Category Archives: ma vie

The end of this blog…

As most of you, my tens of loyal readers, know, my now-ex-partner-of-nine-years ended our relationship on November 22nd. While there is much I am tempted to say about this, I’ll refrain – other than to say that the decision was his alone and came as a complete shock to me.

I’ve gone back-and-forth about maintaining my existing blog at this location. I’ve actually looked back over many of my posts and, if I do say so myself, some of them are pretty G.D. excellent. So I’m not going to take the blog down…  But the fact is, too much of what I’ve written was about my life with someone who I believed would be with me forever – and that’s a very painful thing to revisit…  It feels more appropriate to restart my online musings and observations with a tabula rasa.

So, yes, I’ll be blogging again – very soon, I hope…  In fact, I think I ought to start off with a wrap-up of my trip to Japan – if only to once again preach the good word about Japanese  toilet seats (seriously, they are a miracle – not a word I bandy about unless describing the truly miraculous…) But I’ll be using a new URL.  For those of you interested in reading new posts, just drop me a line and I’ll hook you up…  And yes, there’ll be cats…

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Chez moi le samedi après-midi…

Just playing with my new toy…  and got some pretty cool shots.  Amazing what good equipment can do…

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My favorite and most cooperative model.

My favorite and most cooperative model.

Of course, I’m actually wondering whether or not I should start a separate blog for photos.  I’ll leave it you, dear readers…

Day starting off nicely – seriously.

krispy_kreme_glazed_doughnutBumped into a friend on my way to work this morning and stopped to catch up a bit.  I knew she’d just moved, so I inquired as to where her new place is – and it’s on Beaver Street!  Now it’s pretty hard to beat simply living on Beaver St. (not only because of the name, but it’s actually quite a charming little tree-lined street).  But she is not simply living at any old place on Beaver – she’s at 8 Beaver!  And she’s a lesbian! Talk about kismet…

Not to mention that fact that anytime we ever walk down that street, I always say when we pass # 8, “Gee, I hope some lesbian lives there…”  And now I know that one does!

Maybe someday my own dream will come true and I’ll move to 4 Uranus.  Oh, Uranus Street…  We’d pass it all the time as kids, with my mom behind the wheel of her ’72 Ford Torino and without fail we’d all start screaming, “Drive up Uranus! Drive up Uranus!”  Good times…

Anyhoo, then I got to work.  And what do I find in the kitchen, as I go in to toast my 7-grain-and-flax-seed bread?  Two giant cartons of Krispy Kreme donuts.

So, yes, this day is looking pretty darn good so far.  Now if only Sprint would call me and tell me that my new Palm Pre is finally in stock and ready for pickup…

They Can Rebuild Me – They Have The Technology

Thank you, modern pharmaceuticals!

Thank you, modern pharmaceuticals!

So I had surgery on Monday – and apparently all went well. I felt OK afterwards, due largely to the massive amounts of drugs I’d been given.  On Tuesday, however, the drugs had worn off and I must say I was having a pretty rough time of it – even with the Percocet.  But I made it, despite much gnashing of teeth, moaning and screaming (seriously, they all help).

Physically, I feel a bit better each day than the last.  Can’t say the same for the boredom and loneliness – they seem to increase each day.  Trying my best not to feel sorry for myself, but it can be a challenge, since all the things I enjoy doing are currently either impossible (e.g. playing Rock Band; preparing dinner; bathing myself) or very difficult (this whole “typing with one hand” thing, for example, is complete bullshit). But I’m hoping I’ll be sufficiently improved this weekend to maybe go out for a walk, see a movie or do some grocery shopping – you know, the glamorous life.

And to answer the most-often-asked question about this photo: no, I was not required to wear a catcher’s mitt during surgery.  That is, in fact, my actual hand.

And the answer to the second-most-asked question: no, I did not intentionally try to include a nipple in every photo of this ordeal.

Notes From a Shut-in

I spent the last five days lying prone on the sofa, my fever raging and my thumb planted weakly but resolutely on the “channel up” button of the remote.  And boy does daytime TV suck.  Though it’s certainly no wonder that the still-compelling “The Price is Right” remains on the air.  Honestly, I only had to be tuned in for about thirty seconds before I was yelling out prices (OK, it was more like “raspily croaking”) and grinning (i.e. grimacing wanly) like an idiot when some schlub won a new car.

