained as a nurse, and my grandfather was a bookkeeper.  my mom, who was a full time microbiologist, still managed to cook every day*, garden in the summer, sew, play racquetball and tennis, and have a spotless, well organized house every single day. 

*my mom was not the greatest cook when i was younger, but she did manage to hold down the fort for several years before i learned how to cook.  no one starved and we never ate out. 

in my generation, i know of many many people who essentially “don’t cook”.  baking a cake from scratch, or making bread, would be a very big deal.  putting food up, which is really pretty basic, is inconceivable.  fixing electrical wiring, plumbing, or carpentry are considered jobs for specialized laborers.  i will bet you that many of the people reading this blog do not know how to pop the hood of their car, and if they did, they wouldn’t know where to find, say, the battery.

so what does it all mean and where am i going with this? 

we’ve bought into the myth of leisure time by losing sight of the big picture, which is to lead healthy, balanced lives.  we’ve bought into the myth that the opposite of “work” is “sitting on the couch watching tv”, and that a pre-requisite to relaxing is doing absolutely nothing productive or beneficial at all.  somehow most of us believe that knowing how to do, or actually doing, things like basic car maintenance or home repair, is beneath us or, paradoxically, fantastically complicated.  this mind set is turning us into a nation of unhealthy, fat, unproductive slobs who will soon lose the ability to change a roll of toilet paper.  ironically, a similar threat was perceived at the end of the 19th century, which lead to the craftman movement and groups like the roycrofters — anti industrial revolution reactionaries.  now, instead of elbert hubbard we have darina allen, author of “forgotten skills of cookery” (a great book, btw). 

aaannnyway, without being too pedantic, i have a modest proposal. 

tonight, during your long commute, give some thought to how you really want to spend the last four or five waking hours of the day, and the best way to strike some balance into your life.   do you really want to eat a lousy, unhealthy dinner?  do you really want to veg out and watch tv?  when was the last time you exercised?  maybe you could read a book, go for a walk, watch a movie, make something healthy to eat.  hell, you could probably do all of that, in one night.  

just a thought. 

 

recipe o the day

so for a couple weeks i really got into this spicy peanut sauce.  it’s good for the summer, because you can effectively dress up a bunch of different things with the same sauce.  the sauce takes maybe 5 minutes to make, which means you can pull together an entire dinner in something like 15 minutes — less time than it takes to order.

the taste is like the dipping sauce for sate.  other than using it for sate, my other favorite thing to do is to make a cold noodle salad, mix in the sauce (made a little looser with water), and add a variety of veggies, depending on what you can easily get / have.  i like shredded napa cabbage, red pepper, cucumbers, and cilantro.  you could also add eggplant (boiled!  try it, its not gross and oily like fried eggplant), zucchini, green peppers.  if you want protein you can add cooked chicken, shrimp, or tofu.  for the record, i am not a fan of tofu. 

spicy peanut sauce

smooth peanut butter

vinegar (i prefer rice wine vinegar)

lime juice

sesame oil

green onion, chopped

tiny bit of ginger, minced

red pepper flakes (to taste)

sirachi (to taste)

brown sugar or molasses

thai fish sauce (seriously.  makes all the difference)

soy sauce

mix everything together.  add vinegar to make sharper, sugar to sweeten.  once you get the taste you want, you can add water to make it looser, for cold noodle salad.  if you are using it for that, run the noodles under cold water and add them to the sauce and mix thoroughly before adding the other ingredients.

i use either chow mein, soba, or udon for cold noodle salad, and add chopped peanuts, cilantro, shredded napa cabbage, finely sliced red peppers and cucumbers.  without shrimp or chicken, this is perfect for picnics.  if you add meat, make sure it stays cold.     

