Monday, October 27, 2008

An Open Letter of Apology

An Open Letter of Apology


To whom it may concern (which likely includes most of my friends, former teachers, waiters and waitresses, people who've sat around me at the movies, numerous funeral attendees, church patrons, librarians, roommates and museum goers):

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for a lot of things, but I'm specifically sorry for BEING SO LOUD!

See, there I go again. I'm trying to do better. Until recently I didn't know how to whisper. That's right, I was 29 before I learned how to whisper.

The problem is my hearing isn't very good and when I whisper I can't hear myself. So in the past I'd "whisper" where I could just barely hear myself and it turns out that is louder than a standard whisper.

But this also means I really can't hear you when you whisper unless you lips are almost touching my ear. I didn't like leaning over like this so for the last 20 years if you've ever whispered to me I have not heard you. So if you whispered to me I'd just nod at you even though I couldn't hear you. I might have agreed to do things that I never heard. I would try to read your lips but I'm not very good. Again, sorry.

Also, I don't see the need to whisper. If I've got something witty or wry to say why shouldn't everyone enjoy? For this I will make no apology. I'll just try to actually whisper and have faith that you can hear me. If you can't hear me, just smile and nod at me. It works most of the time.

In conclusion if I've blurted during your movie, gabbed to loud at a neighboring table at lunch, cut up during class, commented during church, waxed nostalgic while you were trying to enjoy a painting or yelled into my cell phone while you tried to sleep next door...

I'M SORRY!

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Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Fun with MS Paint

Dean sent me this pic:






I sent him back this one:














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Tuesday, October 21, 2008

A Trip to the DMS

I start my morning at 5am by double checking the 72 pages of forms I have to take with me to the Department of Medical Services. I naively feel lucky that I no longer have to "pay" for medical care. I've diagnosed myself with Deathitis. It's easy to diagnose. Two months before you die the word "Deathitis" appears across your chest in bold red san serif font. According to WebMD a simple day surgery and a pill can save my life. I even have 8 weeks to get it done.

The parking lot is crowded and I have to walk a couple of blocks to the DMS Building, which is also crowded. There is a long line of people waiting to get a number, luckily I've called ahead, I learned this trick at the DMV. I approach the "Appointments" window and a lady greets me without ever making eye contact.

"This line is for people who called ahead, sir." I know, I called ahead.

"If you called ahead you'd have a number, sir." I know, I have a number.

"You have a number?" Yes, I do.

She lets out a long sigh and puts down her emery board and turns on her computer. We wait while it powers up. She then calls a technician because the computer is on but the monitor isn't working. He arrives 30 minutes later and unplugs the lady's fan and re-plugs in the monitor. She is angry and notices I'm still waiting.

"This line is for people who called ahead, sir." I did call ahead, ma'am.

"If you called ahead you'd have a number, sir." I do have a number.

She half reaches for the slip of paper I've been trying to hand her for half an hour when a friend taps her on the shoulder. She gets into a game of "what did you do this weekend". After 10 minutes of that my lady checks her watch and goes on break. I stand there with my slip of paper outstretched.

20 minutes later a different woman returns and takes her place. She is surprised to see someone in her line.

"Sir, this line is for people who called ahead. You need to be in that line over there." I did call ahead and here is my number.

"If you called ahead you'd have a number..." She fades offand looks at my number. She punches it into the computer then unplugs the monitor so she can turn the fan back on.

"Please go to annex W12. That's W as in West, Twelve. 13th Floor, East Wing. Room 11."

I take a tram and it conveniently drops me off at E13, East Wing, where I go the 12th floor. I get into a shouting match with an OBGYN who informs me she doesn't treat Deathitis.

Eventually I find W12, 13th Floor, East Wing, Room 11. It is another set of lines. I have to choose between three lines: Confirmed Appointments, Tentative Appointments, Appointment Confirmations. I choose the last and wait an hour. I get there and try to give he my number. "Do you have the magenta form?" I do not. She informs me its in the back of the room and to fill it out.

I do so and wait another hour in line. She looks at the form and at my number, then shakes her head and looks at me. "You're in the wrong line. You have a confirmed reservation not a reservation waiting to be confirmed." She points me at the correct line which is blissfully shorter.

Unfortunately they don't accept Magenta forms only Fuchsia. I play the line game one more time and reach the front of the line. As I'm about to step forward the man behind the counter goes to lunch. I'm starving but I'm next so there's no way I'm leaving. He returns at a quarter till three and smells suspiciously like lunch beers.

"Next." I present my ID and 10 colorful forms. While he was away I decided to remove all doubt and fill out all the forms available in the room. I did Magenta, Fuchsia, Salmon, Carnation, Cherry Blossom, Cerise, Orchid, Lavender Pink, Hot Pink and Pink. He wades through them and selects the three he likes best.

"Sir, your confirmed reservation was for the AM. I'll have to put you on the tentative reservation list." After a trip through the tentative line I'm shuttled to the Waiting Room Warehouse H. A room the size of a football field awaits me. I am given number 5,439. Now serving: 2,001-2,005.

I try to find a seat. If possible I'd like to sit next to someone else with Deathitis. Its hard to spot them, even though a large number of occupants aren't wearing a shirt.