But when did they start giving away Christian Louboutin shoes and Calvin Klein dresses?  Not to mention calling groovy little tattooed hipster boys to “come on down”?  Of course they also still give away plenty of hideous Broyhill bedroom sets.  And the studio audience remains for the most part decidedly non-hip…

clock-game-4And I’d forgotten how much I hate contestants who get on the show but are unfamiliar with the various games.  Some broad just lost the Clock Game – that’s right, the Clock Game!  It’s one of the few games on the show that is a guaranteed win if the contestant has an even basic understanding of how it works…  Jeez! And don’t get me started on the many lame bidding strategies going on in contestant’s row.

Daytime TV is not only lousy – it’s depressing.  The shows are bad enough – gab fests featuring C-list celebrities I’ve never heard of, the countless courtroom shows (none of which hold a candle to Judge Judy – and even her shtick is getting a little long in the tooth), the soaps.  Ugh, a vast wasteland indeed – a wasteland with 300 channels.  Thank God for HGTV and Food Network – there’s always an episode of House Hunters or Good Eats showing…

But worse than the shows are the commercials.  What a sorry lot we shut-ins apparently are as a demographic.  Ads  for Hot Pockets and Pop-tarts, immediately followed by Marie Osmond or some other low-wattage celebrity shilling for weight loss regimens and fat-burning potions. Depressingly earnest spots for laxatives and stool softeners, the actors doing their best “I’m suffering from constipation during this important business meeting” routines. Lawyers clamoring for the custom of victims of asbestos or renal-failure-inducing enemas (I shit you not – no pun intended). Insurance policies to cover one’s “final costs” pitched by folksy, washed-up TV personalities.  Check cashing and “payday advance” establishments touting their convenience while never mentioning their usurious rates and fees. Car insurance come-ons (“DUI OK!”) with the worst production values ever (I’m looking at you Dashers and The General).  Prescription drugs with frightening and bizarre side effects, despite the relatively mild ailments they claim to alleviate.

hoveroundAnd don’t even get me started on the Hoverounds, Larks, Lil’ Rascals and all the other motorized scooters being hawked.  I’ve always hated those scooters – I simple can’t get past my view that wheelchairs are for the crippled, scooters are for the lazy.  If one actually has some sort of affliction that makes walking impossible, then one gets a wheelchair.  But a scooter?  It’s for the slothful and the obese.  Don’t believe me?  Just head to Disney World.  The place is crawling (or should I say “lumbering”?) with scooters piloted  by fatties,  turkey leg in one hand and a gallon of Coke in the cupholder, maneuvering up to the funnel cake stand.

I’ve also been watching CNN, which is pretty much exclusively covering the ditching of USAir flight 1549 – or the “Miracle on the Hudson” as it’s already been dubbed. Quite an amazing story – though I cringe at the use of the term “miracle”.  It’s as if God’s hand was actually visible to the naked eye as it gently guided the plane to a smooth landing in the middle of the river.  But then why did He make those geese fly into the engines in the first place?  Or were they devil geese?

And frankly, “miracle” takes away from the extraordinary performance of the crew of the aircraft.  Pilots and flight attendants are trained and retrained in responding to emergencies – and, as is so often the case, this training saved many, many lives.  And I’ll wager that whenever we finally do hear from the crew, they’ll all deny being heroes and point out that they were simply doing the jobs they were trained to do.

The winner of Gawker's headline comptition.

The winner of Gawker's headline comptition.

Of course, with no deaths, the story isn’t really sexy enough for the news.  So the anchors and reporters fill in the gap by spouting gory and horrifying hypothetical situations.  “Well, if this had happened next week, there would’ve been ice in the river – which could have ripped open the planes fuselage, causing the aircraft to erupt into a fiery ball of death as it cartwheeled down the Hudson, incinerating everything in its path, the passengers’ screams  clearly audible in mid-town Manhattan as they were burned alive.  And anyone who survived the deadly inferno would likely have been devoured by the many man-eating sharks that populate the Hudson River.  Coming up next: what would have happened if swarms of bees had filled he cabin during the crash landing? We’ll talk to bee expert Henry “Buzz” Collins after the break.”

Eh, I suppose I should be grateful for the varied though largely sub-par offerings on my TV.  There’s not really a whole lot else to do when one is stricken with the plague (which I’m pretty sure is what I’ve had all week…  the buboes seem to be clearing up nicely though).  Reading was out of the question, as it required me to both open and move my eyes, a painful and overly-vigorous task.  Online activity was excrutiatingly interactive.  Staring slit-eyed and slack-jawed at bad TV shows while shivering and downing codeine and Vitamin Water seemed about the only activity that I could engage in…  Well, other than longing for the Grim Reaper’s cold and clammy embrace.