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROmdX7hXDdE

 

 

 

 

 

 

travelogue

there are different kinds of travel. travel for business, for the holidays. travel to see and experience something new, knock something off the proverbial bucket list. travel to take a break from stress. travel to recenter yourself and take stock of life. and sometimes we just need to get the fuck out of dodge and all of its hassles and problems.

i like to travel, though i don’t get to do much of that big vacation thing too often. most of the time i can tear myself away for four or five days, which is never enough time to do any real thinking. just enough of a break to make you wish it was longer. the last big one, before this one, was some seven years ago, when i was between jobs. i took a month off and then went to prague and poland for two weeks on my own. traveling on your own gives you plenty of time to think about where you are, where you were, and where you want to go from here. not just in the physical sense, but also in greater life sense. god knows you have plenty of time to think, which, if you ask me, is never a bad thing.

i didn’t come back from prague with any kind of epiphany or life-changing plan. that was more one of those trips where i really needed to draw a line between past and future and turn the page in grand fashion. sometimes, though, it becomes apparent when you get away from your life that something is dramatically wrong with things. that drastic change is needed, of some sort. i remember one trip, years ago, where i was astonished that i didn’t miss someone, or think of them at all, other than in passing or when talking about them. and even then i didn’t think about them, if you know what i mean. which surprised and somewhat horrified me, at the time. this obviously had greater implications down the road.

and then there are the trips that remind you of what you do miss, of what is right and good in life, and the things (and people!) which are important, which enrich your life in innumerable ways.

goats heads, for soup

more !

a guide to the blues

it occurred to me, about five seconds after i wrote that, that everyone is going to think that this is a post about the musical genre. which i actually really like and listen to, but i truly don’t feel qualified to write a blog about robert johnson or blind willie mctell or whoever. i will note, anecdotally and strictly by way of information, that i’ve always wanted to do one of those whitey goes to the delta road trips. you know, where you stop off at the cross roads where robert johnson sold his soul, and the old stomping grounds (before he moved to chicago) of (howlin’ wolf / bb king / bo diddley / robert lockwood jr / buddy guy / _________).

anyway so this is not about the influence (for lack of a better term) of blues artists on the stones or zeppelin. it’s about the blues, man. and if you don’t know what i’m talking about, then read no further.

there are apparently people who float through life seemingly unafflicted by the slightest bout of the blues, or its cousin, the mean reds. i do not envy them. if they don’t know what it means to feel the blues, they must live in a world without any deep feeling – neither profound joy, passion, or sadness. which is a little like living in a world without color or contrast. like being able to listen to music without being moved to tears, or totally uplifted. that’s a good thing? i don’t think so.

but anyway, when you’re in the throes of the blues or mean reds, you’re not thinking of how lucky you are to be able to feel such profoundly deep and awful feelings. when i was younger (because i’m infinitely more jaded now) i used to read french symbolist poets and walk around in the rain without an umbrella so that my tears would mix with the rain, falling, falling, falling. later i got into rilke and red wine, and smoking on the porch and congratulating myself on my kinship with All Great Artists.

nowadays, by contrast, i’m perfectly happy wallowing for a few hours and then after that, i really need to snap out of it. and being a predictable sort of person i’ve noticed that the same stuff makes me happ[ier] time and time again. hence, the Guide To The Blues.

first of all, i don’t know about you, but i loathe a filthy and disheveled home. i spent years being a terrible secret slob but a few years ago i got goddamn tired of thinking i lost something only to find it a year later in the back of the closet or having the power turned off because the bill was in a box or having things fall out of the pantry and hit me on the head. how did i change? in short, i have turned into my mother. except sans polish accent and neurosis (she said hopefully). i just put shit away now. like, right away. i can’t tell you the profound difference this has made in my life. it’s like i discovered fucking oxygen or something. i have all this extra time and i never look around all squashed under the weight of a thousand tee shirts and kitty litter.

so if right now you’re sitting there, in your apartment of disorganized filth, feeling depressed, i say to you: stuff all that shit in a closet for now and deal with it later. clear the room. you need tabula rasa.

after that, i like to light up some stinky candles to set the mood. then i throw on some music. now, the soundtrack to the blues really depends on where you want to go with this. do you want to wallow for a bit? have a good cry? you will be wanting the cure or joy division, or maybe one of those hey! won’t you play! another, somebody done somebody wrong songs (except not that one). i used to do that a lot but that was when i was heavily into rimbaud and clove cigarettes. the smoke. drifting drifting drifting. now i prefer to put on something like chet baker, or sigur ros, or maybe django reinhart. not really happy, not too sad. i really don’t want to hear any songs about women sitting around drinking black coffee waiting for their man to come home. jesus christ, slit my wrists already.