I eventually sit next to a man with a rake sticking out of his neck and a woman giving birth. Her contractions are 6 minutes apart and her number is 2,414. I spend the next hour feeding her ice chips and helping name the twins. She is grateful and leaves me her number before she goes.

Around 9pm my new number pays off. I go into exam room 88. My 12 year old doctor is there chained to the wall beneath his Calcutta Med Diploma. He has a hammock in the back he can sleep in but he is an indentured servant until he pays off his student loans.

I take off my shirt and he carefully examines my Deathitis. He has to be certain it isn't just painted on. He takes a skin sample and informs me he'll send it to the lab. Results take 3-6 weeks.

6 Weeks? Doctor, I have Deathitis. "Whoa, lets let the boys in the lab be the judge of that."

But I only have 2 months to live. "You do IF you have Deathitis. If you just painted it on you could live longer. Wouldn't you rather know for sure?"

I know for sure! I didn't paint this on! Who would do that? "Sir, we have to follow procedures."

I cry and contemplate strangling him with he wall chain. "Sir, there's a man out there with a rake in his neck. We can't waste time on you're little problem."

Deathitis! I have Deathitis! The word Death is right there in the name! "What's in a name?" He quips.

It's not I realize I hate Ivory School types, even if the ivory is from an Indian elephant.

I return home and await my test results. It's ok, I have time. No need to panic. I stop wearing a shirt. My Deathitis scar is a real conversation starter. I fill my days with Sudoku and raking the leaves very carefully.

Six weeks later I receive a letter that my test results are in and low and behold I have Deathitis. They've scheduled me for surgery at their earliest convenience in 18 months. I call my doctor who informs me if I wanted to have it taken care of in the next two weeks I should have started the proceedings 16 months before I had the disease.

And two weeks later I died.

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Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Main St. Vs. Wall St.

I was thinking of other streets that most towns all have. And what conotation they invoke.

Main St - Theoretically "Old Fashion Values" in reality a street lined with old storefront business that are now either seedy bookshops or "revitalized" coffee shops
Wall St - Money or uhm... some kind of wall in proximity... I guess... I don't get it
1st - That part of town with small wood frame houses that probably were once great but are now are all paint peally.
MLK BLVD - Danger
Park - That street with the dangerous run down park on it.
Oak - That street with the nice trees
Pine - That street with all the parking lots
Hill - Unless your walking you'll never notice this "hill"
Washington - Washington "ST" is a good place to live, Washington "Heights" not so much.

I get the feeling that since most of these streets are in the oldest parts of town they tend to run in a few categories. They are either still quaint, scary or re-quaint. By re-quaint I mean they used to be scary and now they've been white washed and remodeled into their old models. The worst state of a downtown is if its re-scary, which happens if a quaintening doesn't stick.

According to the 1993 Census the MOST common street name in America was: Second?
What happened to First? Just think of all those towns where 1st street had to be renamed after some local major or dead president. (Or sometimes just called Main). This leaves Second in First place. Actually there are more Thirds than Firsts as well. So the new order of best places goes Second, Third, First... tough luck Michael Phelps.

(There was some confusion about my previous post. I encourage you all to read the labels at the bottom of the blogs.)

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Tuesday, October 14, 2008

I was attacked by a raccoon

There I was minding my own business in the Tom Thumb side parking lot and a raccoon is poking its head out from under my car. I say, "Scoot!" so I won't back over it. But it doesn't scoot. Instead it charges at me and climb up my body in a spiral motion until it is scratching at my face. I throw it off and it takes my glasses with it.

I am looking around for my glasses, thinking the confrontation is over, and it jumps me again and bits my hand. I throw it and its teeth cut a long gash down my palm.

This time I keep my eye on it. It sizes me up too. Then charges me. When it goes for my legs I step down hard on its tail trapping it, sort of. It is trapped next to my leg which it begins to scratch and bit. I use my other leg to violently kick the beast.

It gets away and hides under my car. I run get inside and close the door. Now I don't care if I run it over. I turn on the engine and back up. I don't feel anything crunch nor do I it in the parking space so I figure its clinging to the bottom of my car.

I gun it to 40 miles an hour and hit a speed bump hard to rub it off. This time I see it bounce out from under my car and roll to a stop. I go back and pick up the remains so it can be tested for diseases. Meanwhile, two kids have been watching the show. One of them is crying at the slaughter, the other is laughing.

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Thursday, October 02, 2008

Return to Normalcy

What is normal? I've totally forgotten. I've gotten so tilted I think my world view is seriously skewed. It only looks normal to be because I've grown accustomed to the angle.

I was watching a commercial and they were talking about, "Don't worry if you have bad credit! You're approved! Don't worry if you have no legal identity. You're approved. Don't worry if you are upside down on your last loan. You're approved!" I thought it was a spoof of a bad credit company. Some kind of humorous public service announcement warning you not to get into debt with no way out. But it was a real commercial. They really will approve you no matter what.

Bad credit? Approved!
No credit? Approved!
Not alive? Approved!
Zombie? Approved!
From a parallel dimension? Approved!

Of course I'm not living debt free. I've got college loans, credit cards and a mortgage.

And I don't care what you say, a mortgage is debt! There was once a time when people didn't get home loans. They did something we have forgotten about.

"Save."

They should put a piggy bank in a museum next to the dodo and T-Rex. Extinct creatures.

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