whatever you do, do NOT watch a depressing movie. you know what happened to ian curtis, right? no stroszek. no dekalog. that shit will fuck you UP.

next, you need to crack open a good bottle of wine (i myself am enjoying a bottle of errr… it’s white. yummy.) and make yourself dinner. seriously, can you really be sad after eating the most delicious meal of your life? hello no! and so here is the most delicious meal i’ve ever made, tonight.

crustacean garlic noodles with crab

so there’s this restaurant in beverly hills, called crustacean. they have this secret kitchen bullshit there which is supposedly where they make all these top secret vietnamese recipes. whatever. i’ve eaten there a few times and it really is great, but fucking spendy as all hell. and nothing will make you more depressed than blowing money [i presume you don't have, because why would you be depressed if you were loaded, go take a fucking trip, asshole] on a meal you can cook yourself.

for 2, you will need….. (everything is a guestimate, i never measure)
crab. i got a long legged thing that gave me about 2 cups of succulent meat.
chow mein noodles (the kind you boil, not the crunchy topping kind)
2 big cloves garlic, chopped coarsely
1/2 tsp granulated garlic
1 spring garlic (save the green part for garnish. it’s yummy.)
oyster sauce (about a tablespoon)
fish sauce (maybe a 1/3 cup)
vegeta, or chicken bouillon* (*vegeta is a powdered chicken bouillon used in eastern european cookery. i used about a 1/2 teaspoon of it.)
generous but not overwhelming grating of parmesan

slice up the white part of the spring garlic. if it’s not spring, just use garlic, but use A LOT (6 cloves, i’d say). use half in this, the other half with the asparagus. saute in garlic oil with the over very low heat until mushy. meanwhile, back at the ranch, boil up your noodles. chinese noodles can be drained when done – they hold up well. when your garlic gets to mushy, add in the remaining ingredients (including the crab) and stir up. you may need to add a little water to loosen it up. don’t add salt, the vegeta has salt as do the oyster and fish sauces. add the mostly cooked noodles and enough water so that the noodles boil in what’s left of the water, to absorb the unctuous flavor. after a few minutes, put on the plate and top with a few slivers of the green part of the garlic.

asparagus with spring garlic
put asparagus broken up into segments (randomly, as i did) and sliced white part of spring garlic, in frying pan with olive oil, over medium heat. cover. spend too much time picking crab out of shells and burn dish. oh my god, it’s delicious!

oh my god, i love me.

trust me. after this, whatever mood you were in will be elevated about three notches. and i suggest passion fruit gelato for desert.

you’re welcome.

and if you like zeppelin, you need to listen to sonny boy — although this isn’t the best version of this.

out of the past, into the future

did you ever have a dream where you were in your house, except it wasn’t your house? maybe it was your house, but it wasn’t really you at all, maybe you were there looking at someone who was you (but not) living your life (which isn’t really your life)? in dreams everything is real yet unreal, familiar and unknown. but really isn’t that the definition of dreams? we never have dreams where we do laundry or go to the grocery store or pump gas or watch tv. i don’t, anyway. i have dreams where i’m in my old house and we leave to go to an amusement park where the rides are deadly, or snakes go down the street like upright S’s, or i’m endlessly renovating a house in chicago which is easily big enough for ten people. i have dreams where fred flintstone is possessed of the devil and wants to go to hell. i’m sure that has some kind of secret meaning but i have never figured it out.
so it goes.

and so this weekend i read a book, in one day. i don’t remember the last time i did that, just consumed 500 pages of text the way i’d eat an entire bag of pita chips or, when my salt craving is out of control, a bag of stouffer stove top stuffing dry. even the book salt was a torturous slog. maybe the last time i read one so voraciously was shadow of the wind, which is sort of a gothy fairy tale about a boy who reads a book which is really about his own life or a remarkable parallel to his life — but i don’t want to spoil it for you. read it, it’s quite beautiful.

so there i was reading this book simultaneously enthralled, confused and maybe even upset me at times. i laughed, i cried, i made it part of my life. like i was little daniel sempere reading about his own life, or a life so closely paralleling his that the similarities were unmistakable but with the names changed to protect the innocent. i suppose that, if you lived in the same city as i in the same time frame of the book, and you were of a certain crowd, it would probably have that same echo of deja vous. maybe, maybe not. did you live in lincoln square? maybe river north? perhaps you went to a show at the aragon ballroom — thousands did. i had a friend who worked at the newberry library, and another who lived in south haven, michigan. i probably know you. maybe i ran into you somewhere, sometime.

these places, you know, are not the central feature of the book although they do give it a sense of reality. an eerie sense of reality, if you ever had coffee at the caffe pergolosi (misnamed cafe pergolisi in the book) on halsted, or went to berlin around your 21st birthday. a bizarre confluence of fiction and reality, if your el stop was western, right next to opart thai. for more reasons than one, i could have been the one walking through the book, apparently unaware that my life was being hijacked into a novel.

anyway i don’t want to give too much away, dontcha know, or even tell you what book it was. first of all, it would potentially ruin the book if you haven’t read it, and second i don’t know what i can say about it that isn’t said there. and of course it’s not really my story although it sure as fuck seemed like it at times although mine i hope has a better ending.. . .

caffe pergolesi i don’t think it’s around anymore. it was next door to the 99th floor on halsted, across from the chicago diner. yellow facade. it was a narrow little cafe with tall ceilings and one of those espresso makers that looked like a rube goldberg machine. i first went here when i was in high school, with my cousin peter. it was the kind of place that had chess sets and anarchist books and little tiny tables and artwork on the wall. in the days when you would smoke and drink coffee this was where we would smoke and drink coffee. i liked boystown better when there were places like this and not every place was an antiseptic starbucks or clean little boutique filled with vases and cheese sets made of precious wood.

berlin i never went to berlin on ladies night. i didn’t even know it had one, but it stands to reason that it would. i went to berlin exactly once, to my recollection, on my 21st birthday. unfortunately, my birthday is halloween, so everyone and their brother was out and berlin was packed. i never even got my free drink.

berlin on belmont

the newberry library i knew a couple people who worked here, actually. one of whom was my best friend and a bookmaker. she would go on and on about how paper is made and different types of book bindings and how books are archived and the various crazy collections of ephemera at the newberry which needed to be catalogued by their diligent staff of book and paper obsessed librarians.

newberry library

ravenswood and lincoln square so way back when my head was full of crazy ideas the craziest one was that i wanted a house in ravenswood manor which abutted the chicago river. i actually picked out the house, and was biding my time waiting for its owner to haul off to a better location, like florida. it was on the west bank of the river, on the north side of the street, on one of the streets between wilson and montrose. a large shingled craftsman, with a garden that went all the way down to the river bank. the north branch, in that area, is a well kept secret. unlike the la river which is nothing but concrete or the parts of the river downtown, locked in by walls, the river here is au natural. no walls to contain it, no locks, just a river. some people had little piers and row boats, which i found oddly provocative. most just let the bank grow wild with shrubs. i discovered that when i was living in a three bedroom apartment on the top floor of a three flat on campbell. it was a massive drafty apartment full of sun. before that i lived in lincoln square on wilson and lincoln. at both places my el stop was western.

the river at ravenswood manor

the ravenswood el
anyone who has lived in chicago knows the joys of riding the el, but of all of them, the ravenswood was my favorite. it slowly wound its way downtown, staring into the back porches of two and three flats on the north side along the way. i’ve had dreams about the el, and one specifically about the sedgwick stop. that was another one of those dreams where the sedgwick stop wasn’t really the sedgwick stop because the view was all wrong. but that’s how dreams are. i’m pretty sure the cars no longer have those crazy windows that crank open. i used to like those but there were those days in the summer when the air was so heavy and still it didn’t matter if the window was open or not the car was as hot as hades.
so it goes.

the ravenswood

the aragon ballroom not in a million years would i have gone to see the violent femmes at the aragon ballroom. i am, in fact, shocked that they played there. my first show at the aragon was the cure on october 18, 1985. a short time earlier, in a fit of disgust at having to go to school in the middle of a cornfield, i cut my hair into a severe bob and dyed it black. i went to the show with a group of people i don’t remember anymore, except for one guy who had a mullet and made fun of me for mishearing the lyrics to a duran duran song (the chauffeur). i didn’t really like him, but he had a car. this was not the first time i made that mistake.
i wore a pair of black 60′s stilettos (one of which was later ruined in the mosh pit at a jane’s addiction show), a red backless tank dress, and a big shawl collar men’s tuxedo jacket. i stood stage left and made a big mistake. sadly, i cannot time travel to correct it.
so it goes.

feast on your life

two weeks later

the park west god, who hasn’t had their car towed by lincoln towing?
i think i went to the park west maybe three or four times. i probably would have gone more if parking didn’t suck so bad around there. the only show i truly recall is one where santiago was talking to jello biafra and jello went on and on about himself and didn’t even realize who he was talking to for like 15 minutes. i forget who was playing.

vintage vinyl
i was recently reminded of vintage vinyl by a., who sent me a recent article of the guy who used to work there, mark, interviewing diamonda galas. this hit the deja vous button on a number of counts. i bought a diamonda galas album when i was in college from the quaker when he worked at record swap, on his recommendation. it really wasn’t my cuppa but i used to put it on at the end of parties to get people to clear out. anyway, vintage vinyl is up on davis in evanston, and there was a guitar shop nearby we’d hit on those trips up north as well. did we go to bookman’s alley? i don’t remember. probably. it’s the kind of thing we’d do. anyway, so mark was this industrial / goth guy who had long black hair pulled back into a pony tail and always wore leather pants. it could be a thousand degrees out (factoring in humidity) and mark would be wearing the same outfit – sleeveless t shirt, leather pants, boots. i remember talking to him about his band but all i can remember is that they were sort of throbbing gristley. mark was very committed to his muse.

looks the same as ever

* * *
you know, i had specifically bought this book to read in transit to spain in three weeks. the book was impatient and couldn’t wait and insisted on being read now, for some reason. i’m not really sure why i hadn’t read it earlier, except that . . . i just didn’t. i assume there was a reason, because i believe there always is.

Feminist Revival, part Deux

Happy International Women’s Day!

And who would have thought that here in 2012 we would actually be having a debate in this country about women’s reproductive rights and birth control!   It’s like a Victorian déjà vous! 

So unless you’ve been sleeping under a rock, this has been a big year for controversy about lady parts.  First there was the Komen v. Planned Parenthood debacle, where uber right wing Christian Talibaner Karen Handel spearheaded pulling funding from Planned Parenthood because they perform abortions.  Which are, of course, legal, but Handel doesn’t care as she doesn’t see abortion as a “woman’s rights” issue.   

After that came the Virginia transvaginal ultrasound bill.  While I think “transvaginal” would be a great name for an all girl punk band, the law was nothing more than a way for the conservative legislators in Virginia to stick something where it doesn’t belong – ANIAGW.  So much for less government intervention in our lives. 

And finally there has been the ongoing brouhaha about the Obama mandate that secular institutions owned by religious groups (e.g. universities, hospitals, charities) provide insurance which includes coverage for birth control.  This spawned the Blunt amendment, which would allow any employer to pull coverage for anything which runs afoul of their religion, or for “moral reasons”.  Really?  Under that reasoning, if you worked for a Christian Scientist, nothing would be covered.  If you worked for a Southern Baptist and twisted your ankle dancing, they could deny coverage.  I have a deeply held moral belief that if you’re an evangelical Christian, like Pat Robertson, who believes that tornadoes are caused by lack of praying, they should pray rather than get medical care. 

 The Blunt amendment was defeated, but that didn’t stop Rush Limbaugh from opening his big fat mouth on the issue of women on birth control.  In commenting on the Pill being covered by insurance (Rush mistakenly thinks tax payers will be paying for the Pill, but it’s really insurance – you weren’t hoping for logic and accuracy from an obese drug addict, were you?), Rush referred by Sandra Fluke, a 30 year old law student, as a “whore”, “slut”, and “prostitute”.  Rush’s reasoning is that if Fluke’s Pills are paid for by insurance, “we” are “paying for her to have sex”.  Reductio ad absurdum, Fluke is a prostitute. 

 By this same reasoning, “we” were “paying for Rush Limbaugh to get high” AND “paying for Rush Limbaugh to have sex” — which is truly a disgusting and disheartening thought.   I haven’t heard him offer, so I must ask — can I have my money back, you vile porcine hypocrite? Please do NOT upload video, the interwebs are already a scary gross place. 

By now the whole Limbaugh v. Fluke thing has been beaten to death in blogs and in media all over.  But seeing as it’s International Woman’s Day, I feel compelled to make a few observations. 

First of all, I cannot believe that we are even having a discussion which conflates a woman using birth control with a woman being a “whore”.  Setting aside all the other medical reasons why a woman might need to take the Pill, what commentators like Limbaugh are really saying is that a woman who wants to have sex, for its own sake, is immoral.  Heaven forbid a woman enjoy sex – she is an evil temptress of the highest order!  Every one knows that the only decent women are pregnant women and virgins!

Given that 98% of sexually active American women use birth control of one type or another, including 70% of Catholic women, all I can say is, WELCOME, FELLOW HARLOTS!  How does it feel to be called a whore?  A slut?  A prostitute? 

I have seen some conservative women attack Fluke and support Limbaugh.  Their reasoning, if you can call it that, is that they shouldn’t have to pay for another woman to have contraception. Apparently, they are ok with “us” paying women to have babies, so their beef is not with sex, per se, it’s with a woman having sex and not having a baby.  One Georgetown republican, in a display of true class, referred to Fluke as a “skank”.  I assume from her high moral ground that she must be a nun, or perhaps a 25 year old virgin.

Personally, I don’t think the name calling of Fluke and branding her as a “whore” has anything to do with how Pills are paid for, whether by insurance or Planned Parenthood, or anything else.  That’s a red herring.  In my humble but always correct opinion, I think it’s American Puritanism and the good old fashioned double standard about sex.   Women having sex (and enjoying it) without manufacturing babies are perceived as threatening and dangerous.  Dangerous to other women, who perhaps aren’t so keen on sex, or fearful that some marauding trollop high on estrogen will steal her man away.  Dangerous to men as insatiable unfaithful nymphomaniacs.  Both positions being paranoid hyperbole. Notably, no complaint is made that “we” are “paying for men to have sex” when men are prescribed Viagra or Cialis.  Men aren’t name called, or branded as immoral because they want to have sex – that’s normal!   Women?  Bring out the Scarlet Letter!   

*NEWSFLASH!!*  Sex is normal.  The desire to have sex is normal.  The desire to have sex even when not making babies is normal, both in men and women.  The demonizing of female sexuality is Victorian, misogynistic, and a sign of insecurity.  And I personally don’t care if someone wants to have sex, as Limbaugh mockingly said, three times a day, or not at all.  Whatever works for you, works for you.   Don’t project your morality and concept of normalcy on me, and I won’t do it to you.  Just keep it between consenting GGG adults, no kids or pets, K?

The other facile deflection is that the piling on Rush Limbaugh (sorry for any visual that induced) is hypocritical, given the general lack of civility surrounding so-called “political” discussions.  I don’t think anyone making this argument really believes it, but assuming arguendo they might, here’s the difference. 

 When I call someone a jerk, or a bitch, or an asshole (and I do all the time), I am using insulting language which doesn’t really say anything about that person’s behavior.  If I say, “Rush Limbaugh is an asshole”, am I saying anything about him at all, really?  When Bill Maher called Sarah Palin a c*nt (keepin’ it clean for the kids at home!), what did that say about Sarah Palin?  Nothing much.  It’s an insult, and considered highly offensive (despite its long and storied past, dating back to Canterbury Tales). 

On the other hand, when a woman is called a whore, or a slut, or a prostitute, this speaks to her behavior and actions.  Whores and sluts have sex with many men without any regard for societal conventions or mores.  Prostitutes are paid to have sex.  So, calling a woman a whore is more like calling someone a thief or a murderer, rather than an asshole.  And in case you missed out on what Rush really meant, he went on and on about how Sandra Fluke and her friends were having sex with many many men, couldn’t get enough of having sex, and that they should upload videos of themselves having sex (presumably so that Rush can pull out his flaccid wiener, pop an illegally obtained Viagra, and get the only action he’s seen in a lonnnnnngggggg time). 

Perhaps this year, in honor of Rush, we should call it INTERNATIONAL WHORE’S DAY.   And please, celebrate it well.